#How To Save Relationship After Lying

[arolesbianism]

I Really need to properly draw Christopher at some point but everytime I want to I just look at her in game sprite and weep for her truest form has already been achieved. What's even the point. This is her in the flesh.

[helaintoloki]

A Favor

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: lots of pining, eventual fluff, fake dating

notes: had to try my hand at the fake dating trope

summary: you pretend to be Bucky’s girlfriend in order to help his campaign despite your very real feelings for him

“You want me to what?”

Sam can’t hold back his laughter when you look at Bucky like he’s grown a second head after processing the question he has asked you. The man in question stands there with an unamused scowl and a growing sense of embarrassment while waiting for his friend to regain his composure.

“Are you finished?” He snarks sharply, grunting in annoyance when Sam heartily claps his back in his response.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he breathes after wiping away a tear, “go ahead and ask her again.”

“I need you to pretend to be in a relationship with me,” Bucky mutters while refusing to meet your gaze, wishing the floor of your home would simply open up and swallow him whole so that he’d be saved from the humiliation.

“You realize that’s a crazy thing to ask, right?” You retort from your place behind the kitchen island. When you invited the two men over for dinner you hadn’t anticipated being ambushed like this, and you were starting to regret ever getting yourself mixed up with the two heroes.

“I know it is, but Valentina says if I want votes I need to make myself more relatable. Some people still have a hard time separating me from the Winter Soldier, but if they can see me as a normal man with a loving partner they might change their minds.”

“And why can’t Sam be the loving partner?” You rebuff, prompting him to immediately raise his hands in protest.

“Nuh uh, baby. Are you forgetting I’m Captain America? I’m too busy to be playing house with Mr. Congeniality over here.”

“Y/n, you’re the only person that can do this,” Bucky insists, eyes pleading for you to understand, “it would be more believable if it was you since we’re already close.”

“Maybe too damn close,” Sam murmurs under his breath, but both you and Bucky choose to ignore his comment.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, still a bit hesitant to put yourself through a fake relationship, “it feels a bit scummy lying to voters like that.”

“Politicians lie all the time,” Bucky tries to justify, but it’s not very effective in convincing you. “Look, this is something that’s important for me to do, and I will owe you for the rest of my life if you help me. It will only be until the votes are in, and then we can go back to normal.”

Sighing, you let your hands fall onto the counter and gaze thoughtfully at the marble surface as you weigh your options. It really couldn’t be that bad, could it? You’re already fond of Bucky as a friend, so it wouldn’t be so hard to pretend to be in love with him for a few months. What was the harm?

You look up and meet his expectant gaze, and it’s hard not to say yes when the desperation is clear in his eyes. Bucky has always been good at getting you to fold, and this time is no different.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” you finally say, and the grin that spreads across his face almost feels rewarding. He immediately pulls you into his arms for a bone crushing hug and thanks you profusely, but his gratitude falls on deaf ears as you make eye contact with Sam over his shoulder.

The man says nothing, but he doesn’t have to when the mischievous smile on his face speaks for itself. You’ve gotten yourself into deep shit and he knows it.

You just hope you can keep up the facade without revealing how you truly feel.

~~~

Your arrangement with Bucky is simple.

While in public you are to act as in love with him as possible. You hold hands, share innocent pecks, look adoringly into each other’s eyes, and act as if your relationship isn’t a complete sham. When telling stories about each other you make sure to include some bits of truth to make it more believable and easier to remember when prompted. Your arrangement also includes public appearances to important social events, and that’s how you find yourself in your current predicament.

You wouldn’t consider yourself the most extroverted person out there, so you felt extremely out of your element as you donned the nicest dress you owned and accompanied Bucky to a cocktail party hosted by the local mayor. All eyes had been on you the moment you’d walked through the door on his metal arm, and you weren’t sure if you could handle getting this type of attention. This was only your first public appearance as his girlfriend and already were you starting to feel the pressure.

“You doing okay?” Bucky murmurs into your ear before flashing a smile to nearby onlookers.

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to this,” you answer honestly, prompting a genuine chuckle to leave his lips.

“Trust me, it gets easier being in the spotlight after a while.”

You sincerely doubt that, but you don’t get a chance to argue as you’re immediately swarmed by a group of journalists eager to get their questions answered. The lights of their cameras are blinding, and you feel like you’ve been tossed into the lion’s den as they immediately bombard you both with questions.

“Mr. Barnes, is it true you’re running for a position in congress?”

“It is,” he affirms with an easy smile before reciting the practiced lines Valentina had vehemently rehearsed with him. “I have great hopes for this election.”

“Mr. Barnes, may I ask who you have with you tonight?”

“This beautiful woman is my wonderful girlfriend,” Bucky replies while simultaneously pulling you closer to his side. “Y/n has been nothing but supportive of my campaign, and it’s with her support that I’ve found the courage to run.”

“Do you have anything to say to those who doubt Mr. Barnes’s capability to serve in congress?” A woman asks before shoving a microphone in your face. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights as all the focus turns to you, and it takes you a moment to compose yourself before finally willing yourself to answer.

“I think…” you start off with a nervous smile, mind racing as you struggle to come up with the perfect response. Bucky shoots you a subtle look, reminding you of what he’d advised you in the car before you’d arrived. ‘Just be honest.’ “I know that my James is a good man, a strong man who cares deeply for those around him. The American people can put their faith in someone like Bucky because despite all that he has been through, he has never once given up on himself or the people that love him. I have no doubt in my mind that Bucky could help our government for the better.”

More questions are thrown your way that you are happy to answer, but this causes you to miss the clear adoration in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you carry yourself so eloquently in front of all these people. You meant every single word you said, and so had he.

Unbeknownst to either of you, the lines between reality and fiction were already starting to blur when it came to your make believe relationship.

~~~

“So how did you two meet?”

You’re taking part in yet another press junket arranged by Valentina to help the public see Bucky’s humility and make your relationship seem more genuine. This is your third interview of the day, and all you want is to go home so you can put on your coziest pajamas and enjoy a pizza from the comfort of your couch. Public appearances are draining, but Bucky promises you that after this week you won’t be expected to appear on camera as frequently. You’re holding him to that promise because otherwise you might lose your sanity, and Bucky knows how scary you can be when provoked.

“Well, after the Thanos situation had ended and the dust settled, I moved into a new apartment for a fresh start,” Bucky explains truthfully before turning to you with a tender smile. “What I didn’t expect after moving in was to have the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen standing at my door with a plate of cookies to welcome me into the building. I think I thought about her smile for an entire week before finally working up the courage to thank her and invite her over for dinner.”

Though the story Bucky relays to the cameras is mostly true, you’re honestly stunned by the way he chooses to describe you. He must be really desperate for viewers to believe he’s a man in love with the way he speaks as if Cupid’s arrow had struck him the day you two met. You find yourself shifting almost nervously in your seat listening to him talk about how wonderful you are, and you can almost feel your heart trying to escape your ribcage. You know he means none of this, so why does your stomach flip every time he mentions how beautiful you are or how enamored he is with you?

“Would you say your experience was similar?” The interviewer asks, and it takes you a moment to realize they’re talking to you now. You dotingly place a hand on Bucky’s knee then gaze into his eyes with nothing but love and are surprised to see him already looking at you that way.

“From the moment I first introduced myself to James I knew he was different from anyone I’d ever met before. I think I was taken by his eyes when I first saw him, and I still sometimes find myself admiring them when I think he’s not paying attention.”

Though he doesn’t know it, your words are completely true. You could spend hours staring into his eyes and admiring the way they light up when he laughs or smiles. You have it bad for Bucky, really bad, and yet you’ve kept it to yourself throughout the course of your friendship. Despite Sam’s insistence to tell him the truth, you just can’t bring yourself to do it. You love him too much to risk losing his friendship, so you’d made peace with the fact that you’d never be more than just a companion a long time ago. You thought you could survive being his fake girlfriend, but with each day that passes it gets harder and harder not to fall into the fantasy.

“You doing okay?” He asks you after the night is over and you’re free to be yourself in the safety of his car. You’d been quiet ever since leaving the press junket, and Bucky knew you well enough to detect when your mind was becoming overrun.

“I think I’m just tired,” you answer truthfully, “it’s hard to keep up the facade sometimes.”

“I get what you mean,” he chuckles, prompting you to frown. You don’t think he does get what you mean or understand how suffocating it is to act as if your adoration and affection are just for show. “We just have one more event to attend and then we can go back to being friends.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

You swallow nervously, opening your mouth only to shut it as you hold back the words you desperately wish to say. You don’t want to complicate things and ruin all of his hard work, it would be selfish of you to muck it up now when he’s so close to the finish line. So instead, you look to him with a halfhearted smile and suggest, “You want to pick up a pizza on the way home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~~~

You’re grateful for the fact that the last public event on your itinerary is a birthday party for your very own Captain America. All of the focus is on Sam, and the political journalists are much more interested in his relationship with Bucky than yours. You can breathe without having to worry about being perceived or disturbed, and you don’t mind being old news in the slightest.

Sam finds you outside the banquet hall in the garden gazebo staring contemplatively at the sky a few hours into the party, and he joins you with glasses of champagne in hand.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he notes with a kind smile before handing you your glass. “I’ve been dying to have a real human conversation all night, but these reporters are relentless.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” you joke thoughtfully before taking a sip of the drink. You don’t particularly like champagne, but you appreciate the way the alcohol helps settle your nerves.

“You doing okay?” Sam prompts, genuine concern etched on his features. You know what he’s getting at, and you know he’s aware of just how hard this has all been on you. Sam had been able to shake you down into confessing your feelings for Bucky two years ago after noting your jealousy over the fact that he’d been on a date. He teased you relentlessly for having a crush on the Winter Soldier, but it was all in good faith. Sam had always rooted for you two, but neither of you seemed capable of ever making a move. It was exhausting to watch his two closest friends blindly pine after one another, but he knew better than to intervene and instead chose to be a supportive shoulder for you to lean on.

“After today I’m back to being just a friend,” you state with a wry smile, “and it’s back to square one.”

“You know it would be easier to just tell him how you feel instead of torturing yourself, right?”

“I know,” you sigh pathetically, swirling the remaining champagne around in your glass.

“So why don’t you? I know you never believe me when I say this, but I know for a fact he feels the same way about you. You’re both just too scared of rejection to admit it so you never even try to make a move.”

“I’m not a hero or a politician, and I don’t belong in your world. It’s by pure chance I ended up becoming part of your little team, so I don’t think I’m what Bucky needs.”

“Come on, y/n/n, give yourself a little credit,” Sam comforts while gently nudging your side with his elbow. “You’re an amazing woman with a big heart, and while Bucky may be stupid, he’s definitely not stupid enough to be blind to the fact.”

Laughing softly at Sam’s ability to seamlessly slide in an insult at Bucky’s expense, you nudge him back and say, “Thanks, Sam. You always know just what to say.”

“Trying to steal my girl, Wilson?” A third voice interjects, both of you turning to see Bucky approaching the gazebo with an amused smile.

“Not this time, Barnes,” Sam shoots back playfully before giving you a quick squeeze to his side. “I’ll leave you two alone, but be back inside within the next half hour for cake.”

“You got it, Cap,” you affirm with a salute while Bucky takes his place beside you.

“You ran off on me,” he points out in mock hurt.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt the love fest you and Sam were putting on for the reporters,” you jest only for Bucky to roll his eyes.

“You’re hilarious.”

You smile and return your gaze back to the garden, enjoying the silence and the comfort Bucky’s presence brings you. Despite the aching longing that settles in the pit of your stomach every time you’re around him, you appreciate his company. You’d stay his platonic friend forever if it meant always getting to keep him close like this without the risk of losing him.

“You look beautiful,” he says suddenly to break the silence, prompting you to look at him surprise.

“Thanks, but… you know you don’t have to say stuff like that when the cameras aren’t around.”

“I know,” Bucky reiterates softly while taking your hand in his own, “and I don’t need them around to tell you that.”

Your stomach does a flip, but you ignore the racing of your heart and let out a quiet laugh before asking him if he’s had too much to drink. His smile drops for a moment as he falters, but you watch with piqued interest when he lets out a quiet sigh and shifts so that the space between you lessens.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he says with a repentant frown, looking down at your intertwined hands contemplatively. You swallow nervously and are unsure of where this conversation could be heading, but it seems like it’s serious.

“What is it, Bucky?”

“I didn’t ask you to be my fake girlfriend because it would be easier to pretend with you. I asked because… well, I knew that I wouldn’t have to convince everyone of something that was already true.”

The air feels like it’s buzzing around you while you process his words; you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing, and a part of you is convinced that maybe you’re just misunderstanding him, but the look of complete love and yearning on his face only solidifies the truth in his words.

“So you’re saying you mean it when you tell those reporters that you love me?” You utter in quiet surprise, eyes sparkling under the moonlight when you meet his gaze. “And that I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”

“Every single word,” he murmurs softly, metal hand coming to rest on your cheek. “I have loved every minute of being your boyfriend, and I don’t want that to end after my campaign is up. I want us to be the real deal, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip to hold back a giddy smile and nearly melt into his touch when he brings your face closer to his own so that your noses brush together. He hesitates for only a moment before finally closing the space between you both and kissing you sweetly. Your arms find their way around his neck as he pulls you impossibly close against him and encapsulates you in his warmth. Underneath the moonlight in the garden gazebo, you and Bucky share your first real kiss.

You feel dazed when you finally break apart, your heart beating a mile a minute and only increasing when Bucky flashes you a grin.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” he confesses earnestly before stealing another kiss. “I’m sorry it took me this long to finally tell you.”

“I would have waited forever,” you admit sheepishly, effectively outing yourself as a lovesick fool. You allow yourself to rest your head upon his chest while his arms move to wrap around your figure and encase you against him. The music from inside quietly drifts into the garden, and you hum in contentment as Bucky slowly sways you back and forth.

You know if you don’t move now you’ll miss the cake, but there isn’t a single ounce of your spirit that wishes to leave from this spot. Bucky is finally yours, and you can finally be honest about your feelings with the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with for years.

It seems your only worry now will be having to explain to Sam why you missed his cake cutting.

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[doctormohansamira]

Samira's direct honesty is something I find so fascinating about her as a character. She's the most empathetic doctor in the department, but she really isn't soft in the way one would typically expect of a character like that.

She asks Santos how thick her skin is, then provides blunt, direct feedback without being concerned about how to say it "nicely". When her patient with the butt injections from a guy on Tik Tok asks how bad it looks, she admits freely and without hedging that it doesn’t look great. She gets deeply offended at the claim she’s lying: both Whitaker and Pugliesi accuse her of it, and she points out to both of them that what she said was totally true – she gave him a morphine-like drug that binds to the same receptor to treat his symptoms. But most interestingly is the way it manifests in her relationship with Robby.

She tells Dana directly that just because Robby's having a bad day, there's no need to take it out on her. She defends her treatment choices, even when Robby is getting mad about them. The one time we see her not being vocal about something she knows? When Robby's working on Leah.

We see Samira initially helping there. But then after she puts in the IO, the next time we see her, she's working with Abbot on a different patient. The time after that, she goes to help Langdon. And when Langdon asks how Robby's doing with Leah, she doesn't answer out loud and instead shakes her head. She knew full well Leah wasn't going to make it. And later, she goes back to Robby's side and asks if there's anything she can do, more softly than we ever heard her say anything else, still not telling him that she thinks he should give up and go help someone he could still save. Robby is in so many ways the exception in terms of Samira's reactions to things.

It's such a cool example that highlights the differences between them. I'm usually more focused on the ways in which they're the same, but there are also these crucial differences. In the cases where we see Robby doing the "unnecessary tests" and spending too much time that he berated Samira for, he's often more motivated by the families than the patients due to his own Adamson trauma, whereas Samira is patient focused – wanting Joyce to feel safe and comfortable when she's terrified of intubation, trusting Nandi when she's scared her symptoms are being dismissed – and less concerned with the families. Her exception is Pugliesi, who is in some ways to her what Joyce was to Robby – she is absolutely, legitimately concerned about doing no harm and treating his symptoms. However, she's also reacting very strongly due to her own personal experiences losing her father and visceral reaction to the idea of someone rejecting help.

Robby's reaction to Joyce feels so similar – in contrast to so many other patients, he's not talking to her wife and trying to make her feel better. He's angry at the thought of any delay, driven by the idea that maybe they could have saved Adamson if they'd moved faster.

They're just so similar, but they're approaching their work through very different traumas, and it's all so fascinating.

[agreeewrites]

hi congrats on 1000 followers!!!! i seriously love your work sm the bill weasley magic lessons series altered my brain chemistry. idk if you write for aged up harry potter but if you do can you please write “1000 tears” with harry i love him in deathly hollows era when he’s all angsty and it’s soooo good when people write him to have a crazy reunion with the reader when he gets to shell cottage after saving them from malfoy manor it’s always giving peak hormones lol

hi love!!! tysm for the request, and I'm so glad you enjoyed Magic Lessons! angsty Harry is also my favorite, so I had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you enjoy! 🤍

1000 tears | H.P.

feat. Harry Potter x reader

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, love confessions, war stuff, mentions of blood/injury, angsty Deathly Hallows-era Harry, friends to lovers, reader has an implied close relationship with Remus and Tonks (parental), Dobby lives bc this is my fic and I can do whatever I want

masterlist

You sat curled up in your bed, knees to your chest, and stared at the crack in the bedroom door. Lupin had sent you to your assigned room with a piece of chocolate an hour prior, insisting you try and get some rest. But you couldn't even get yourself to lay down, the chocolate lying untouched on the bedside table.

You'd lost track of how many tears you'd shed.

Harry was out there, having disappeared while searching for a Horcrux with Ron and Hermione hours and hours ago without communication. He refused to let you go with them, having all but begged you to stay behind at Shell Cottage.

Where it's safe, love.

And now, you had a bone-deep feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. It wasn't like Harry to not send any kind of communication, and if he couldn't, Hermione always did.

Things between you and Harry were…complicated. You weren't together. Who would be reckless enough to start a new relationship in the middle of a war? But the connection between you was strong, having grown from a schoolyard crush to an all-consuming devotion over the past few years, and you knew Harry felt it too. But there were more important things to worry about at the moment—romance could wait until after the war. If there was an after.

The clock ticked audibly on the wall above your head.

This was ridiculous. You couldn't just sit here. If Harry thought something happened to you, nothing would stop him. Not Lupin, not Molly, not Moody—

A crash and a wail echoed through the silent house. You immediately recognized the cry as Dobby’s, and jumped out of bed, grabbing your wand from the night stand.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you approached the closed door, turning the ancient knob as quietly as you could. Wand raised, you pulled open the door, stupify on the tip of your tongue.

“What on earth happened! And where have you been?!” Molly bellowed, and you paused in the hallway.

“Malfoy Manor,” you heard Ron reply just before Dobby loosed another shriek of pain.

“Harry Potter saved Dobby! Harry Potter is Dobby's hero!”

“It’s alright, Dobby—let go—Dobby, they have to—”

You flew down the stairs and around the corner, finding Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Molly, and the wounded House Elf crowded into the foyer. Harry was trying to gently pry the bleeding Dobby from his pants leg, his handsome face smeared with dirt and blood, expression tight with frustration and exhaustion.

But he was alive.

“You're supposed to be asleep,” Lupin scolded, noticing you hovering in the hall, and Harry’s head snapped up, green eyes melting with relief.

“Dobby and Hermione need a Healer,” Harry said, his gaze locked on you. You could tell he was white knuckling his self-control, trying to stay calm and prevent the terror from whatever just happened to them spread to the rest of you.

“Good thing I was awake then,” you replied, giving Lupin a pointed look as you moved into the crowded foyer. You stooped to survey the House Elf's injuries. A blade had grazed his side, blood blooming beneath his tunic, but it was shallow. “Episkey,” you murmured, and the wound knitted itself most of the way closed, ceasing the bleeding.

“Oh, thank you Miss Harry Potters friend! Thank you!”

“My pleasure, Dobby,” you sighed, pushing to your feet.

You hadn't realized how close you were to Harry, too focused on healing Dobby, and now we're standing nearly chest to chest, nose to nose.

The look on his face knocked the air from your lungs. His usually serene eyes were burning, heavy-lidded and bruised with exhaustion. He smelled of smoke and the sting of dark magic, his black hair tosseled and knuckles bloody.

His index finger brushed the edge of your hand, so light you almost thought you'd imagined it, and you swallowed a shudder, your body reacting as if he’d done something cataclysmic.

Everything in you wanted to throw your arms around him and kiss the pain away, steal it all for yourself so he'd never have to suffer under the burden of responsibility again—but you resisted.

“Boys, can you get Hermoine into the kitchen?” you asked, shifting to step away before you completely lost focus.

For a split second, Harry’s index finger hooked your pinky, wanting to keep you close, but he quickly dropped his hand and turned to his friends.

“C’mon then, hold onto me,” Harry said, crouching down to their level. Hermione looped an arm around Harry's neck, the other already around Ron’s waist, and together they lifted her up.

She groaned, her head lolling onto Ron's shoulder, but protested no further as they carried her into the kitchen and set her gently onto a chair.

“Don't overtax yourself,” Lupin warned, catching you before you left the foyer. “Be smart.”

“I'm fine, Remus,” you bit, pulling away from him.

You followed them into the kitchen, pretending not to be jealous at the easy contact between Harry and Hermione. You knew there was nothing romantic between them, and you loved their friendship. His depth of love for his friends was one of the things you admired most about him. But her ability to touch him so freely, a luxury you could only imagine, made your stomach twist.

To distract yourself, you set to work making some tea and preparing your supplies. Usually, the three of them would chat amongst themselves, strategizing, reminiscing, poking fun, but they were strangely quiet. The house sat heavily around the four of you, the silence almost tangible, broken only by the cottages occasional creak and groan.

When you set Hermione’s tea in front of her, made just the way she likes it, plus a pinch of goldenrod for the pain, she barely managed a whispered ‘thank you’. Her face was buried in the crook of Ron's neck while he held her close.

Oh, how lucky they were to be loved out loud, even if they hadn't admitted it to themselves yet.

Harry was leaning against the counter, eyes flitting anxiously between his friends and you, so you poured him a cuppa as well.

When you brought it to him, intending to set it on the counter beside him, he instead reached out to take it from you. His cool fingertips brushed yours over the heated ceramic. “Thanks,” he murmured, voice gravelly.

“’Course,” you said through the tightness in your throat. His touch lingered a moment longer before he brought the warm cup to his chest.

You set up your supplies and sat beside Hermione, gesturing for her to set her injured arm on the towel you laid out. She obliged, grimacing when the drying blood pulled at her skin.

As gently as you could, you used a rag soaked in warm water and antiseptic to clear away the blood. You nearly recoiled when the injury revealed itself.

Mudblood.

“Hermione, what—” you gasped.

“Bellatrix,” Ron hissed. “Tortured her while we were locked up.”

You were speechless, shocked to your core, and instinctively turned to Harry, but he was looking at Hermione's arm, eyes swimming with pain.

“I'm so sorry,” you whispered, turning back to Hermione.

She shook her head, dismissing your sympathy. “Just do what you can,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please,” she added.

So you did. Bellatrix had used an enchanted blade, so the word would scar, but with some time and attention, you were able to get the wound partially healed, and most importantly, the pain under control.

At one point you had urged the boys to go get cleaned up, their brooding energy weighing on your heart, but neither budged an inch. Ron stayed glued to Hermione’s side, catching every one of her tears, while Harry hovered over your shoulder, only moving away when you needed something, like fresh gauze or a refill of your tea. A strong herbal blend you developed to keep you focused during long nights spent studying in the common room.

It had come in handy more times than you cared to admit since the war began.

You secured the last bandage around her forearm, and looked up to find her asleep on Ron's shoulder, his head leaned against hers, eyes closed.

The roll of gauze was lifted from your hand, and you felt Harry's heat at your back. Even blindfolded and deaf, you'd be able to sense him anywhere.

“What are you—”

“Cleaning up,” he replied. “You've done enough.” His tone was gentle but firm, and you rolled your eyes.

“Me? I've been sitting here for days while you—”

“And I'm sure you worried yourself half-to-death,” he cut you off, and you clamped your mouth shut. “I can put away some bottles while you rest for a second,” he said, grabbing the vials from in front of you.

“Can't help but worry about you,” you muttered petulantly.

Harry's footsteps paused just behind you, and your breath caught in your throat. Then, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, warm and solid and home, and he buried his face into the curve of your shoulder.

“Please don't,” he whispered, exhaling a shaky breath. “Because if you ever asked me to stay—”

“I would never ask you to stay.” Tears burned behind your eyes, heart aching with relief and something too similar to grief to bear another name. You twined one of your hands with his, the other coming up to tangle in his dark waves. “That’s why I asked to go with you.”

His grip tightened. “I would never ask you to go.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I know.”

Ron stirred, and Harry slid his arms from around you, leaving you cold. You wiped the tears from your face before he could see them, though you had no doubt he knew they were there.

“Ron, you gotta take Hermione to bed,” Harry said, shaking his friends shoulder, and Ron came fully awake.

Ron gave a grunt in acknowledgment, then lifted Hermione into his arms, cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Thanks, mate,” Ron said to you, nodding his head.

“No need to thank me. Just glad you're all alright,” you replied, waving him off.

“Me too.” He glanced at Harry, something unspoken passing between them, before turning and carrying Hermione down the hall to her room.

The silenced stretched between you until it became unbearable. “I guess I'll head to bed before Lupin bites my head off,” you joked, though it landed flat.

Harry, sweet, always supportive Harry, gave you a weak smile anyways. You knew he wouldn't ask you to stay up, even though he'd likely be up until sunrise, but it still hurt when he answered with a single nod and turned away, walking into the living room without another word.

You had just climbed into bed when there was a knock on your closed door. Wiping away the tears that had collected once again, you pulled open the door, fairly certain you would find Lupin or Tonks standing there, ready to scold you for not going to sleep when your were told.

Harry stood in the dark hall, his glasses reflecting the silver moonlight like coins. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Sorry? For wha—” Harry pushed through the door, directly towards you. You barely had time to gasp before he was grabbing your face and hauling you in for a messy, breath-taking kiss. He kicked the door shut with his foot, the bang a little too loud for the quiet house, but Harry didn't falter for a second. You barely heard it though, your ears ringing as your blood rushed under your skin, your mouth moving instinctively against his, matching every desperate push and ravenous pull.

His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips and tangling in your hair and pressing at your back, like he wanted to fold you under his skin, fuse your bodies together in every way imaginable.

“Harry,” you whimpered when he broke the kiss to breathe, your lungs burning along with the rest of you. It took you a moment to register that he was crying. “Harry, what—”

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I couldn't—” a strangled sound cut off his words and he sank to his knees, his grip on your hips going slack. “I tried, I—”

“I-I don't know what you mean,” you said, fighting back your own confused tears as you stroked his hair, his face buried into your abdomen.

“I thought I could wait, could keep you from getting too close, but I—I can't.” Harry looked up at you, pain-stricken face streaked with tears and glasses crooked, his mouth pulled down in a sorrowful curve. “I need you, but I can't risk losing you.”

You lowered yourself to his level, taking his face in your hands and drying his tears with you shirt sleeve. “You aren't going to lose me,” you tried to soothe, but your own emotion made your voice tremble. You both knew that it was entirely possible one or both of you would die in this war. Countless others had, and if love could overpower mortality…so many lost would still be living.

He shook his head. “If they know about you, what you mean to me—they'll—” another sob ripped from his chest, and it felt like it ripped out your heart with it, the sound so agonizing you wanted to cover your ears. “What they did to Hermione—I can't hear you scream like that, I can't—”

You were left speechless, crushed under the weight of what your friends, your Harry, must have experienced. Had one thing been different, he wouldn't here right now, in your arms where he belonged. You never would have kissed him, never would have held him, never would have known—

“Just tonight, then,” you whispered, watery and half-pleading. “Just one night, Harry, please.”

“I don't want just one night,” he snapped, though you know his sudden anger wasn't directed at you. “I don't want to wait. I don't want to fight. I don't want to be Harry fucking Potter. I just—” his breathing was labored, his jaw flexing under your palms. “I just want to be yours.”

“Harry—” your voice caught on the words, so used to swallowing them that speaking them felt as foreign as it did exhilarating. “Harry, I love you.” His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching. “In my heart, you're mine. You're my Harry.”

He opened his eyes, their green brighter than you'd ever seen it, stark against the red of his lids and black of his damp lashes. “I love you too. So fucking much,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your inner wrist, up your forearm until he reached your lips, molding them together in a timid, salt-licked kiss.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him closer, and he quickly reciprocated, deepening the kiss until it reached the same fervor as before. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, racing alongside yours as he reached behind you and yanked your quilts and duvet onto the floor.

You were about to ask why when he kissed his way down your neck, leaning you back onto the pile of blankets. His body weight was warm and delicious pressed against you, filling a space long empty in your chest, and you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“So soft,” he murmured, nursing a spot under your ear that made you gasp, the sound twisting into a breathless moan. His hips canted forward in response, an involuntarily flex of muscles, and he whined. “Sorry, lovely. I'm so sorry—”

You silenced him by dragging his mouth back to yours and kissing him as fiercely as you could. Testing the waters, you rolled your hips against his, fiending for even a little friction, and it was his turn to gasp. You seized your opportunity and licked into his mouth, chasing his tongue with yours, and he completely melted into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands sliding under your shirt to paw at your bare skin. He kissed back down your neck, teasing the sensitive spot he found and making you squirm. You felt him hardening rapidly against your hip, losing his breath every time your hips bucked into his.

“Harry,” you pleaded, not entirely sure what you were asking for, only that you needed more of him. All of him.

He grunted when you shifted to roll your hips directly against the bulge of his cock, the thin fabric of your shorts doing little to mask the rough texture of his jeans. One of his hands slipped from your body to undo his pants, his weeping, flushed cock springing free and slapping against your lower belly.

“Baby, I need to—Merlin, I'm so sorry,” he panted against your neck as he pulled your shorts and panties to the side. He spread his fingers through your slit, exposing your drooling pussy to the cold air of the room. He plunged one finger in, then another, stretching you with quick, deliberate strokes that had you keening.

“Please fuck me, please, please, please,” you babbled, digging your nails into his back when he withdrew his fingers to fist his cock, dragging the head through your slick and coating himself in your honey.

“Baby, fuck, you're so wet. My good girl, yeah?” He peppered your throat and chest with kisses, like he was atoning for some great sin while he pushed that first few inches into your tight heat. You cried out, and he clamped a hand over your mouth, startling you both. “Sh, sh, have to be quiet f'me. I’ll be gentle, but I just need to—” His hips stuttered forward another inch when your gooey walls clamped around him. “Fuck, lovely, I'm sorry, you just feel so—”

You lifted your hips and he slid a bit deeper, sinking nearly half-way into the wet grip of your cunt, and he made a pained sound in his throat, your own mewl muffled by his rough palm. Your whole body was humming with pleasure, like he was ripping through the dark curtains of your soul and letting the light finally spill out.

“Fuck, I'm sorry.” He rested his forehead against yours, biting the back of his hand covering your mouth to keep from crying out as he pushed deeper, almost there. “I love you, and I'm trying to go easy but saints. You make it so hard to be good.”

You nodded desperately, locking your eyes onto his and trying to convey what you wanted. I know you love me, but fuck me like you hate me.

His eyes searched your face. “Tell me what you want, love,” he said, removing his hand from your mouth to grip your jaw.

“I don't want to hold back anymore,” you replied, voice breathy and high.

Something in him snapped. His hips thrust forward, his pelvis smacking against yours as he finally bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, the stretch bright and delicious.

“Fucking hell, you're so goddamn tight,” Harry growled against your neck, grinding his hips against yours. You'd be shocked to hear him speak so roughly, but you were on another planet, nails carving lines down his back as you clung to him.

His fingers dug into to meat of your thigh, lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist, helping him drive even deeper as he started pounding into you. Long, deep strokes that had your mind-melting, toes curling, and a too-loud cry slipped free.

“Baby,” he scolded, covering your mouth again and slowing down his thrusts.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled against his palm. “Please don't stop.”

“Have to be quiet, okay?” He removed his hand, pressing a soft kiss to you lips. “Lupin will kill me.”

“Lupin can bite me,” you giggled, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Harry smiled against your mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently. He snapped his hips forward, knocking the air out of your lungs as pleasure bolted through you. “He'll have to go through me first,” he purred.

Seeing this more assertive side of Harry was doing funny things to your brain and your heart, your pussy fluttering around his iron length.

Was this what it was like to be his?

You pushed at his shoulder, throwing your leg to roll him over, landing in a straddle over his waist. His eyes widened in surprise, but quickly rolled back when you circled your hips, his length hitting an entirely new angle inside of you.

He tugged his shirt off, then yours, pulling you flush down against him as he fucked up into you, too impatient to hold still.

He was hitting it just right, abusing that soft spot inside of you that made your eyes cross, and you could feel your release rapidly approaching.

Sweat collected between you as your furiously ground your hips together, fucking each other with everything you had. Completely lost in the feeling of one another, desperate to push the other over the edge. The lewd slap of your sopping pussy was driving you both crazy, heightening the risk of being caught substantially, but you were too far gone to care anymore.

“Need you to come for me, baby. Please. Need to feel you, before—fuck, that's it, I’m so close—” Harry managed to get a hand between you, his middle finger making quick circles over your clit. His hips snapped up a final time, and you both were done for.

Your orgasm exploded through you, whiting out your vision with searing pleasure, and you buried your face in his neck to keep from screaming his name.

He bit down on his fist, a grunt of pleasure escaping as he continued fucking you, his thrusts growing languid and sloppy as your cunt milked him dry.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” you whined in his balmy skin, twitching and shaking in his arms as he finally sagged against the ground.

He removed his hand from his mouth, pinpricks of blood emerging from the wounds he'd sustained earlier reopening. “Saints, I love you so much. You're so beautiful,” he panted, kissing along your sweaty hairline. “Did so good for me, my lovely girl.”

“I love you too,” you sighed happily, nuzzling into the space under his jaw and brushing your lips against his light layer of stubble, letting your body relax into his.

He ran his fingers through your hair, holding you close as he caught his breath, the two of you basking in the afterglow.

“I meant what I said—anyone that wants to hurt you will have to go through me first,” he murmured after a few moments of quiet, his voice turning serious. “I'll do everything I can to protect you.”

You pushed yourself onto your elbow, meeting his eyes. They were shadowed with uncertainty, a bit glassy with collecting tears. His hand came up to hold your cheek, his thumb smoothing a long your kiss-stung lips.

“Whatever happens, this will be worth it,” you said, trying to inject as much conviction into your voice as you could, though seeing his tears brought your own back to the surface. “Even if this is the only night we get, it's worth the risk.”

He nodded, bringing your lips together in an airy, tearful kiss. “You're worth fighting a war for,” he whispered, catching your tears with his thumb. “And I'll get you to the other side of it if it's the last thing I do.”

You shook your head, burying it into his neck as a sob forced it's way up your throat. “I’d rather you take me with you.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his grip tightening as he forced your head up again. “You have to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll live to help build what comes next.” You started to shake your head again, but he didn't let you. “Promise me.”

“I can't—”

“You can. And you will. This world is better with you in it, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours. “And I'll promise to do everything I can to stay with you.”

You drew in a shaky breath, your heart so full you could hardly breathe. “I promise, Harry.”

He flipped you beneath him, molding your lips together like it would set your promises in stone. “No more tears,” he murmured. “Tonight, we’re celebrating.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi there!! Could you write about the moment Spencer realized reader was his everything? I think this sort of thing happens during a really mundane part of the day and it HITS him. Then shes staring at him, like, dude are you okay? I realize this is prob a bit vague but I trust you with this!! 

everything — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, ( emotional ) fluff fluff fluff <3 a/n: hi hi ! i hope this is what you asked for :)

Spencer was sprawled across the couch, his head resting against the armrest as he read his book.

You watched him for a moment, your arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway, an amused smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t unusual for Spencer to lose himself in a book, but even you had your limits when it came to late-night reading marathons.

“Spencer,” you dragged out his name. “Are you done reading ? ”

He didn’t look up immediately, too engrossed in his book. You stepped closer, now standing directly above him, your shadow falling over the pages of his book. Finally, he blinked, tilting his head back to look at you, upside down from his position, and his lips curled into a smile that never failed to make your stomach flutter.

“Why?” he asked, though his voice told you he already knew the answer.

You pointed at the clock on the wall. “Because it’s 2 a.m., and I’m sleepy,” you said, punctuating your words with a gentle boop to the tip of his nose.

Spencer’s nose scrunched slightly at the contact, but his smile only widened.Rounding the couch, you finally saw him the right way up, his hair slightly mussed from how he’d been lying. You plucked the book from his hands, ignoring his half-hearted, protesting noise as you slipped the handmade bookmark, the one you’d gifted him after your second date, between the pages to save his place.The memory of that day flashed in your mind, his surprised, delighted grin when you’d handed it to him, the way his fingers had traced the stitching. Even now, the sight of it nestled between the pages sent a warm rush through your chest.

Spencer had pushed himself upright, his fingers flexing slightly in the absence of his book, but the moment you turned back to him, his feigned annoyance melted away. Your fingers brushed against his, and he let you pull him up from the couch with ease.

“Let’s just go to bed, pleaseee,” you whined, pressing yourself against him in a brief, clinging hug, your face buried in the soft fabric of his sweater.His arms wrapped around you instinctively, one hand smoothing over your back.

“Okay, okay,” he relented against your hair. With a small sigh, he pulled away just enough to guide you down the hallway, his fingers still intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knuckles. Spencer flicked the light on in the bathroom with his free hand, the sudden brightness making you squint for a moment before your eyes adjusted.

“What were you reading, by the way?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe as he stepped inside.

Spencer’s lips quirked up at the question, not because it was unexpected, but because he loved that you always asked. Even when he rambled about obscure historical facts or complex scientific theories, you listened.

“Just rereading War and Peace,” he admitted as he reached for your toothbrush.

You snorted. “Pretty sure you say that at least ten times a week.”

He chuckled, squeezing the toothpaste onto the bristles before handing it over. “Twelve, actually,” he corrected lightly.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you began brushing your teeth, leaning into Spencer’s side for balance as exhaustion crept back in. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep, and you swayed slightly, your shoulder pressing against his arm.Spencer watched you in the mirror, his gaze soft as he brushed his own teeth at a slower pace. A loose strand of your hair had fallen forward, dangerously close to catching a glob of toothpaste, and he reached over, gently tucking it behind your ear with careful fingers.

You caught his movement in the reflection and turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. With a mouth full of foam, you gave him the best toothpaste-grin you could muster, lopsided and ridiculous, and Spencer’s nose crinkled as he laughed around his own toothbrush.

And that’s when it hit him.

Crash was a better word.

His movements stopped. Completely.

You barely noticed at first, too busy spitting out your toothpaste and rinsing your brush before leaning against him, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. But Spencer hadn’t moved. His toothbrush hung limply in his hand, foam still in his mouth, his wide, honey-brown eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror.

The love, raw and overwhelming, spread through him like wildfire, burning away every coherent thought. It settled in his chest, made his heart ache in a way that was almost painful. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. It was the kind of love that terrified him, not because he feared it, but because it was so big, so all-consuming, that he didn’t know how to contain it.

You had practically closed your eyes by now, swaying slightly on your feet as you rested against him, but even in your half-asleep state, you noticed. Spencer always took longer to brush his teeth, but this was different.

“Spence?” Your voice pulled him from his trance. His gaze flickered to yours in the mirror.

Finally, he spit out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth, and set his toothbrush down with deliberate slowness. Then he turned to you fully, his hands hovering at your waist like he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or memorize every detail of this moment.

“You—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “I what?” You reached up absently to straighten the collar of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his warm skin, but your eyes never left his.

Spencer exhaled, shaky and soft, as if the breath had been punched out of him. His hands finally settled on your hips, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of your sleep shirt.There was a long silence. You didn’t rush him. You just rested your palms against his chest.

And then, after a minute that stretched into eternity, he spoke. “I love you.”

A smile tugged at your lips immediately, automatic, because this wasn’t new. This was a phrase woven into the fabric of your lives, whispered against skin and murmured in the dark, a truth as constant as the stars. You opened your mouth to say it back, but Spencer wasn’t finished.

“Like so much,” he continued. His hand slipped from your hip, trembling slightly as it cradled your face instead, his thumb brushing over the curve of your cheekbone. “More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.”

His eyes, wide, earnest and devoted, searched yours, as if begging you to understand the depth of what he couldn’t articulate.

"Statistically, the human language has approximately 170,000 words in active use, but none of them—none of them—come close to..." His words trailed off as his brow furrowed in that particular way it did when his brilliant mind was racing faster than his mouth could follow. His fingertips continued their delicate exploration of your face, tracing the curve of your eyebrow, the slope of your nose, the bow of your lip , as if trying to memorize you through touch alone.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

"The human heart beats approximately 100,000 times per day." His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. "Mine...mine stutters every time you smile at me. And there are also roughly 37.2 trillion cells in the human body," his fingers ghosted along your jawline, "and I'm certain every single one of mine is wired to recognize you."

When he finished his small speech, he booped your nose gently, mirroring your earlier gesture. But where your touch had been playful, his was trembling slightly.

You stared at him, any lingering sleepiness instantly burned away. Just two minutes ago you'd been swaying on your feet with exhaustion; now you were wide awake.

"Spencer, what—" Your voice broke as you bit your lip, suddenly overwhelmed. The tears that had been threatening at the corners of your sleepy eyes now spilled over, tracing warm paths down your cheeks that his thumbs immediately moved to catch.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he mumbled softly, a slight pout forming on his lips even as his own eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Spencer Reid," you breathed between watery laughs, "you just made the most romantic declaration on earth and you expect me not to cry?" Your voice cracked as another tear escaped, this one catching on your smile.

His fingers followed its path, brushing against the curve of your lip where it had landed.

Your hands found their way to his wrists. "You literally calculated your love for me in cellular biology and cardiology."

"I was just stating facts," he murmured, a smile playing at his lips. His thumbs continued their gentle sweeping motions across your cheeks, catching each new tear as it fell. You brought his knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there.

"I'm not a genius like you," you admitted after a long pause, still trying to reconcile the enormity of what he'd confessed in your bathroom at 2 AM. "But I do love you so much it feels like..."

Your free hand came up to rest over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your palm. "Like every time you walk into a room, my whole body sighs in relief. Like my lungs remember how to breathe when you're near. Like..." You hesitated, searching his face. "Like if someone asked me to define home, I'd just say your name."

Spencer's breath caught audibly, his fingers tightening around yours almost imperceptibly. In the golden bathroom light, you watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion: "That's...remarkably precise for someone who claims not to be a genius." The joke broke the tension, and you both laughed.

"We should..." He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom, his usual eloquence failing him for once.

You nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah. Let's go to bed, genius."

And when he followed without hesitation, his fingers lacing through yours , you realized some truths didn’t need equations or calculations to be undeniable.

Love wasn’t measured in heartbeats or cells.

It was measured in this: in the way he reached for you, after baring his soul. In the way his shoulders relaxed the moment your head settled against his chest. In the quiet certainty that no matter how many late nights or early mornings awaited you both, he’d always be there, book in hand, heart in his eyes, waiting for you to pull him back to where he belonged.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 2

A normal person should be allowed to have normal problems, right? You’re no exception. You have a job that forces you to get out of bed at 8 AM, a shitty apartment that needs to be cleaned and tidied from time to time, bills to pay.

You have a life, you’re busy. But god, you’re exhausted!

You may be an adult, but you’re still young, and sometimes you just need to take a little break from everything!

So when you decide to spend your money on a modest trip to the countryside, staying in a secluded but cozy cabin, you’re finally able to relax…

CRASH!

Or maybe not.

Yandere! Alien who crashes his ship near your cabin, and is pretty much trapped in the debris.

Yandere! Alien who you manage to find through all the metallic rubble, using all your strength to drag his large body to your cabin. Tending to him despite your raw confusion and fear. Trying your best to steady your shaking hands to clean his wounds. How were you supposed to clean a wound again? Ugh! Maybe reddit knows?

Yandere! Alien who in his almost unconscious state, looks at you through half lidded eyes, taking in your soft features and small frame. You look so cute with his blood all over your hands! He can’t believe he got saved by such an adorable human. He needs to learn your culture so he can court you properly. Oh! Will you accept him right away or will you wait a little? Will you come live with him on his planet or should he just remain here with you?

Yandere! Alien who eventually passes out with a lazy smile painting his face, dreaming of how your relationship will develop.

Yandere! Alien who wakes up the next day with waves of pain rushing through his body. But he can only focus on the faint smell that envelops him. The bed he’s lying in…it must be yours! It smells just like you. He takes a deep breath, taking in your sweet aroma. He then gets up from the bed slowly, letting out a groan, he ventures through the cabin until he finds you.

Yandere! Alien who sees you pacing around the living room with a tired and stressed look. Oh, his poor human. You didn’t expect to meet him, neither did he. But don’t worry, he’ll take care of you from now on. After all, you saved him, so it’s the least he can do!

Yandere! Alien who clings to you constantly. He just can’t be away from you! You smell so good, and you’re cute, and small, and so...his. He thought that physical contact was the universal way to show affection, so why are you trying to push him away when he hugs you? It must be a game, right? Yeah, you’re just being silly!

Yandere! Alien who tries to learn your language through shows and movies, while also trying to learn a more human way to court you. It isn’t perfect, but at least you can understand him now.

Yandere! Alien who completely ruined the normality of your life. Having to take him to your house and give him a home. Cause who knows what could happen to him if you don’t? What if the government finds him and experiments with him in a lab? You don’t want that in your conscience!

Yandere! Alien who hates when you go to work. But if he finds out that you’re going out with your friends or, God forbid, a man? Oh, yeah, you’re definitely not leaving. Have fun trying though.

Yandere! Alien who enjoys seeing you struggle against his grip. He’s so much larger and stronger than you. You could bite, scratch, and push as much as you want. It practically tickles him, and it only makes him look down at you with those lovestruck, condescending eyes of his.

Yandere! Alien who’s romantic advances don’t go unnoticed by you, but you just don’t know what to do anymore! You’ve tried your best to make your intentions clear. You saved him, you took him, and you’ll keep him for now. That’s it. You’ve tried telling him countless times that you don’t like him in that way, so why doesn’t he stop cuddling you and asking you to marry him?!

Yandere! Alien who daydreams about his future with you. He’s starting to like earth, so he truly wouldn’t mind living here with you forever. It has nice movies, food that doesn’t exist on his planet, and a funny thing called ‘internet’. He can’t leave your apartment unless it’s nighttime, so when he found out that he could interact with other humans and learn more about your world through this ‘internet’ he was ecstatic! He started learning ways to court you, to treat you, to make you laugh. He even found a website where he can learn how to please you! That one will come very handy once you two get married.

Yandere! Alien who can’t wait to make you officially his…

This is the first time I write for something that isn't school, so this is very new to me. Please excuse my amateur ass, and if you find any mistakes please let me know, cause English isn't my first language. I would really like some feedback, so be as mean as you want, I just want to grow as a writer, even if nobody reads this. Kisses <3

[phosphorusab]

Thinking about how despite needing to be invited in, Remmick always forces himself into where he is explicitly not allowed. He doesn’t understand racial tensions in Jim Crow Mississippi but also can’t comprehend Normal Fucking Boundaries. He hasn’t been human for so long that he either forgot, or he just doesn’t care.

He is a predator in every sense of the word. Every vampire that he or his followers create are made without their consent or knowledge of what vampirism entails. Every time he’s invited inside he achieved it through lying, manipulation or coercion. And he thinks it’s fine because he has a borderline religious mission to save souls from death and assimilate them into his cult of personality.

I counted the amount of onscreen romantic relationships that Remmick either ruins or forced himself into - I’ve come to a total of 5 couples.

1. This happens basically offscreen so I think it’s left up to interpretation, but Remmick did not turn Joan. He sits comfortably in a chair and watches Burt (influenced by Remmick) violently force himself on his wife to turn her into a vampire. And I have reason to believe that, considering the way he speaks to Grace.

2. After turning Bo Chow, Remmick learns of the existence of his wife Grace and their daughter Lisa. Threatening Lisa’s life by itself should have (and would have) been enough for Grace to let him inside, not even mentioning the safety of the whole town. But he doesn’t. What he does is flip through Bo’s memories like files, and find an extremely intimate and personal one of Bo and Grace having sex. And because this is a memory, this isn’t from a third person perspective, this is Bo’s perspective of going down on his wife that Remmick has voyeured himself to. And he lets Grace know it too, in her and Bo’s native language. He tells her that he knows how to have sex with her because he thrifted through her dead husband’s memories, all while Bo stands next to him. I can’t even tell if he was just trying to anger her to let him inside, or if he Genuinely Thought that he was Entitled to the bodies of all of his followers - they share all of their memories, what’s yours is his and what’s his is yours.

3. Pearline is turned into a vampire (by Remmick IIRC). So now Remmick has access to her memories, including her having sex with Sammie, whom he’s obsessed with. So that’s Fuckin Great. And then she dies. Sammie never forgets losing Pearline, he names his band after her. There’s also no mention of him ever marrying or having a family IIRC, so he might not have ever moved on from her.

4. He turns Cornbread, who dies a second time, leaving his wife behind.

5. Annie is about to be turned into a vampire and Smoke follows through on his promise of mercy killing her if that ever came to pass. Then Smoke is killed in a shoot out with the Klan - the same Klan that Remmick had said he was going to ‘rectify’ and Never Did, because he wanted to go some place where he was explicitly Not Invited.

The only relationship that comes out somewhat unscathed is Stack and Mary, but Stack will always have to live with the fact that he is separated from his best friend, his identical twin, forever - and he only has Mary to blame, but he also only has her eternal company.

We talk a lot about the racial assimilation of Remmick’s cult, but not about the boundaries of the relationships he destroyed.

[hanniebaeee]

Something Like Love

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, suggestive MDNI

Genre: friends/friends with benefits to lovers, fluff

Summary: You've been in love with Minho for so long, but he's already in a relationship - a really toxic one. And your best friend Jisung, who is also like your best friend with benefits, is your only source of comfort. And it looks like there's more cooking here than just benefits.

Your favorite fuzzy blanket did absolutely nothing to cushion the blow of watching Hana shove her tongue down Minho's throat in her Instagram story. You’ve watched it three times now (you didn’t even know why but you liked torturing yourself). 

Why does he stay with her? She was bossy and such a narcissist! Jisung noticed the pout on your face and sighed, plopping down beside you.

“Put that away,” He said softly, wrestling the phone off your hand and tossing it aside. 

You looked at him and saw him giving you that look. The one that made you wonder why you even want Minho in the first place.

You huffed, throwing your head back dramatically.

“She was literally eating Minho’s face like it was her last meal. And he looked so miserable, Ji. Miserable!”

Jisung raised an eyebrow as he popped open the wine bottle.

“Maybe he likes being miserable. Some people are into that. Like you and this whole ‘pining after your taken best friend’ thing.” Jisung teased, and you glared at him. 

But he just grinned, handing you a glass of wine. 

“Don’t.” you bit out. 

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? That you’re wasting your time on Minho when you could be -”

“Jisung.”

“Fine, fine.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but there was that glint in his eye. That Jisung glint. The one that promised things you didn’t want to think about right now.

Because Jisung? Jisung was safe. He was your comfort zone. The guy who knows exactly when to show up, exactly what to say (or not say), and exactly how to make you forget about Minho.

Like right now.

He set his wine down, leaned back, and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You hesitated, because you know where this is going. It wasn't like this was your first rodeo. But tonight, with Minho’s stupidly gorgeous, miserable face burned into your brain, you didn’t have the energy to resist.

You climbed into Jisung’s lap, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Let it go, babe” Jisung said softly. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. But you can make out with your incredibly sexy boy here to forget about him.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“Ridiculously good in bed,” he shot back, leaning in closer.  

“Why am I even friends with you?”  

“Because I’m the only one who puts up with your Minho obsession and gives you orgasms on the regular.”  

You slapped his arm, but he caught your hand, tugging you closer with a smug grin.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice dipping. “Let me take care of you.”  

And that’s how it always is with Jisung. No questions. No strings. Just heat and comfort and the kind of laughter that made your tummy ache.

—-

Later, when you were lying in bed, thoroughly spent, he ran his fingers through your hair.

“You know, I’d treat you way better than Minho ever could.” Jisung teased. 

“Please. You’d annoy the crap out of me within a week.” you snorted. 

“True,” he admitted with a grin, kissing the top of your head. “But at least I wouldn’t make you cry.”

And damn it, if that didn’t make your stupid heart skip a beat.

You weren’t entirely sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was the way Minho had looked at you, all big, sad eyes and that faint pout you couldn’t resist.  

Jisung smirked like the devil himself as he whispered, “We’re gonna regret this so hard, aren’t we?”  

Of course you did. 

The Christmas market was magical, with the twinkling lights, the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine, and obviously, the company of your friends - but Hana managed to suck the joy out of it faster than the Grinch with a vacuum cleaner.  

The mulled wine was too hot. The fudge was too sweet. The carols were too loud.

You gritted your teeth, gripping Jisung's arm so tight. Why the hell were you all letting her lead the way?! 

Hana stopped in front of a stall selling silk scarves and picked up a bright pink one. 

“Oh this would look good on me,” She announced, and Minho winced before gently saying, “It’s not really your color,” 

“Stop thinking about strangling her with that scarf, love.” Jisung whispered in your ear. 

You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth as Hana shot you a glare. “Something funny?”  

“Nope,” Jisung said smoothly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Just enjoying the festive spirit.”  

“Can you not be so clingy?” Hana snapped at Jisung after she saw him move a strand of hair off your face. “It’s so… obvious.”

“Hana please-” Minho tried. He did.  

“Obvious?” you repeated, voice colder than the December air.

Hana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a condescending smirk.

“I mean, really. Do you need him to hold your hand all the time?” 

It took everything in you not to lunge at her, and only Jisung’s firm grip on your wrist stopped you from doing something you’d regret.  

“Relax,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “She’s not worth it.”  

“I need to use the bathroom,” you hissed, yanking Jisung on your way, brushing past Minho.

“Why does he need to go with you?” Hana called after you, but you didn’t even glance back.

You stormed through the market, weaving past stalls until you found a quiet corner near a stand selling candied nuts. The scent was almost enough to calm you down. Almost. 

“I swear to god, Sungie, I’m gonna -”  

Before you could finish, Jisung spun you around and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Breathe,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “She’s not worth the jail time.”  

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but your anger was already starting to melt under his touch.

“I just - ugh, she’s so -”  

“I know baby, I know,” Jisung said with a little chuckle.  

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself. 

“You’ve gotta let it go, babe. And honestly…” He grinned, his lips brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re way cuter when you’re happy.”

“You’re so smooth,” you murmured, but your hands were already fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.  

“And yet, here we are,” he teased, before finally kissing you.  

It definitely wasn’t the first time, of course, but it always felt new with Jisung. 

When you finally pulled back, your anger had dissolved into something softer, something sweeter.  

“You good now?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.  

“Better,” you admitted, resting your head against his chest.  

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from the world. “Now, let’s get back out there before Hana convinces Minho to buy her that ugly scarf.”  

“Do we have to?” You groaned.

“Hey, you dragged me here,” he pointed out with a grin.  

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”  

“I am,” he said, tilting your chin up to kiss you again. “Always.”    

The Christmas market outing hadn’t been great, but dinner was starting to look even worse. You all sat at a cozy little restaurant, candlelight flickering over the table while festive decorations twinkled. It should’ve been perfect. 

But then there was Hana.  

Minho had been eyeing the beef stew on the menu with excitement.

“I want to try this,” he said, but Hana barely looked up from her phone.

“That’s too heavy. Order the grilled salmon instead. It’s better for you.” she said, her bossy tone dimming the mood instantly.

Minho’s expression faltered as he said, “I kind of wanted the -”

“Salmon,” Hana interrupted, snapping her menu shut with finality. “Trust me. It's better.”  

You gripped your menu so hard you were surprised it didn’t rip in two. You wanted to stab her with the fork. No wait, you wanted to slap some sense into Minho.

But before you could actually do anything, you felt Jisung's hand on your thigh, his long fingers squeezing gently. 

“Salmon it is,” Minho muttered, deflating like a popped balloon. 

When the waiter came to your table, you watched Minho order two of those damn salmon.

 “I’ll have the beef stew, please.” you heard yourself say.

Jisung immediately chimed in, “And I’ll take the gnocchi.”

You snapped your head toward him, because you've been wanting that gnocchi. He winked at you and said, “It’s called teamwork, babe.”  

Your heart did a weird flip. Damn him and his perfectly calculated sweetness. Your eyes moved towards Minho, who was now clicking some pictures of Hana, and then to Jisung's hand on your thigh.

You placed a hand on top of his and squeezed tight.

—--

The food arrived a short while later, and Hana’s sharp eyes immediately darted to the beef stew in front of you. 

Without a word, you pushed your plate toward Minho.

“Here. Trade with me.” you said. 

Minho blinked, startled.

“What? No, I can’t -”  

“Minho,” you said softly, “it's ok, I want you to have it.”

He hesitated, glancing between you and Hana, whose mouth had tightened into a thin line.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his cheeks pink. 

“Positive.” You smiled, even as your heart twisted.  

Minho hesitated for another moment before switching plates with you.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice full of something you couldn’t quite place.

Before you could start on the salmon, Jisung slid his gnocchi in front of you and took the salmon for himself.

“Sungie, you didn't have to-” You stared at him, half smitten and half exasperated.

“It's for the greater good, you can thank me later,” he said cheerfully, digging in.

Hana’s glare could’ve frozen molten lava, though.

“Do you two always make everything about yourselves?”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, giving her a shit-eating grin.

“Mostly yeah.” he said, and you didn’t miss the way Hana’s eyes narrowed.

As you all fell silent, focusing on your food, you couldn't help but feel a weird pull in your heart. And it had nothing to do with Minho. And everything to do with this messy haired boy sitting beside you.

The cold air bit at your face as you and Jisung stepped out of the restaurant, the distant glow of holiday lights softening the edges of the night.

Now, you were walking side by side through the bustling city streets, holding hands. Snowflakes fluttered down, catching in his messy hair, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.  

You stopped walking, your breath clouding in the cold air. “Why are you so good to me, Sungie?”  

He stopped too, surprised at the abrupt halt and the unexpected question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, making him look absolutely adorable. 

“Because I’m a mess,” you said, half-laughing, half-starting to cry. “Because I keep dragging you into this whole thing with Minho and I feel like I'm so damn selfish…you don't deserve this, Sungie-”  

“I'm doing this for me, not for you or anyone else. Can you try to accept that? I like being with you, ok?” he interrupted, his tone light but his eyes giving him away.  

Your stomach dropped. 

“Relax,” he added quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into that familiar smirk. “I’m just saying… I care about you. That’s it. No strings, no expectations. We agreed on that.”  

It was so Jisung - offering everything without asking for a damn thing in return. And it made you want to cry and kiss him all at once.  

So, you did the latter.

You stepped closer, gripping at his jacket tightly to pull him down to meet your lips. His breath hitched as you kissed him, soft at first, then deeper as he kissed you back.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as the world around you faded into nothing but the warmth between you two. 

When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, he let out a breathless laugh.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For being too good for your own good.” You smiled, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“Oh? Are you planning to ‘thank’ me properly?”  he asked, raising an eyebrow, his grin turning wicked.

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you whispered, “Take me home then.”  

---

The second you stepped into his apartment, your back hit the door as Jisung kissed you like a man possessed. His hands were busy pulling your jacket off you, followed by your sweater and everything else. 

You sighed as you felt his lips and hands everywhere - as if he couldn’t get enough of you. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough. “You have no idea.”  

“Then show me,” you shot back, tugging him toward the bedroom.

He chuckled, both of you stumbling into his bedroom, and onto his bed. Clothes were shed, and he was settled in between your legs as he hovered over you.

As your eyes met, you saw something you didn't before - the softness of his gaze, a longing. And it made your heart flutter. Neither of you acknowledge it, and the rest of the night was a blur of soft whispers and sweet love making.

Jisung wasn’t just good - he was great, knowing exactly what you liked. And he did give, over and over again, until you were left breathless and completely exhausted.  

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“For what?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.  

“For being you.”  

Christmas Eve at Jisung’s place was always so chaotic. You both celebrate together when you couldn't travel back home for the holidays. 

Currently his living room was a mess with half-wrapped presents scattered across the floor, the scent of gingerbread in the air, and Jisung humming Christmas songs off-key. 

This year, though, Christmas came with an unexpected guest.  

Minho stood awkwardly in the doorway, a small bag in his hand and a defeated smile on his face. He looked exhausted. 

Hana was officially out of the picture. The breakup had been messy and so damn difficult, but Minho had finally done it. 

Jisung wasted no time pulling him into a tight hug. And you did too, because he needed all the hugs and love you could give because the poor man has been through a lot.

Minho slowly relaxed, even cracked a few jokes.

But it wasn’t until later, when the three of you were cleaning up in the kitchen, that he finally let the mask slip.

“You were right about her,” Minho said quietly, leaning against the counter as he dried a glass.

You glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter, surprised by the softness in his tone. 

“Minho -”  you began, but your eyes fell on Jisung, who quickly left the kitchen, leaving you alone with Minho. You didn't know why, but it absolutely shattered your heart to see him slip away like that. 

“No, let me finish.” He set the glass down and turned to you. “I shouldn’t have dragged it out. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I was scared to let go... I liked her so much, I kept thinking she would change…but deep down, I knew.”  

You stayed silent, giving him space to continue.  

“And I knew about you,” he admitted, his voice even softer now. “That you… liked me. I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I never thought of you like that and I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've said something.”

You exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter.

“Love is weird, Minho,” You said quietly. “It's messy and complicated, and you don't have to feel bad about anything. Because you're ok, I'm ok… we're good.”

Minho’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing yours on the counter. 

“You and Jisung? I think it's great. He is such a nice guy, and it's so obvious that he loves you so much.” Minho said, giving you a grin. 

You smiled gently, your cheeks heating up.

“I think so too,” You whispered. “I’m glad you’re here, Lino…I’ll finish this up, you can go to bed. Get some rest, yeah?”

Minho nodded, pulling you into a quick hug before leaving the kitchen.

Your heart raced as you thought about what Minho said. You've been trying to decide how to bring it up with Jisung for a while now. But you were so afraid, because you know you wouldn't survive the heartbreak if you ever lost Jisung. 

He was everything to you. He made you feel wonderful - like the most special girl in the world. And it felt great. 

So you walked into the living room with wobbly legs, where Jisung was sitting by the Christmas tree, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. The fairy lights reflected off his skin, making him look impossibly soft and adorable. 

When he saw you, his lips curved into that familiar, heart-melting smile.

“Hey,” he said, setting the cube down. “Everything ok?”

“Sort of.” You grinned, crossing the room to him. Without a word, you slipped into his lap, your arms draping around his neck.  

Jisung’s eyes widened slightly, his hands instinctively settling on your hips. 

“Uh… not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes darting towards the guest room where Minho was. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. 

Your eyes meet as you said, “I love you, Sungie.”  

His mouth fell open, and for a second, he just stared at you, completely shocked.

“You… what?”  

“I love you,” you repeated, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I have for a while now. I just didn’t realize it until - well, until recently.” 

The disbelief melted from his face, replaced by a slow, utterly pleased smile.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

You laughed, pressing your lips to his forehead, before saying, “I love you.”

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “Because I’ve been waiting to hear that for a really long time.”  

And then he kissed you - soft at first, but quickly deepening as his hands slid up your back. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, humming softly as his tongue caressed yours.

“I love you, baby,” He whispered against your lips. “God, I love you!”

You giggle, pressing kisses to his cheeks. 

“So,” he said, “How exactly do you want to ‘celebrate’?”  

You grinned, pulling him down into another kiss. “I have a few ideas.”  

This was your Christmas. And it was perfect.

Tags:

@moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix

[beloveds-embrace]

More poly!141 please and thank you my dear 🥰🤗

Anon is banished to the timeout corner to ponder on their grievances

That trope of roommates reader x poly 141…

Imagine you are Desperate with a capital D. Things aren’t lookinh bright for you, broke and stressed college student, right now in general, you need a new place quickly, and as it happens, you see an all-too-good offer while apartment searching on Craigslist. Rent is within your budget and god, the place looks really good, but…

You’ll have to share with four men. Four polyamorous men apparently, but still- men. More than one. That alone should’ve made you give up on it, not even think about considering it. It’s dangerous, incredibly so. No one within their right mind would agree to it, especially when you read that they are asking for someone who is willing to take up a good bulk of taking care of the place while they travel.

It’s clearly a scam. A front to a dangerous group.

But the apartment is even better when you actually, stupidly, agree to it. The (military, you learn soon enough) men so very handsome, helping you move in your stuff- the way Price commanded them actually made your knees tremble just a little, but you are not about to get between anyone’s relationship(s).

Moreover; you really like them. Soap is funny but he’s also the one who tries to stay up with you during your late exam studies. Keyword tries because he falls asleep anyways, head lolling on your shoulder only to end up getting carried by Ghost later.

Gaz is also funny, and he often forces you to go out when you hole up yourself for long lengths of time, get some fresh air on a walk that almost always leads to him treating you to coffee and sandwiches in the little corner bakery. Also the only one to share your love for horror movies so he’s your designated partner for whenever you wanna go to the cinemas.

Ghost and Price are your unofficial guard dogs. Grocery shopping? One or both of them tags along, carrying everything without letting you touch a single thing-

“What kind of man would let a lady carry groceries? I’m not weak, sweetheart. Let go of that bag, just see what else we’ll need.”

Ghost just stares straight down at you; no balaclava, but a black surgical mask and his hood drawn up. “Don’t even think about it.”

-and they are both bulky. They don’t even have to try to appear intimidating, everyone almost subconsciously makes way for them. Never in your entire life have you had easier shopping trips. And you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve stirred awake to find yourself carried to your bed after accidentally falling asleep on the couch.

They were not lying about the lengths of time they are gone, and you understand why they had put in that ad that landed you here in the first place. Once, they were away for months, and they have no contact with you. You always worry for them, regularly checking for any possible texts and sending them updates even when no reply comes.

(You have no ideaaa they have you saved as ‘lil missus’, ‘wifey’, ‘the madame’, ‘darlin’ in their phones. Or how much they cling to your texts even when they can’t reply yet. You don’t suspect shit, but the longer the mission drags on, the more resolved they are to just come home to you as soon as possible.

The second John checks his phone and sees your text about getting stood up on a date, his jaw clenches so tightly that Soap glances over, immediately concerned. The others quickly catch on, a tension settling over the group as he reads the message aloud.

Got stood up on that date lol

Guess its just me nd a frozen pizza tonight 🤷‍♀️ yes ik u hate frozen foods but ur not here sooo

If he wasn’t so incredibly angered by the thought of you going on a date that is not with them, getting stood up, he would have focused on your little disobedience. Would have thought of making you repeat why he hates having them in the flat while you sniffle and whine, the result of him taking his palm to your ass a few dozen times for doing this behind his back, but he can’t focus on that now.

“Let’s finish this and get home,” He hisses out at last, pocketing his phone. “Missus needs a reminder who she belongs to.”

All he gets, unsurprisingly, is approving nods.)

Back in the flat, you sneeze. How strange; you had just recently finished dusting, and everything should be clean.

It’s probably nothing.

a bit more | roommate au masterlist

[marsmaximoff]

🦑 hwang jun-ho; headcanons 〇△□

content warning: gn!reader. fluff. mentions of death, coma and jealousy. pet names. no season 2 spoilers. let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 941

author’s note: well, my man is back, and i had to write some headcanons for him. the OBSESSION that i had back in 2021 needs to be studied, omg. anyway, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, english is my third language, so i apologize for any mistakes. in case i don’t post anything else this year, happy 2025 everybody!! enjoy! 🩷

divider by @k1ssyoursister

〇 pre-games

best. boyfriend. ever.

that’s it, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

🙃🙃🙃

his love languages are:

1) quality time

he may be a police detective, but he ALWAYS tries to make time for you 

and see you every day, and if he can’t, he’ll save some minutes to call you

loves to hear about your day

big on communication, that’s key on your relationship 

type of boyfriend that picks you up after work, or anything really

he just wants to see your cute face :3

takes you out on cool dates

to the park, to eat, to cute animal cafés

he’s okay with staying in too, just cuddling, talking, watching something….

and 2) acts of service 

will drive you anywhere you need

you get ‘good morning/night’ texts every single day you’re not together

makes you breakfast 

and has no problem with cooking for you

opens doors for you 

pulls out the chair at the restaurant ☝🏻

he’ll simply do anything you need

loves coming home to you, it doesn't matter how shitty or overwhelming his day was, you just put a smile on his face

his favorite thing to do with you is eating

it may sound boring, but he loves to see you taking care of yourself, well-fed and happy

takes you to meet his family

his mom loves you

even his brother likes you

he’s a tease and enjoys seeing you all flustered

i feel like he’d be the type to have many pics of you on his phone that he goes back to whenever he misses you

you’re probably his wallpaper, perhaps even on his wallet too 🤭

some pet names like: “honey”, “love”, “beautiful”, “cutie”

would never cheat

a guard dog

not super jealous -a bit tho- but won't hesitate to step up if someone acts stupid 

(picture that one scene in season 2 when that man mocked him and didn’t believe he was an actual police detective hehe)

shows you off 🤩

checks you out :p

his hand is on you in some way when you’re out

has good emotional intelligence

big spoon

reminds you to take your make up off before bed if you wear any -he may even do it himself if you're too tired

or to take meds

he is just really caring and supportive

doesn't like seeing you worried or anxious because of his job

absolutely hates to see you suffer

doesn’t mind that you may be struggling financially, it won’t change what he feels

will help you with whatever it is

just don’t hide it, he hates secrets and lies

i hate doing it, but there always has to be some 🚩 

he’s the first one that would do it (lying and hiding stuff) to ensure you’re okay and don’t get worried

on a particularly overwhelming day, he will raise his voice at you

can get really overprotective 

some days you may not hear from him, or at least not much

will sometimes struggle to open up about his issues or what’s upsetting him

△ during the games

after your sudden disappearance, worry and fear ate him up

while checking your house he found a weird card

and once he discovered the exact same one at his brother’s, he knew something was going on

heard gi-hun at the police station rambling about some weird symbols and immediately recognized the design

interrogated him about you, desperate to know about your whereabouts 

as soon as he successfully infiltrated the games, he began your search

almost had a heart attack when he spotted you

had to make the effort of his life to stay calm and not run to you

would somehow manage to get you two alone so he can get you out of there (i wrote about this)

almost gets caught

feels betrayed you didn’t tell him and quite angry you’d risk your own life like this

but mostly relieved you’re okay (and still alive)

watches you like a hawk from the distance, ensuring your safety

constantly around, you continuously sense his presence close by 

□ post-games (you died)

had to see your death and practically went numb

blurry vision, ringing in his ears, shortness of breath, sting in his throat

the worst thing tho, was finding out his brother had been behind everything

how could he have done this to you? you trusted him! 

feels completely disgusted

after his coma, he blames himself for everything

your name was his first word after waking up

dreams about you 

gets you a cenotaph given that your body will forever remain strayed

nevertheless, he still talks to you like you’re there

tells you about his recovery and his progress finding the island

you are his strongest motivation

he’s doing this for you, to provide the love of his life a much deserving peaceful rest

gets you new flowers every few days

he’ll never stop feeling guilty

〇 post-games (you survived)

has nightmares he failed and left you to meet your demise on those cursed games

always there when you have them, and so is his shoulder if you need to cry

reassurance king

hides the identity of his attacker from you

becomes even more overprotective

shared location on at all times

gets paranoid if you don’t text him all day

he swore to never miss a single detail of your possible struggles. not again

you can still tell he holds himself responsible for your time on that island

stays awake at night just watching you sleep safe and sound (will never say it tho)

babies you

bigger spoon

doesn’t let you go out on your own if it’s late, afraid that something may happen and those psychopaths will reach you again

[glamourscat]

May i please request headcanons, maybe a drabble of the batboys where reader is trying so hard to pretend that they don't know anything about their partner being a vigilante because they want to be told with trust and the boys are growing increasingly concerned about their s/o's obliviousness bcs like?? and the their s/o keeps saying things like "haha yeah!! red robin's super underground but that costume is pretty good timmy!" and "oh? i do have a thing for morally gray men, lovely red hood costume" whenever they accidentally see parts of the costume and can't pretend they didn't see it

idk i just think it would be funny af, ty in advance!!

i decided to go for drabbles. they are quite long so i only did jason and tim. should i do dick, maybe steph too, in the near future? let me know!

"You can't be serious," Jason thought. It's not that you're blind, and he’s not exactly being subtle. He knew from day one that being involved with a civilian meant the topic of his nightlife would eventually come to light. Before getting together you two had been friends for a long time, but he never quite managed to outright say, "Hey, by the way, I’m Red Hood." How do you even drop something like that into a conversation? 

Yet, as your relationship grew, more milestones came along and suddenly, you two were approaching your 2 year anniversary. Now, more than ever, as you found yourselves living together, Jason knew it was going to be harder to explain his secret. How many lies could he keep telling about going to help Roy or some emergency with Dick? How many nights could he still sneak out after you’d fallen asleep, only to return aching from a patrol?

So, he started leaving subtle hints. From his domino mask to his gloves… but hell, at this point, he might as well leave his whole costume out, because how in the hell are you not picking up on the clues?

“You know, Jay, that vigilante... What's his name? The one in red? Oh right, Red Hood. He’s pretty cool, right? I mean, he has a different approach than the others, i think some would say morally gray. I mean, hot.. Anyway, but—oh, wait, this is a lovely Red Hood costume! I didn’t know you were a fan too?!”

At that moment, Jason didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both at the same time. Maybe by accident—maybe not—he had left his entire costume out. And it wasn’t exactly cheap. The fabric was thick, heavy, it was definitely not something you’d find at a Spirit Halloween. Yet, you just folded it, didn’t ask any questions, and continued with your little chat.

“Doll, you got a moment?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible because he was seconds away from laughing his lungs out.

“Yeah, Jay?” You looked at him, internally sweating. Did you give anything away? Did he suspect that you knew?

“You know, doll… that… the costume. I mean, it’s not fake, right? I…” He sighed, trying to find the right words.

“It’s real. Because I’m the Red Hood.” There. He’d said it. A relieved sigh left his lips as the words came out. Now comes the hardest part: your reaction. Would you laugh? Be shocked?

“Oh, yeah. I knew.”

What?

“What—? I beg your pardon?” Jason asked, his voice laced with disbelief, eyes scanning you to figure out if you were lying.

“I mean, you’re not exactly the most subtle, love, are you?” You said, amusement dancing in your eyes as you tried to hold back a smile. “Besides, I found out a while ago. I was just waiting, I suppose. It wasn’t my place to ask or say anything. I figured when you were ready, you’d say something.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Wait… when did you find out?” Jason raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Well, you see… It wasn’t that hard. At the beginning of our relationship when I’d tell you, ‘Hey, I’m going out with my friends tonight,’ and then coincidentally, when something happened—because it’s Gotham, let's be honest—there you were, Red Hood, swooping in to save the day. Always fleeting, never lingering too long. But what was really odd was that both Red Hood and my new boyfriend had the exact same walk style. Not to mention, Jay, mask or no mask, costume or no costume, I could still recognize you. Even in a crowded room.”

Jason just stood there, stunned. How had he missed all the signs? A part of him was relieved, he didn’t have to keep lying, but another part of him couldn’t believe he had been so obvious. You were too sharp for him to pull anything past you. And to think he was under the impression he had you fooled…

As he looked at you, he realized there was more to your patience than just waiting for him to confess. You’d known, but you’d never pushed him. It made him wonder how long you had really been aware. But now that it was out in the open, Jason found himself surprised by how easy the weight of the secret seemed to fall away. He’d been carrying it for so long, and yet, with you, there was no judgment, no shock. Just acceptance.

"You've always been patient with me," he murmured, his voice soft but grateful.

You gave him a warm, knowing smile, stepping closer. "Because I know you, Jason. And I know what you're doing matters. It’s a part of who you are, just like everything else."

Tim was stressed, but to be fair, Tim was always stressed. You two had been dating for a good while now and had been friends for much longer. However, somehow, he still hadn’t brought up the whole vigilante thing. Maybe it was because he was scared, or maybe it was due to his own selfishness. For once, he just wanted someone to see him as Tim and only Tim. But the truth was, he couldn’t exist without Red Robin. He knew that. And it had been too long. He knew he had to say something. But… does he?

Still, something didn’t sit right with him. It was the way you weren’t questioning him anymore on why he was always so tired, why sometimes he had to be gone for an entire week or why he trained so intensely. His physique, though not the most built, was still incredibly fit for a “simple rich kid.” And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand if you were just pretending not to notice or if you honestly hadn’t put it together. But when you suggested what costumes to wear for Halloween, he almost passed out on the spot.

“Yeah, I mean, we can do a couple’s costumes or… I don’t know, Tim. We can always go as… hmm? What about we go as vigilantes? I can be Wonder Woman and you can be Red Robin. It’s pretty underground. I’m sure the costume will look great; besides, you already have a good replica in your wardrobe. Fits like a glove, no?”

Like, this had to be a joke, right? Sometimes Tim wondered if his life was some kind of reality show, secretly followed by cameras just to capture his reaction to these weird, questionable moments.

He froze for a moment, staring at you, trying to piece everything together. Was this your way of telling him you knew? Was this a test?

“Uh... you... know?” he asked, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and disbelief.

You look at him confused. “Know what?” You shrugged, casually leaning back in your chair.

Tim blinked, his mind racing. He was smart, very so, but at this very moment he felt like the most ignorant being on planet Earth. He looks at you and you look at him and for a moment there is this unspoken, silent battle.

“You know, that I am Red Robin.” he says, quietly. Eyes searching yours for an answer.

“And what if I do?” you reply back equally quietly.

He had expected a lot of things. Shock, anger, even confusion, but not this calm, almost nonchalant acknowledgment. And yet, a wave of relief washed over him. You weren’t angry or disappointed. You weren’t even all that surprised.

“I’ve always known, Tim,” you continued, your tone softening. “You’ve been dropping clues left and right. The late nights, the cryptic phone calls, the strange bruises... And don’t even get me started on your ‘training’ routines. I never pushed because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. And now, here we are. Although… I certainly did not imagine it to happen in such a way” you say, letting out a small soft laugh. 

Tim let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging in a way that felt like he’d been carrying a weight for far too long. "I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want to be Red Robin to you. I just wanted to be... just Tim."

You smiled softly, walking over to hug him. “And you are. You’re Red Robin, sure, but you’re not just that; are you? You’re Tim. My Tim. Two things can coexist at the same exact time, this is just what makes you.. You, ya know?” 

Tim stared at you for a moment, hands around your waist, his mind still processing. It was as if the entire weight of the secret identity he’d been carrying all this time suddenly evaporated. He had been so worried about how you would react, but now that it was out in the open, there was nothing left to hide.

"Thanks," he whispered, his head dropping to your neck. Hiding, but not really. It was more or so a way to feel you even closer. 

Your head gently resting against his, brushing a kiss against his hair. “Always, Tim. You’re still the same guy I fell for. I love you.”

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

[eu-nicola]

best secret

summary: while the Pogues are searching for the gold, you're left behind, trapped with your abusive father. when Rafe discovers what's going on, he steps in to save you. when the Pogues return and discover your relationship with Rafe, tensions boil over

warnings: violence, confrontation

word counter: 4384

author's note: english is not my first language

this is a request from @tracymbcm

The lights of Tannyhill shone brightly in the distance, like a beacon illuminating everything perfectly.

You were in the backyard of Tannyhill, sitting on a stone table that probably cost more than your entire house. The night was warm, but you still felt a slight chill running through your skin. It could be from the air or from the presence of Rafe Cameron, leaning against a column, looking at you with that smile that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“If JJ knew about this, he would kill me.” Your voice broke the silence, a mix of nerves and sincerity in your words.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smile widening, but his eyes never left yours.

“If JJ knew about this, he would have been dead for months.” His tone was light, as if he said it in jest, but you knew that look. He wasn’t joking.

You should have laughed, maybe even responded with a scathing comment, but the truth was that the idea of ​​JJ finding out what you were doing terrified you. How could you explain to him that after years of swearing that you hated Rafe Cameron as much as he did, you had ended up here, seeing him in secret?

“Why are you doing this, Rafe?” you asked, abruptly changing the subject. You had thought about that question many times, but you had never dared say it out loud.

Rafe stopped smiling, slowly pushing himself off the column as he made his way towards you. Each step he took seemed to charge the air around you. When he reached your side, he leaned in slightly, just enough for his intense, direct blue eyes to catch yours.

“Because with you I don’t have to pretend.”

The words hit something deep inside you, leaving a crack in your carefully constructed defenses. You looked at him, searching for any trace of lying or manipulation, but all you found was honesty, raw and unvarnished.

“That doesn’t make it any less complicated.” You tried to make your voice sound firm, but there was a slight tremor that betrayed everything.

He tilted his head, his expression softening a little.

“And that’s why you’re still here? Despite everything.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to get away, you always ended up coming back. Something about Rafe dragged you along, like a current you couldn’t avoid.

He moved closer, his hand finding your waist with an ease that made you catch your breath.

“Look at me.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but charged with intensity.

You obeyed, even though every part of you screamed not to. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, seeing parts of you no one else had noticed.

“Do you know what happens to me when you’re not around?” he asked, his tone so serious that you felt a lump forming in your throat. “It’s like everything is… empty again. You make it all make sense.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly the space between you felt nonexistent.

“Rafe…” you started, but he cut you off, shaking his head as his forehead brushed yours.

“Don’t say you don’t feel it too.”

And you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because you did. You had felt it from the first moment his lips touched yours weeks ago, from the instant he looked at you as if you were more than just a Pogue.

This time, you were the one who closed the distance. The kiss started slow, as if you were both afraid of breaking something fragile, but soon it became more urgent, more desperate. Your hands found his neck as he pulled you closer, as if he feared you might disappear at any moment.

In that instant, everything disappeared: the Pogues, JJ, the Kooks, the consequences you knew would fall upon you. Nothing else mattered. Just Rafe and you.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe leaned against your forehead, his hands still firm on your waist.

“Regretful?” he asked with that lopsided smile that always disarmed you.

“Not yet.” Your voice was more confident than you expected, though deep down you knew that answer could change.

Rafe let out a soft laugh, running a finger through a loose strand of your hair.

“You’re braver than you think, Pogue.”

“And you’re more of an idiot than you let on.”

Rafe was still so close that you could feel the heat of his body as he pulled away slightly, his fingers still absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair. His smile grew softer, less teasing, and for a moment it seemed like there was something else on his mind.

“I have an idea,” he said suddenly, his voice low, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

“What kind of idea?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe stepped back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a mix of expectation and excitement.

Rafe stepped back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a mix of anticipation and excitement.

“Tomorrow. You and me. A real date.”

That took you by surprise. Even though you’d been seeing each other on the sly for weeks, the thought of something as formal as a date hadn’t crossed your mind. Was it even possible? Your lips curved into a small smile.

“And how do you propose we do that without JJ or the guys deciding to kill you?”

Rafe shrugged, his expression confident as ever.

“You’re running away. You’ve done it before.”

“Rafe…” you started, even though you already knew you’d end up agreeing.

“Trust me. It’ll be perfect.” His eyes were shining, as if he was already imagining what it would be like. He took another step towards you and placed his hands on your hips, leaning in just enough so that his lips were just a few inches from yours. “Just you and me. No one else.”

You sighed, as if you were considering your options, but in reality your decision was made from the moment you looked into his eyes.

“Okay,” you finally relented, your voice laced with a mix of excitement and resignation.

Rafe’s smile widened.

“Meet me at Figure Eight Harbor, just before sunset. Bring something comfortable.”

“Any other directions, Mr. Cameron?” you asked, arching an eyebrow in a sarcastic tone.

Rafe leaned in and gave you a quick kiss, barely a brush, before pulling away.

“Just don’t be late.”

You watched him walk away toward the house, his steps confident and relaxed. When he turned around for the last time, he gave you a look and a smile that made your stomach turn.

That night, as you made your way back to your house, you couldn’t help but imagine what the date would be like. With Rafe, nothing was ever easy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, how he seemed to want to show you a different world, that made it worth the risk.

The next morning the morning sun streamed through the windows of your room, bathing the walls in a warmth that would normally have comforted you. But this time, you were too excited to pay attention to the small details. Today was the day. A date with Rafe Cameron.

You had woken up early, your heart racing and a smile that seemed impossible to erase. The pogues were away, completely absorbed in their quest for gold. With them gone, sneaking off to meet up with Rafe seemed easier than ever. Without JJ hovering like a hawk and Sarah suspecting a thing, you could finally relax and enjoy some alone time with him without the constant fear of being discovered.

You spent the day getting everything ready. You picked out comfortable clothes, like Rafe had suggested, but also something you knew he would appreciate: a light, simple dress that fell softly over your legs and sandals that would allow you to move around without any problems. You had tied your hair up in a carefree way, leaving a few strands loose to frame your face. You didn’t want to look overdressed, but you also couldn’t help but want to impress him. 

By the time it was time to leave, the plan seemed perfect. You just had to avoid your father, something you usually managed with ease when he was deep in his own problems. With the guys gone and his attention divided between the television and the empty beers piling up on the table, there was no reason for this time to be any different. 

Or so you thought. 

As you walked down the stairs, holding a small bag in your hand, Luke’s raspy voice echoed from the living room. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” “I’m just going for a walk,” he asked, his bloodshot eyes fixed on you.

You froze on the spot, your fingers clenching your bag tightly. You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth, but you hadn’t prepared an excuse either.

“I’m just going for a walk,” you said, trying to sound casual as you avoided his gaze.

Luke stood up from the couch with a jerk, his body swaying slightly, and you realized immediately that he was drunk. Again.

“Going for a walk?” he repeated, his tone full of mockery. “You’re not as smart as you think, kid. Do you really think you can get away without me knowing?”

Your heart began to beat faster. You tried to stay calm, but you knew how these things ended.

“It’s no big deal, Dad. I’m just going for a walk, that’s all.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” His voice rose a pitch, and the thud of a bottle falling to the floor made you take a step back. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down. “Why are you all dressed up? Huh? Who are you going to see?”

“No one,” you lied quickly, but your voice shook, and that only seemed to make him angrier.

Luke took a step towards you, and the air in the room became heavy, suffocating.

“You’ve always been a liar, just like your mother.” His words were venom, and the contempt in his voice made you clench your fists at your sides. “What? You think you can just walk away and leave me here like I don’t exist?”

Fear began to creep its way into your chest, but you didn’t let it show on your face. You had learned to hide it well, to survive moments like this.

“I’m not leaving anyone, Dad. I just want to get out for a bit.”

“DON’T MOVE!” he suddenly shouted, slamming the table so hard that the noise echoed throughout the house.

Your body tensed, your feet rooted to the ground. You stared at the door for a moment, calculating if you could escape, but you knew he would reach you before you could even turn the knob.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled as he approached, his steps firm and heavy. “Always doing whatever you want, always thinking you’re better than me.”

Every word out of his mouth was like a blow, but the real blows began soon after. He threw a glass against the wall, just inches from where you stood, and the sound of glass breaking made you instinctively step back.

“Dad, stop.” Your voice was low, but firm, even though inside you were shaking.

“STOP?” He laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re nobody to give me orders!”

You felt a lump in your throat, helplessness mixing with the pain of knowing there was no way to reason with him in this state. All you wanted was to get out of that house, get to the port, and be with Rafe, away from all of this. But with every passing second, it seemed more impossible.

Finally, you took advantage of a moment when he was distracted looking for another bottle to try and move towards the door. But when Luke noticed, his face twisted into a mix of fury and contempt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled as he blocked your way.

You were trapped. And as time continued to tick, you felt the chance to see Rafe slip through your fingers.

Away from you, as time passed, and there was no sign of you. Rafe first thought maybe you were late, but as the sun began to set completely, worry began to settle in his chest.

“Where are you?” he murmured, looking at his phone. He had texted twenty minutes ago, but you hadn’t responded. You hadn’t read the text either. 

Rafe knew something was wrong. Even though your relationship was a secret, you had never missed a date without notice, and the thought of something stopping you made him more uneasy than he was willing to admit. His jaw tightened as he climbed into his truck. No matter what the reason was, he was going to find you. 

He drove straight to your house, or as he silently called it, “Pougeland.” The Maybank home wasn’t in the best condition, and Rafe hated every second you spent there, especially because of Luke. He had heard enough about the man to know he wasn’t someone to be trusted, and the thought of you being alone with him infuriated him. 

As he approached the entrance, the sound of shouting from inside the house made his heart skip a beat. He didn’t need to confirm who they were; He recognized your voice, full of fear, and Luke's, in an angry and aggressive tone. He quickened his pace towards the door, and just as he was about to enter, he heard the sound of something breaking.

“Dad, stop!” Your voice came through clearly, desperate and scared.

That was enough for Rafe to act. He pushed the door open, the frame creaking from the force, and what he saw filled him with anger. Luke was on top of you, holding your arm as you tried to free yourself. Your face was marked, with the trace of a recent blow, and your eyes reflected both pain and terror.

“Let go of my girlfriend right now, motherfucker!” Rafe roared as he launched himself at Luke without a second thought.

Rafe’s presence startled Luke enough for him to loosen his grip for a moment, and you managed to stagger back to the side. Rafe didn’t give you time to react. He landed a punch straight to the jaw that sent him tumbling backwards, but Luke quickly recovered, attempting to strike back. 

“What the hell are you doing here, brat? It’s none of your business!” Luke shouted, furious as he tried to grab Rafe. 

“It is when you’re hurting her!” Rafe shoved him hard against the wall, his rage igniting like an uncontrollable fire. 

The two men grappled, but Rafe had the upper hand. Though Luke tried to punch him, he was too drunk to be effective. Rafe eventually tackled him to the ground, pinning him down with one knee as he gasped for air. 

“If you touch her again, I’ll kill you,” Rafe snapped in a cold, deadly voice. 

Luke let out a bitter laugh, but didn’t get a chance to respond. Rafe dropped him on the ground, unconscious from one last blow, and turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice much softer now, though his eyes still glittered with fury.

You were shaking, leaning against the wall, tears rolling down your cheeks. You nodded weakly, but Rafe saw clearly that you weren’t okay. Without another word, he picked you up, ignoring your weak protests, and carried you to his truck.

“Rafe, you don’t have to do this…” you murmured, but your voice cracked.

“Yes, I do have to,” he replied, his jaw set as he carefully placed you in the passenger seat.

He drove straight to the hospital, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. When they arrived, Rafe insisted that you be checked out, and while the doctors made sure you had no serious injuries, Sheriff Shoupe arrived to take a report.

At first, you were reluctant to speak, but Rafe stayed by your side, holding your hand as you recounted what had happened. It was difficult, but every time you hesitated, Rafe looked at you with that mix of determination and tenderness that made you feel stronger.

Finally, Shoupe nodded, closing his notebook.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to keep Luke from bothering you again. I’ll send a team to arrest him right now.”

Rafe let out a sigh of relief, though he still seemed tense. He helped you out of the hospital, and when you finally climbed back into his truck, the silence between you was charged but comforting.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you murmured, barely audibly.

He turned his head toward you, his expression softening for the first time all night.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

The days following the incident at your house were a whirlwind. After Rafe’s intervention, you’d spent more time with him than ever before. Though you’d tried to reach out to the guys, you knew they were too busy with their obsession with gold to really pay attention. On the one hand, you felt guilty for keeping secrets from them, but on the other, it hurt that they weren’t there when you needed them most.

Rafe, on the other hand, wouldn’t leave your side. After what had happened with Luke, he’d insisted that you stay at one of the Cameron properties, a place where he knew you’d be safe. Though it was strange to depend on him, you also felt more protected than ever.

When the Pogues finally returned, they were quick to notice your absence. JJ was the first to raise his voice.

“Where’s my sister?” “He asked, his tone tense as he walked down the dock.

Sarah, who had spent the last few weeks feeling guilty for leaving you behind, tried to calm him down.

“Maybe she’s at home, JJ. We can’t assume the worst.”

“Oh no? What if something happened to her while we were away looking for useless treasure?” he snapped, pointing at her.

“Easy there, buddy,” John B chimed in. “Let’s go find her and see what’s going on.”

Without wasting any more time, the Pogues hopped in the Twinkie and headed straight to your house. But when they arrived, they found the front door taped shut and the place completely empty. The sight stunned them.

“What the hell happened here?” Kiara muttered, crossing her arms as she looked at the mess.

JJ, furious, started pounding on the door with his fist.

“This doesn’t make sense!”

Sarah was the first to notice that something was out of place. From her perspective, something about the mess and the police tapes seemed familiar.

“I think this has to do with Luke,” she said quietly, looking around.

“My father?” JJ turned to her. “If that bastard did anything to him, I’ll kill him with my own hands!”

John B tried to calm him down, but it was clear that everyone was just as worried. They didn’t know where you were, and uncertainty was eating away at them.

Hours later, it was Sarah who finally found you. You were with Rafe, on a remote beach, leaning against his chest as he held you protectively. The rest of the guys arrived shortly after, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight.

“What…?” JJ was the first to react, his shocked expression giving way to uncontrollable fury. “What the hell are you doing with him?”

You pulled away from Rafe quickly, but he stayed by your side, his gaze fixed on JJ with a mix of defiance and warning.

“JJ, I can explain,” you said, but your voice was shaking.

“Explain it?” Kiara interjected, her face a mix of disbelief and disappointment. “We’re looking for you everywhere and you just happen to be here, cuddling with him!”

“How could you betray us like that?” JJ snapped, taking a step towards you. “He’s a fucking bully, a psychopath!”

“Stop it!” Rafe raised his voice, and everyone glared at him with hatred. His jaw was set, his eyes shining with suppressed fury. “While you guys were too busy on your fucking treasure hunt, I was here saving your sister from your fucking father!”

The silence that followed was deafening. The Pogues stared at him as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“What?” JJ asked, his tone lower, but still filled with distrust.

“Luke,” you finally said, your voice cracking as you tried to find the words. Luke… he attacked me.

“If I hadn’t gotten there in time,” Rafe continued, his voice sharp. “If I hadn’t been there, your father would have killed her.”

JJ’s expression changed drastically. It went from anger to fear, and then to pain as he processed what Rafe had just said.

“That can’t be true,” he muttered.

“It’s true, JJ,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Rafe saved me.”

The rest of the Pogues fell silent, processing the truth. Kiara looked down, while John B placed a hand on JJ’s shoulder. Sarah, who already suspected as much, simply nodded regretfully.

Rafe looked at you for a moment before turning his attention back to them.

“I don’t care what they think of me,” he said firmly. “But I’m not going to apologize for protecting her.”

The air between you was thick with tension, but this time, it wasn’t hatred that filled the silence. The Pogues didn’t say anything else, but the glances they exchanged confirmed that, as much as they hated to admit it, Rafe was right.

In the days that followed, although no one said anything directly, you could feel their gazes shifting away whenever Rafe accompanied you or when they mentioned something that might have to do with you. There were no more accusations or confrontations, but there was no open acceptance either. It was as if they had decided to ignore the subject entirely, something you were grateful for even though it hurt a little.

Rafe, for his part, remained unwavering. Despite the judgment he knew he was receiving, he never let it push him away from you. If anything, he seemed more determined than ever to prove to you that you could fully trust him.

One afternoon, as you sat on the porch of the house where you were now staying, Rafe drove up in his truck. He got out with a paper bag in his hand and that crooked smile you knew all too well.

“What do you have there?” “You asked, putting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

“Surprise,” he replied, walking over to you with an air of mystery.

Rafe sat down next to you and pulled out two wrapped burgers and a box of fries from the bag.

“I thought you might want something other than canned food,” he joked as he handed you one of the burgers.

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small gesture, but after everything that had happened, it meant a lot.

“You’re a hero,” you said with a smile before taking a bite of the burger.

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking about anything but the Pogues or Luke. Rafe seemed determined to keep you away from any topic that might make you uncomfortable, and you appreciated that more than you could put into words.

A few days later, as you walked with Rafe along the beach, you unexpectedly ran into Sarah. She was alone, sitting on the sand with her gaze lost in the horizon. Seeing you, she raised her hand in a shy greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft.

Rafe braced himself beside you, clearly prepared for an argument, but Sarah didn’t seem interested in fighting.

“I just wanted to tell you that…” he paused, looking first at you and then at his brother. “Thank you. For being there for her.”

Rafe looked taken aback for a moment, but then nodded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied in a neutral tone.

Sarah looked at you, and for the first time in days, you thought there was some warmth in her eyes.

“We… the guys and I… shouldn’t have judged you. It’s just that…” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “We didn’t expect something like this to be happening while we were gone.”

“I understand,” you said, though there was still a small wound in your chest from how you had been treated at first.

“But if you’re happy with him… then it’s okay,” Sarah continued, looking at Rafe with a mix of wariness and resignation. “Just… take care of her, okay?”

Rafe smirked. “I plan to do that.”

After that encounter, things began to change. The Pogues didn’t mention your relationship with Rafe anymore, and while not everyone was completely comfortable with the situation, they realized it wasn’t something they could control.

JJ was still the most distant, though he avoided any sarcastic comments when you were with Rafe. John B and Kiara seemed more neutral, and Sarah, though torn, slowly began to accept that Rafe was an important part of your life now.

Even though you knew there were still tensions with the Pogues and that life on the Outer Banks would always be complicated, at that moment, you felt like everything was where it needed to be. With Rafe by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.

[hearts4mica]

I’m the perfect pretty girl.

Platonic! & Yandere! Batfam x Popular! Reader

Masterlist! Part 2 Part3

_________________________________________________

“Oh wow!”

_________________________________________________

“My name is [name] Wayne and not to be arrogant or anything but i’m the perfect example of a ‘perfect pretty girl’. And im not trying to be a jerk. Im just stating a fact!”

And you were not lying. Being the middle child of the family, the first born daughter of Bruce Wayne of course you were gonna be beautiful.

You were walking in the streets when a random dude appeared infront of you.

“Hey wanna go out sometime?” He said excitedly you had never seen him in your entire life.

Now if you were a normal pretty girl you would have said something like. “How about you go to a pig farm and kiss one of them?”

But of course you wouldn’t say that after all you were a role model. Gotham’s Princess. That’s what the media called you.

Instead you just said: “Oh im sorry i have to study for a test tomorrow!” He quickly apologised, wished you luck on your test and left quickly.

So not only i’m beautiful on the outside, i’m also beautiful on the inside!

That’s how you deal with boys!

_________________________________________________

At important events you always had to be there your fans would go crazy with speculations of why you weren’t there!

“Maybe she’s sick?!”

“Maybe she escaped the country with a random guy she just met-!” “No! She would never do that!”

“Maybe she died!” “Shut up!”

You had to make a video of the reason you didn’t go. Since that day Bruce didn’t allow you to not go to important events anymore!

_________________________________________________

It was another day after school and you wanted to walk home to appreaciate beautiful Gotham’s view! Not really- you just wanted to stay away from your brothers for a while.

With them being superheroes and you being the most known teen in the whole country! Of course you had stalkers!

And well that walk home definitely did not go well. Some guys tried kidnapping you! Thankfully Nightwing was there to save the day! What a nice hero.

And upon hearing that Bruce decided you were not allowed to go anywhere alone!

So unfair but well you could not say anything against it.

Now even in school you had to eat with Tim or Damian! That’s so embarrassing! Infront of your fans!

_________________________________________________

Tim was grabbing his books on his locker waiting for the bell to ring to start going to his next class until his friend appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey Timdudebestfriendever! How about you the introduce me to your gorgeous sister? Think about it we could be brother’s in law!”

“Ew no, you with my sister? Never happening.” Tim slammed his locker shut and left. That idiot with his sister? No! He doesn’t deserve you!

You don’t even need a relationship! You’re too you g for that! (You’re older than him).

_________________________________________________

Damian loves painting you on his art. It’s his favorite hobby. Spending time with his sister!

Just the two of you without a care in the world!

It’s just perfect.You’re just perfect

At this point he could just open a museum where he could display only his art about you and it would definitely be profitable. Maybe even your fans from everywhere would send their art to the museum.

Obviously Damian wouldn’t display it since it doesn’t capture your beauty the way his art does.

_________________________________________________

Bruce never really liked galas. Well that was until his baby daughter went with him.

He really loved all his children he loved bonding with them. And galas was the perfect way to bond with you!

Usually none of the Wayne kids wanted to go to the Galas. Well you also didn’t want to attend but it’s okay since you’re perfect you can’t make your fans sad!

_________________________________________________

Dick liked doing anything you wanted to do

Oh you wanted to go to your favourites artists concert? He already bought them! And the meet and greet after the concert!

You wanted to go the next day to the other part of the world just to go shopping? He was already a step ahead and bought the whole plane for just you and him!

_________________________________________________

Jason liked spending time with you in silence

You were enjoying a sunny day at Gotham’s park trying to relax but the people just wouldn’t leave you alone!

“Hey gorgeous me and you would make great music together” he smelled like he was a corpse in decomposition.

‘You know what would make great music with you? Deodorant. Do you know it helps you smell better you disgusting pig!’ That’s what you would have said but you were perfect in everyone’s eyes. “Oh sorry! Im not allowed to date anyone!” That was the perfect answer.

Jason sat beside you on the bench and just silently glared at the guy so he quickly left. Still there were lots of people staring at you two.

You just sat down quietly without a care in the world.

_________________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed!

My masterlist if you wanna check it out

Requests are open!

_________________________________________________

[hannieween]

pick your poison | wicked games series

“You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” Changkyun said. “One poison drives out another.”

☾ pairings: jeon wonwoo x female reader ☾ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ☾ aus: bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, rebound fucking, "enemies" to fucking, messy love triangle ☾ word count: 17.3k

› PREVIOUS CHAPTERS – READ MORE

🎧: enemy – jiselle, gemini | not sorry – i.m | kiss&tell – ethan low | excuses – twlv | fuxxin' love (2019) – OoOo | ghosts – highvyn | guilty – taemin | his car isn't yours – wendy | love is banned – gemini | divine – hyejin | 28 reasons – seulgi

☾ warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption but no dubcon, hurt/comfort[?], spiraling, unprotected p in v sex, body worshipping, pussy eating, fingering, creampies, hickeys. reader is chubby. pet names: ma'am, baby (hers)

☾ author's note: i'm sorry.

☾ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and do not to look like a bot 🙂

pick your poison

The basketball court was empty. The night was still, as though hurt by the echo of the conversation you kept replaying in your head.

Puddles of water glistened on the pavement, reflecting fragments of the moonlight as it shone on the dark sky.

You sat there alone, motionless. Waiting.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Or maybe you did.

You looked down at your hands. They were wet. Wet in tears of a dream that was lost.

The sky shifted, and light poured into the basketball court. The sun rose too quickly, too bright. It brought with it the cruel reality to your broken heart. Like a thread pulled from your chest.

But then you woke up.

Your breath caught before you could open your eyes. You were lying on your bed, too exhausted to move. Your throat was dry, and every beat of your heart ached like it had a thorn right in the centre of it.

You were at home. But in your heart, you were still sitting on the bleachers. At the basketball court. 

Waiting for him.

Time passed in a blur after that night.

Days and nights went on, time slipping through your fingers like water. But despite that, you felt like your life had been perpetually put on pause. Your mind, body and soul were on standby, waiting for his call, even though you knew that he was set on his choice.

Being on standby also meant that you didn’t feel a thing.

You made a promise to yourself—the moment you left the court, you would never cry for Kim Mingyu again. And you would never cry for another man ever again.

What used to be your routine melted into a continuous, numbing train of activities. Work, home, eat, sleep. One after another. Suddenly, you found yourself moving without thinking. Acting without really being there.

You kept yourself busy, believing that work might save you from the aching hole in your chest threatening to pull you in.

There is an undeniable negativity around setbacks, around change. 

But in this situation, you didn’t know whether you had stumbled upon a setback or a change. Mingyu had never been your actual partner, in the sense that you never solidified a real relationship with him. The thing that was making you feel incomplete was that he walked away without ever knowing how you truly felt about him.

So there was one thing you could do. Bury it. 

You would bury your feelings and bury yourself if need be. It felt like rewriting bits and pieces of yourself that you were once willing to put into a relationship with him. Only to find out that you were idealizing a relationship that was never going to happen.

A part of you felt resentful. You felt used. Like he just came into your life, wrapped you in and then left you hanging. Alone.

But the other part felt grateful that he reappeared in your life and graced you with the ability to love again. Even though he left you with a heart full and brimming with love that you will never be able to give him.

The truth was, you didn’t feel any wiser. Forever stuck repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

Autumn had you yearning for snow. Anything that would make the puddles of water along the sidewalks freeze over.  

Everywhere you turned, you saw him. Even the faintest smell of coconut made your chest ache. Even the sound of rain reminded you of him.

You opened the door to a coffee shop, walking inside with an umbrella in one hand and grabbing the straps of your tote bag in the other.

You didn’t have to go to the other side of the city to get coffee. But lately, sitting in the small office you rented was suffocating. And being in your apartment made you think too much about the same thing.

And when you weren’t working, you avoided sitting in your own apartment. You couldn’t stand the silence of your space. Not then, and not now.

So you wandered. Searching for places you hadn’t ruined yet with memories.

The coffee shop was small, cozy, and humming with soft R&B music. The scent of fresh ground coffee and pastries hit you immediately. Warm, bitter, and sweet all at once. You stepped inside, suddenly feeling like you had crossed into a different reality. While outside was bleak and it looked like it threatened to rain again, inside was a wave of color. Splashes of pastels, warm colors, and warm yellow lights overhead.

For a moment, it almost felt like you could breathe again. Like the gaping hole inside you was replaced by a different thing.

But this feeling was fleeting.

There were only a handful of people inside the coffee shop. But one of them turned slightly toward you, the movement drawing your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo might’ve sensed you, because he turned over his shoulder, spotting you instantly. He stood near the menu, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose.

He moved awkwardly, bowing his head politely when he caught your gaze.  

His lips moved, but you couldn’t make out his words.

This was the closest you’d come to anything connected to Kim Mingyu since the night he broke up with you.

Wonwoo flicked his gaze over your face—a hint of confusion, of something almost unreadable.

“Excuse me,” you cleared your throat, stepping closer to the counter.

“I said, do you want to order first?” he asked using a polite tone, but there was a usual dryness to it. “I am still deciding for myself.”

“I uh,” you fumbled, feeling the nerves prickling down your spine. “I-I’ll have an iced americano, please. And a cookie. Please.”

You sent a glance at Wonwoo, trying to come off as unbothered as you could. But there was no way you could mask the trembling of your fingers when you extended your hand to pay.

Wonwoo stood behind you, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his dark hoodie. “I’ll have a strawberry yogurt smoothie, please,” he said, pulling out his wallet and taking out a card with his nimble fingers.

You held your reaction. It was obfuscating to you that he would order such a fun and non-plain beverage like that.

But you both stood at the end of the bar, waiting for your beverages. None of you made eye contact again. But you could feel his furtive glances every ten seconds, when he thought you were too distracted looking at your phone.

But you were just staring at your phone, pretending to move your thumb down the screen.

Deep inside, you wanted to run. You wanted to crawl into the nearest, safest place you could find. You wanted to conjure up a way to disappear into thin air. But at the same time, you wanted to stay. To admire the closest thing that reminded you of him. Of Mingyu.

Your heart thumped in your ears. You wanted to hold onto the space where Wonwoo stood. Even as your order came down the bar and you picked it up.

But without meeting his gaze again, you grabbed your cup and turned around, heading to the door.

Wonwoo was there, pushing the door open before you could do it yourself. In one hand, he held his pink smoothie cup, and in the other, he held the door open for you. “Thank you,” you mumbled politely, exiting the coffee shop and joining the slow influx of people walking down the street.

“Don’t mention it,” Wonwoo replied. He looked like he didn’t expect to see you today. And in such a random part of the city.

After a beat, you realized that Wonwoo had fallen into step with you, forced to walk close to you due to the heavily transited sidewalk. 

“Are you heading down to the station?” Wonwoo asked curiously, motioning down at the stairs that led to the underground subway.

“Yeah. You too?” you replied. Your tone sounded suffocated. Like you were struggling to breathe properly.

“Yeah,” he said casually. He raised his gaze, surveying his surroundings like he was looking for a quick exit to leave you on your own.

But you tried to ignore it. A part of you was glad to have someone so familiar, but at the same time, so different from Mingyu. You never felt like Wonwoo liked you, so it was weirdly comforting that you had stumbled upon him. It was having someone so close to Mingyu, but different enough not to expect any questions coming from him.

The stairs were slick, wet with rain as you made your way into the station.

At the platform, the silence stretched. Wonwoo shifted his weight awkwardly, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across his body.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said after a minute, smiling shyly. “I promise I’m not following you or whatever.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked down at his feet.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the company,” you admitted with a little bit of struggle.

Wonwoo raised his eyes to you, studying you for a moment. “Okay,” he said, appearing to ground himself next to you. And for a moment, you thought that if you hadn’t said that, he would’ve stepped away.

The train arrived, and you both watched it as it slowly came to a stop. The doors hissed open, and you both went in after waiting patiently for it to clear out.

But it was still very packed with people, forcing you to remain on your feet and close to him. You hooked an arm around the pole, still holding on for dear life to the straps of your tote bag and sipping carefully from your iced coffee.

“Do you—okay,” Wonwoo blurted, opting to stay at your side. He raised an arm over his head to grab onto one of the handles.

The wagon hissed and beeped as the time to get in or exit ran out. The doors closed, and you were gently swayed in motion with the car. Your body was gently moved forward, awkwardly bumping into Wonwoo.

“Sorry,” you whispered nervously, trying not to disrupt the peace and quiet from inside the wagon.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back, avoiding your eyes.

You tried to keep at least half an arm’s distance. Every time the train came to a stop, you tried to ground yourself as best as you could, clenching all of your muscles to the point it exhausted you.

And for a moment, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was in fact more normal than you had expected it to be.

“Where do you get off?” you asked after he didn’t exit for three stops. It was then that you started to feel that your plans were about to change. And collide with his. 

“In the next one.”

You nodded slowly, trying to hide your doomed smile.

“You?” he asked, pausing and then, “You too?”

“Yep,” you replied.

Wonwoo let out an amused breath through his nose. “Museum?”

You blinked. “Yes,” you chuckled awkwardly. But then, you looked at Wonwoo, like really looked at him. He was sporting a camera bag across his shoulder.  “Don’t tell me—”

“Sculpture showing?” he raised his eyebrows, huffing a tiny laugh when you nodded.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes.

The museum was half empty. A quiet, bustling series of sounds followed you inside as you moved towards the wide lobby. It was still beginning to rain again as you went inside, making you hope that it’d stop by the time you came out. 

You and Wonwoo moved without talking. As you went into the showing, you realized that it was organized so that you looked at each sculpture in a particular order, starting from the right side of the long room.

The showing was called A Human Connection. 

Wonwoo lingered a few steps away from you, his hands gripping his very expensive-looking camera, his head tilted like he was studying every bit of the sculptures, and looking for the perfect angle for a photo.

You wandered through the first few sculptures, pausing every so often to glance at him out of the corner of your eye. You realized he never strayed too far from you. But he didn’t speak, he didn’t voice the curiosity that showed behind his eyes every time his gaze flitted towards you.

The sculptures were beautiful, in a broken way. Bodies twisted in longing, hands that stretched to ghostly partners. Some figures leaned toward each other, sharing frozen and untouched kisses. A male figure knelt in front of a female figure, his arms clinging to her thighs, and he appeared to be hunched over her. Begging. 

You continued walking, trying not to think too much, otherwise it would begin to show on the features of your face. You were beginning to feel deeply affected. 

And then—you were forced to stop in front of one that caught your breath.

It was two human figures carved into smooth white stone, sitting back-to-back. The male figure had a hand stretching back, looking for the female figure who was leaving. In the stone where they both sat was a fracture, separating them definitively.

The woman was leaving. The man was trying to stop her. But beneath them, there was something broken.

You stared at it, feeling like life was playing a sick joke on you. Laughing at your pain.

Wonwoo joined you, standing beside you in utter silence.

You felt his eyes on you, but you pretended to be too enthralled by the sculpture to notice. For a while, neither of you spoke. And you tried your best to push all of your thoughts away.

“Do you think we’re all like that?” Wonwoo asked, his voice so quiet that you barely caught it.

You turned your head slowly. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “People who want to reach out. But only do it when it’s too late.”

You blinked at him, thrown off by the rare glimpse of vulnerability. “M-maybe.”

Wonwoo shifted, fixing his glasses awkwardly. He looked almost embarrassed, as though he, too, had been enthralled by the sculpture, and he didn’t realize who he was talking to. He appeared to be ready to move on to the next sculpture, but you opened your mouth, bringing him to a halt.

“I think that there are some people who still try,” you said. “People who reach out before it’s too late.”

Wonwoo looked at you. And you felt little under his scrutiny. You thought for a moment that he was going to take this as an opportunity to talk about what happened with Mingyu. To say something.

But he just stayed beside you. He had lowered his camera, deciding to absorb the beauty displayed in front of you. The warm light pouring from the skylight overhead created a shadow over the male figure, while the female figure glistened beautifully.

You slowly peeled off from the sculpture and moved onto the next. Wonwoo followed you silently, and you realized that his company was not at all what you had half-expected it to be. It was welcoming, something different and new. Like a silent truce that none of you were ready to acknowledge.

Wonwoo tipped his head toward the exit. “Are you heading back?” he asked when you had toured all the showing from start to finish.

You nodded quietly.

Outside, the sky had darkened. It had stopped raining, but it was considerably colder than before. The sidewalk was wet, and it glimmered under the streetlights, the pavement hissing loudly under the movement of the cars passing through.

You wrapped your arms around you, hugging your sweater tighter. You sucked in a breath, just as your teeth clattered quite dramatically, and loudly.

“Are you cold?” he asked, laughing lightly.

A small but meek smile tugged at your lips. “No, I’m not,” you lied through your teeth, laughing when the answer was obvious.

Wonwoo shrugged his leather jacket off, offering it to you without saying a word.

“I can’t” you said, blinking at him, alarmed.

“Take it,” he said simply. Like it was nothing to him and not something pregnant with meaning. He rolled his eyes, clearly getting why you were hesitant. “You’re shivering, come on.”

You hesitated, but took it anyway.

The fabric was warm, carrying the faintest trace of the laundry detergent that threatened to remind you of someone else. But as you let the jacket sit on your shoulders, another scent brushed against your senses. It was sweet, peachy, and warm. Oddly comforting.

You pulled it over your wrists, hiding your hands inside the sleeves.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything about it, but he looked at your sweater paws, now accompanied by his leather jacket. And the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

For a few blocks, you walked side by side, trading furtive glances when you thought that he might go away, or when you thought he wasn’t looking. He walked slowly, carefully taking each step to keep up with your slow pace. It was a quiet walk. Easy.

When you reached the station, he gave you one inquisitive look.

You knew he was dying to ask—because deep inside, you wanted to ask too. You wanted to know how Mingyu was faring, you wanted to know if he had been working on healing in all these weeks of no contact. A part of you wanted to know if he had tried to look for you.

But you couldn’t do it.

When you reached the station, you hesitated at first, but then you asked, “Are you heading home too?”

He nodded quietly.

“Same line?” you asked, though it was obvious. You knew where he lived and that he would have to use the same line to get there.

“Yeah.”

You both stepped inside the car, the floor wet with the dampness of all of the wet coats and umbrellas.

You quickly found a corner spot, standing close enough to Wonwoo that you could get that peachy scent coming from him too.

You both fell silent again. And it was okay.

As you both made your way out of the station, you realized that it had started raining again. You reached for your umbrella, preparing it as you climbed the stairs to the street.

Wonwoo paused, huffing a light laugh when he realized that it was raining harder than it was before.

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “We can share,” you said, raising the umbrella above your head.

Wonwoo raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

You found yourself rolling your eyes at him. “You gave me your jacket,” you shrugged. “Fair is fair?”

Wonwoo didn’t understand why the smile was wiped off your face. But your heart had stuttered after you uttered those last words, which echoed to some distant memory. To somewhere you didn’t want to go yet.

For half a second, he remained motionless. But then he stepped closer to you, standing under the umbrella. As you started walking, your shoulders brushed—and you were thankful to have accepted his jacket and couldn’t feel his skin properly.

You both moved down the street slowly. Rain pattered around you, creating a bubble of sound that felt almost too private, enclosing you both.

Wonwoo cleared his throat beside you, adjusting the strap of his camera bag so it wouldn’t bump against you. “Allow me,” he whispered, taking the umbrella from your hand and adjusting it to his height.

“Oh, sorry,” you laughed lightly, realizing that you were making him hunch to fit your size.

“It’s okay,” he replied, glancing your way. He was smiling too, and it was then that you realized that his glasses were starting to fog.

When you reached the next corner, Wonwoo hesitated. “Which way do you take?” he asked.

You realized that while you knew where he lived, he didn’t know where you lived.

“That way,” you pointed. Your shoes were getting soaked. The corners of the umbrella were dripping water all around you. Your shoulder was wet somehow.

“Maybe I could order a ride for you,” he offered, fumbling for his phone.

“No, my place is right down the street,” you said, bringing a hand to stop him, your fingers gently grazing his wrist.

You dropped your hand, as though his skin had burned you.

Wonwoo raised his gaze at you.

“Take it,” you motioned to the umbrella with one hand. “You’ll need it more than I.”

Wonwoo looked at your hand, then at you. Something flickered across his face, but you were too slow to read it.

“Then take my jacket,” he said.

You gaped at him. “Oh, no—”

“Fair is fair,” he cut in.

You couldn’t hide the way his words impacted you. It was as though your chest had turned into ice, making it impossible for you to breathe. You couldn’t stop it now. You thought of him. Of Mingyu, of the rains that had brought him to your life. The first kiss you shared. And your heart broke again.

You blinked repeatedly, expertly hiding your tears. “At least let me know how I could give it back to you,” you stuttered, raising your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo was smart. He must’ve known what you meant. But his eyes read your expression, taking in your words. Returning his jacket was simple—you knew where he worked, where he lived.

“W-without having t-to see him.” You explained, and even though you didn’t utter his name, your heart churned.

Wonwoo took out his phone, handing it to you without a word. “Give me your phone number,” he said at once.

You sent him another alarmed expression. But he was not discussing it.

“Come on. Before we’re both soaked over,” he urged, almost as though it bothered him to know where your uncertainty was coming from.

Your heart twisted. But you took his phone, typing your number and swiftly calling your phone so you could register his number.

You handed his phone back, exchanging one lingering look that meant something. His eyes read your face, probably finding the vulnerable girl in your glinting eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” he muttered dryly, turning away once you nodded at him, too stunned to say something back.

You ran across the street, stopping under the awning before the entrance to your building. Looking over your shoulder, Wonwoo was walking down the street, your umbrella firmly in his grasp as he disappeared into the next corner of the street.

As soon as you came to your apartment, you peeled his jacket off. You saw Wonwoo’s face as the strong smell of peach and pachouli brushed against your senses.

The emptiness inside you started to ache at its edges.

Your apartment was dark, and dead silent. You closed the window to stop the rain from splashing inside and moved to the kitchen.

You had some leftovers from the night before. Curled up on one corner of the couch, watching something you have watched a thousand times already. There was a pause in the movie, and everything stilled in your apartment.

Maybe I should get a cat, you thought impulsively.

Your phone buzzed beside you, making your heart stop for a split-second.

It was past midnight. Nobody really texted you at this hour anymore.

You reached for it, expecting a dumb notification from some random app.

But it was Wonwoo.

“thanks for the umbrella.

you saved my camera. and me.”

You stared at the two text messages for a long second. A part of you wanted to acknowledge the strange, warm feeling you got from getting a text from someone. Even if it was Jeon Wonwoo.

You pulled your knees to your chest, gnawing on your lower lip as you pressed your thumbs on the screen. “You’re welcome. I’m glad.”

Almost immediately, the three little dots appeared. “did you get home alright?”

You didn’t take his text message as an invasion. But almost as a way for him to still be polite. A gentleman.

But you were still caught a little off-guard. It had been a while since you interacted with someone, so for him to be so… thoughtful made you take a pause.

You rested your chin on your knees. “Yeah, I did. Thank you.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply right away.

You stared at the screen for a while, half-expecting the conversation to die there.

But then another reply came, “have a good night.”

Something squeezed painfully in your chest. It was nothing. It’s nothing, you thought over and over. He’s being polite, nothing more.

A part of you felt ridiculed. Someone was being nice to you and your heart was already suffering, hurting as though you were running a marathon. Running away from something, more like.

“Thanks. You too,” you replied, acknowledging the way your heart faltered in stress with a big sigh.

It was nothing, yet you put your phone away as though it had suddenly burned your hands. The emptiness inside you warmed over such simple words. But just like that, the cocoon that you had wrapped to protect yourself was fractured.

Resurfacing meant that you had to give explanations to the people closest to you.

You pushed the door open to Casa Pump House, relieved to find it emptier than usual. Wednesday evenings were quieter. You’d been strictly coming to the gym around seven—avoiding Sundays at all costs. And so far, you’d successfully avoided Mingyu.

What you couldn’t avoid though, was Jungkook’s expert capacity for gossip. He’d known something was wrong after Mingyu broke up with you—your two-week disappearance and radio silence were louder than any verbal confirmation.

You only started coming to the gym sporadically, and you rarely caught Jungkook on shift. But the times you did, you avoided talking about it, about him. And Jungkook took the hint.

However, he could only keep it to himself for so long.

“Aaay,” Jungkook jogged over with a wide smile, softening the features of his face. “If it isn’t my favorite girl.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Is that what you tell every girl in here?”

He shrugged. “Just the ones that are evil to me,” he said with a light chuckle. But the grin slowly vanished, as his doe eyes studied you from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

Your heart faltered at the sound of his voice softening. He must’ve noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “I think you already know,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Jungkook pursed his lips slightly, giving you a short nod. “Yeah. He uh… he told me last night when I stopped by the bar,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. He chewed on the side of his lip that wasn’t adorned with piercings. “How are you handling it?”

You licked your lips and balled a hand into a fist, trying to hold yourself true to your promise. “I’m doing okay,” you said. But your voice came out thinner than you had wanted. You sounded brittle, and unsure. “As best as I can be.”

The features of his face shifted, and he took a tiny step towards you, having to tilt his head forward to look into your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, even though you were the only ones in the gym at that moment, and no one would listen to you.

You shook your head, tightening your lips into a straight line.

“That’s okay,” he said, his tone still gentle and quiet. “If you ever need to talk about it—about anything at all—you know you can call me, right?”

You raised your gaze to his big eyes. You never expected someone so lively and fun to bring you such calm to your heart. You nodded. “Thank you, JK,” you whispered, unable to bring your voice any higher. “I appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it,” he said. And then, stepping back, he brought his hands together in a thunderous clap. “Alright, let’s put you to work. Let’s go!” he roared vigorously.

You smiled despite yourself, wishing you could just flip a switch like that.

But for the first time in weeks, you felt better.

The Spot was quiet, as expected from a rainy Tuesday afternoon. But being it being a slow day didn’t mean that the regular tasks stopped there.

Seungcheol had taken the day off with his girlfriend. So that meant that it was just Mingyu and Wonwoo handling the bar. But that was fine, since the only customers there were the three Tuesday usuals.

Mingyu had been trying not to fixate on his phone, but he had been struggling to keep himself present and found that looking at mindless things on his phone allowed him to escape his reality.

Lately, life had been suffocating. Work was alright, nothing Mingyu couldn’t deal with. No, the suffocating feeling came from not being able to stop wishing he had something that occupied his time, his energy and his mind completely.

Because every time that silence stretched and he found himself alone, he would see you in the eye of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he did the right thing, he still felt that he had made a terrible mistake.

His fingers itched—he wanted to call you, to open your chat and tell you to meet up. He wanted to tell you that he missed you every single day and night. When it got dark and quiet, he ached to call you. Even if it was the middle of the night, just to hear your voice. To hear your tiny, and sweet giggles.

He blinked slowly, breathing in deeply to try and get rid of the pain in his chest. It was as though the feelings that were beginning to bloom for you had withered and had grown thorns around them, twisting around his heart.  

He was at that point in his heartbreak where memories were beginning to hurt, but he couldn’t keep himself away from them. Sometimes he wished he had taken photos of you so he could have your pretty face to look at when he missed you too much. But he resorted to just looking at your profile photo.

It was a photo that your best friend, Mona, had taken one night out. You were smiling at the camera, lifting your chin in a prim manner. Behind you was a colorful mural, painting two great wings behind you, spreading and merging with an array of wildflowers.

You were squeezing your eyes shut in the photo. And he could almost picture the moment—your friend convincing you to take the photo, and you standing there until something got a smile out of you.

His heart twisted painfully when the word Online appeared below your name. He exited the chat quickly, feeling ridiculous for a moment. He pocketed his phone, lifting his gaze to make sure that no one had seen him act so impulsively.

But as he resumed with his task behind the bar, he was consumed now with memories of you. A call wouldn’t hurt, a sneaky thought flashed across his mind. She would understand, she always does.

No, Mingyu told himself sternly. He has done enough damage to you. He came into your life just to make a mess of it. You were better off without him.

He was a mess. And he had to make himself better before he could seek you out again.

Because that was his plan, at least. Get better, heal his heart, and look for you when he were ready.   

Maybe that’s why he felt so out of place. Because, in his heart, he wanted you. He wanted more with you, but just didn’t feel like he was ready to fully love you yet. He knew what he was capable of when his heart was in it. When he wasn’t backing away at the first sign of commitment.

He knew that you deserved better. And he could give you better.

But it wasn’t the right time.

Still, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t think of you. Even though memories hurt, he was addicted to them. Like blissfully drowning in a violent river.

He thought of you, of your voice, of the smell of your hair. He liked to live in the memories where you looked at him lovingly. Those memories when he was inside your body, kissing you like you were his lifeline, because maybe you were.

In his mind, he hugged your body again, losing himself in you. Kissing you, telling you things he never got to in real life.

Something was beginning to rouse inside him when a hand came to his shoulder, patting him in a familiar, gentle way.

Mingyu turned around. Wonwoo was just coming back from his break, nodding to the kitchen door. “You have one hour,” he said promptly.

“What’s on the menu today?” Mingyu asked, not caring that he wasn’t even pretending enough to make his voice sound livelier.

“Sandwiches and fries,” Wonwoo replied, looking curiously at Mingyu, but didn’t ask any questions.

Wonwoo was a very patient friend. He would never intrude when he felt things were still stormy—so he hadn’t dared to pry since the night Mingyu broke up with you.

But Wonwoo was there to see the mess. Mingyu had come home that night and didn’t say a word. He locked himself in his room, and for two whole days, Wonwoo didn’t see or speak to him.

Ever since that night, Mingyu had seemed… hollow. Soulless. Like something in him was missing, and with each passing day, it only got worse—not better.

And ever since Wonwoo saw you at the museum, he’d wanted to ask Mingyu what really happened. But it still felt too soon.

“I’ll be back, then,” Mingyu said, patting Wonwoo’s back as he walked past.

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes following Mingyu until he disappeared through the kitchen door. He exhaled heavily, shaking his head before returning to the task he’d left off. He was in the middle of organizing the inventory, a routine so familiar, he could practically do it with his eyes closed.

The front door creaked open. Wonwoo would’ve normally glanced up to greet whoever entered, but he was too focused on counting boxes of beer.

“What are you serving tonight, sir?” a familiar voice called out.

Wonwoo smiled. Through the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure settling on the stool at the bar.

“Same as ever,” he said, raising his gaze to meet one of his oldest friends. Changkyun.

Wonwoo set his notebook aside and turned to the fridge, grabbing a beer. He placed the bottle on the counter just as Changkyun reached for the opener.

“It’s been a while,” Changkyun said with a tired groan.

“Well, since you started living your healthy life, I see you less,” Wonwoo quipped with a small smile.

“Healthy life?” Changkyun raised an eyebrow. “Getting up at five in the morning to host a radio show is not my definition of healthy.”

“Still, you get more sleep than I do,” Wonwoo shrugged.

“Shut up. You probably make more money in a week with those stupid girls’ nights you’re always advertising,” Changkyun said, narrowing his eyes and pointing at Wonwoo with the neck of the beer.

“That wasn’t my idea—it was Mingyu’s,” Wonwoo replied, raising both palms in mock innocence.

Right then, Mingyu came out of the kitchen. He didn’t acknowledge either of them. He walked straight past the bar and exited through the back door, a storm cloud in human form.

“What’s up with him?” Changkyun motioned toward the door Mingyu had just walked through.

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the door for a moment, ensuring it was shut, then turned back to Changkyun. “Same thing as last time.”

Changkyun raised his eyebrows. “Damn. That breakup hit him harder than I thought.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “He and Gigi broke up months ago,” he said. “This is someone else.”

“Really?” Changkyun tilted his head. “Huh. One messy breakup can lead to an even messier one.”

Wonwoo remained quiet. His own experience with heartbreak was... limited, at best. If he could call it that. He had only ever had healthy, uneventful relationships. Nothing explosive. Nothing shattering. He even stayed friends with all of his exes.

“Please elaborate,” he muttered, resting his hands on the lacquered countertop.

Changkyun shrugged. “You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” he said. “One poison drives out another.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away.

But part of his mind replayed the memory of you—standing beneath the skylight at the museum. The distant look in your eyes. Like something wild and wounded, cautiously stepping into the world again.

He also remembered the night at the bar. When he’d warned you to be careful with Mingyu. Because at the time, he truly believed it was you who might hurt him. Now he realized you’d defended Mingyu so vehemently—only to be the one left behind. It wasn’t you who had been reckless. You weren’t the loose cannon. It was Mingyu.

“I don’t really like what you’re insinuating,” Wonwoo said, rolling his eyes. But deep down, he couldn’t deny that Changkyun might be right.

“Relax, I’m not saying he used her intentionally,” Changkyun replied, glancing at the back door. “But he could still care about her... and use her at the same time.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make it easier. I’d hate myself too, if I were in his shoes.”

Wonwoo weighed this new idea in silence. He knew Mingyu—knew how deeply he could love. But ever since that breakup with Gigi, something in him had changed. He was more guarded, more distant. A little broken.

Still, to seek you out as comfort… only to discard you when things got too real? That was something Wonwoo never imagined his best friend capable of.

And now, he wondered. Had Mingyu ever really seen you for who you were? Or was he only ever looking for someone to fill the void?

Did he look for his ex in your eyes?

Wonwoo grabbed his phone, quickly finding your name in the list of chats he had ongoing. “there’s a bookstore right across the street from the museum” he wrote to you, his fingers quickly sending out the next words: “we could meet there if you’re free next monday”

You stared at the screen, your heart thudding nervously.

“Hello?” you typed back. “Not even a hi, good evening?”

The three little dots appeared on his end quickly. “hi” he replied.

“How very eloquent,” you mumbled to yourself, your thumbs hovering over the keypad, but you stopped yourself before you could think of what else to say.

“or maybe we could meet somewhere closer to yours, however you prefer” read his texts after some seconds went by.

Your breathing was uneasy. This wasn’t a date. Or something where you had to make yourself look pretty and presentable, you told yourself.

It was simple.

“I love bookstores” you wrote, and then: “And I’m free this Monday”

His reply came shortly after that. “good. see you then”

And that was it.

So Monday rolled around quicker than you probably would have wished for. The morning was wrapped in a chilly layer of mist from the rains overnight. The clouds hung low, dark, and almost threatening to rain again.

You wore a raincoat and packed an extra umbrella, just in case. Since the day was already cold, you made sure to dress appropriately, but as you made your way to the station, beads of sweat had started to gather on your forehead.

Inside the car, you could feel the warmth coming from the heaters below, making you wish you had worn lighter clothes. But with this treacherous weather, it was better to be safe than sorry.

You adjusted the strap of your bag nervously as you walked down the street. You were familiar with the bookstore where Wonwoo wanted to meet with you, but you had never gone inside. You were curious to know why he wanted to meet there—was it because it was so close to the museum?

You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. You were immediately hit with a sense of wonder, and the questions in your head also piled up and doubled the size once you went inside.

The store wasn’t a typical one. It was just one floor, with rows of sandy brown bookshelves lined up and organized in a way that almost made it look like a maze. In the middle, there was a circular coffee bar. Low indie music played in the background, occasionally interrupted by the loud hiss of the coffee machines.

Wonwoo sat on one of the stools, his fingers wrapped around a small white coffee cup. He took a sip, then lowered the cup slowly. His glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up, raising his gaze.

He spotted you immediately, but his expression gave no indication of whether he was pleased to see you.

This was slightly perplexing as you approached the bar. Something stirred inside you at the scent of coffee—and the strong smell of peaches and pachouli.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Wonwoo said quietly, turning to glance at the light book he’d been reading. He closed it, resting his palm on top.

You flashed him an alarmed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Why, am I late?” you asked, checking your watch.

“No, just—” Wonwoo shook his head lightly. He motioned to the blackboard menu in front of you. “Coffee?”

You gaped at him a little. “Yeah,” you sighed, discontent creeping into your voice. “You’re really confusing to me.”

Wonwoo arched an eyebrow, watching as you ordered. Once the barista took your request, he cleared his throat. “Why confusing?” he asked, lifting his cup again. You noticed he was drinking a double espresso.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, lowering the straps of your bag and placing it on your lap.

You looked up at the ceiling. The soft, orange glow from the lights above made the space feel warmer—almost like an eternal sunset. The room was also adorned with hanging plants that reached into every corner.

You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze on you, and when you turned to him, your suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t look away or pretend not to be observing you.

But you were the one who turned away first. “I thought you hated me,” you confessed, lowering your voice as shyness crept up your neck, making your face hot.

His lips curved in a tiny, downturned smile. “Why?” he asked gently.

The barista placed your drink beside you. You thanked them, wrapping your hands around the cup, even though your fingers weren’t cold.

“I just got the feeling you didn’t like me. When I was dating Mingyu,” you said, your heart stammering at your own boldness.

Wonwoo blinked, taking the last sip of his coffee. “I never disliked you,” he said bluntly, offering a solemn look that made you realize how quickly you had judged him. “Nor did I have anything against you. I thought I was looking out for him.”

“Yeah. I got that,” you whispered, nervously rotating your cup on its saucer.

He leaned in slightly, his face still serious—but now tinged with a quiet kindness. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you smiled, unable to hide the hurt lingering behind your eyes.

He tapped his thumb against the cup and drew in a long breath through his teeth. “Are you doing okay?” he asked, his brows knitting slightly as he looked at you.

You met his gaze, surprised by both the question and the softness in his tone. You opened your mouth to lie—to say you were fine, better than ever.

But there was no escaping his expert scrutiny.

“I’m trying,” you finally admitted, your voice barely holding itself up.

Wonwoo nodded, gaze softening. But he didn’t push further. It was almost like he was waiting to confirm something he already suspected.

“Is he—” you swallowed hard, nearly choking on your spit as you turned your face. You sighed the nerves out of your chest.

“He’s doing okay,” Wonwoo said, understanding exactly what you meant to ask.

There was honesty in his eyes. But then he looked back down at his empty coffee cup.

“He’s kind of a mess, but he’ll be fine,” he added. Now his voice carried a raw edge to it. “Mingyu has a tendency to fall too fast. Gets hurt in the process. Always.”

The words rang with a heavy familiarity. You blinked, trying to recall where you’d heard them before.  It was in your kitchen. One morning, after Mingyu had stayed over. The ache in your heart returned. “I know,” you choked out. “He told me.”

“I’m sorry it ended like that,” Wonwoo said. “For both of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you blinked, confused.

The light glimmered off his glasses. You saw his dark eyes searching your face, his lips parting ever so slightly.

“I guess this is me offering you an olive branch,” he said with a polite smile. “I never meant to intimidate you—or make you feel like I didn’t like you.” He straightened up in his seat, bowing his head slightly. “I regret being an asshole to you.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re forgiven,” you said, warmth creeping into your chest. “But don’t think we’re friends now,” you teased.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a grin.

You smiled—and your eyes drifted to the camera bag on the stool beside him.

The shop was nearly deserted. Two girls browsed the graphic novel aisle, while a few others lingered near the coffee bar. It reminded you of The Spot—except with bookshelves and hanging plants, instead of bright neon signs and loud rock music.

“Do you come here often?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “It’s quiet. Coffee’s good. Cookies are even better,” he added, pointing to the pastry case behind the glass.

“Have you tried them all?” you asked, eyeing the double chocolate cookie.

“I haven’t tried the pumpkin one,” he shook his head lightly.

You ordered a chocolate cookie, thinking that you were probably in need of a sugar rush. But deep down, you were wary, trying to protect yourself from more questions that you were sure were about to start.

“Do you carry your camera everywhere?” you asked instead, motioning to the camera bag on the other seat next to him.

“Just when I have days off,” he shrugged. “Mingyu pushed me to do this photography course online, and they’re very strict about the homework so,” he clicked his tongue, patting the camera bag with one hand.

You wanted to huff, getting the familiarity of his words yet again. “You don’t say.”

You took a bite from your chocolate cookie, humming in delight as the chocolate chips melted on your tongue. Wonwoo glanced your way, smiling softly as he outlined the corner of the book cover with one fingertip.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, and it was the gentleness in his tone that really grounded you in reality.

You shook your head, swallowing hard as you tried to keep yourself composed. “I’m not good at talking about things,” you pointed out.

But you didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the chocolate dimming your good senses. Maybe it was the coziness inside the book shop that made you feel wrapped up in warmth and the smell of fresh coffee.

Or maybe it was the sound of Wonwoo’s voice. Inviting, soft and comfortable like velvet.

“I knew what I was getting myself into,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “I knew Mingyu was still healing from his previous relationship. But I still decided to stay, to be there for him. And he was really reassuring, you know? Sometimes he made me forget about his situation.”

You risked sending a quick glance at Wonwoo, and he nodded to you. “Yeah, I know,” he said gently.

“But one day he would tell me he wanted to be with me, and then he would disappear for days,” you added, and your throat closed up, your voice sounding bitter at the end of your sentence.

The atmosphere stilled, like stopping to witness your heartache. Even though time had passed, and you hadn’t seen Mingyu or talked to him again—the wound was still fresh. Flashes from when you sat at those bleachers haunted you, threatening to swallow you whole.

“It’s crazy because we were never anything serious,” you shrugged as a defense mechanism, like trying to get rid of the burden around your shoulders. “It was casual. No strings, no expectations—” you huffed a bitter laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “But it hurts even more than when I broke up with my ex.”

Wonwoo shifted beside you, turning slightly on his seat to look at you better. “Your ex?” he muttered, so quietly that you barely heard him.

You nodded slowly, chewing on your lower lip. “Before Mingyu, I was with someone for years,” you said, and somehow, it felt easier to tell Wonwoo. As though nothing could hurt you anymore. “We lived together. I had plans and dreams of building a life with him, but…” You looked away, sighing tiredly. “He told me he wasn’t looking for marriage, nor something more serious.”

There was a pause.  And you were sure that Wonwoo was waiting for you to say something else, but you just took another bite from your cookie.

“I’m sorry to hear that. That must’ve been really difficult for you,” he said, shifting again on his seat as he sighed deeply.

But your words started to sink into his mind. What happened with Mingyu was even more hurtful than what your ex-boyfriend did to you. Breaking up with someone after an unreconcilable difference was something—and by the time you broke up with him, you were already emotionally resigned.

But the feeling of almost being something cut even deeper.

You laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry I’m dumping all of this on you,” you told him, holding in your tears. “And after telling you that I wasn’t good at talking about serious stuff.”

Wonwoo shrugged, giving you a light, easy smile. “It’s the curse of a bartender,” he told you. “But I’m glad that you opened up. It’s already hard to deal with things, but to keep them all to yourself makes it suffocating.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you mumbled.

You placed your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your fist. “So you took the photos that are hanging on your living room?” you asked promptly, making it obvious that you needed to change the subject.

And he caught it straight away. “A couple of them, yes,” he mumbled, looking down at his camera bag. “I’m actually thinking of taking a stroll near the river. I have this task I need to get done, and maybe I can snap some good photos there.”

Your tummy twisted. It was hard to read if it was an invitation or not, so you just nodded.

“If you wanna come and hang out, it’s fine by me,” he whispered, noticing the hesitation in your expression.

You saw the glint in his eyes, there was an easiness on the tiny smile he showed you.

You were almost about to decline. To tell him that you were busy and had a ton of things to do at home.

But you felt lonely. And there was nothing serious about his invitation. It was just hanging out. 

“I’d like that,” you replied. But then you paused, “But before we go, I want to get some books.”

You stepped outside the shop and waited.

The pavement was slick with water from the light rain that had ceased moments before. The sky was still gray, blanketing the street with a quiet, gloomy heaviness.

Wonwoo followed soon after, now wearing the jacket he’d lent you. He glanced up at the sky and made a face. “This is not very ideal,” he muttered.

You nodded, adjusting the strap of your tote bag, which now hung heavy with books. “We could wait it out,” you offered with a shrug.

He looked around, scanning for shelter.

“Or,” you added, “we could just make our way to the river—take the opportunity while it’s not raining.”

Before he could respond, you were already heading down the street. Wonwoo fell into step beside you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“What did you get?” he asked, nodding toward your tote bag.

“A couple of graphic novels,” you said, peeking into the bag. “I’m also doing a course—learning tips and tricks about graphic design.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You also got convinced to take a course?”

You nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Wonwoo patted his camera bag. “I see,” he murmured, voice low.

A silence fell between you. But it wasn’t awkward—not this time. It reminded you of that quiet day at the museum. Stillness, but not distance.

“This is nice,” you said.

He turned his head toward you. “What is?”

“Not trying to run off,” you answered. “Not pretending I’m okay.”

He blinked, visibly unsure how to respond. But he didn’t look away. Something about speaking plainly with him felt good. For the first time in months, you weren’t hiding. You didn’t have to pretend you weren’t hurting.

After a moment, Wonwoo pushed his glasses up. “It is nice,” he said softly.

Both of you walked in silence, the city slightly slowed and hushed by the cold rain. The river glinted ahead, catching what little light managed to break through the clouds.

Wonwoo paused, slipping his bag off his shoulder and unzipping it. “Wait,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You don’t want to get closer to the river?”

“This is okay,” he murmured, already adjusting his camera.

A twist tightened in your tummy when you realized the lens was pointing toward you. “Should I step away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked through the viewfinder with quiet concentration. “Don’t move,” he murmured.

You obeyed, though your nerves got the better of you—you shifted slightly, turning your head to the side to avoid meeting the camera’s eye.

Through the lens, Wonwoo saw you standing alone on the path that led down to the river. The pavement was scattered with the last of autumn’s leaves, but it was your face that caught him—the distant, thoughtful look in your eyes. The way you refused to look at him, even though he was really seeing you. All of you.

When he lowered the camera, you exhaled. “You could’ve told me you needed a model.”

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe. But you would’ve said no.”

“True,” you admitted. “I’m not a model. I don’t know how to pose.”

“So you say,” he replied, brushing past you with a grin. “Stand over there.”

He pointed to a spot closer to the river, and you laughed under your breath.

“Fine. But you’re holding this.”

You shoved your tote bag full of books into his hands. He caught it with ease, the grin on his face widening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached a little less. There was something in his boyish smile, in the gentle playfulness behind his glasses. And without thinking, you moved to where he asked, standing without questioning his order.

But the moment you stopped, you became overly aware of your body—your arms, your shoulders, your mouth.

“Look at me,” Wonwoo said softly.

You did. And in that moment, you forgot what it meant to pose. You weren’t smiling. You weren’t guarded. You just looked at him. And he looked at you, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The camera clicked. And you waited for him to take another shot, or to move.

“That’s it?” you asked, blinking away from him.

“I got it,” he nodded, his voice slightly hoarse.

He lowered the camera, and his eyes lingered on you for a second longer than they should’ve. His gaze softened. He looked thoughtful for a moment, until he gave you a sheepish smile.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”

You snorted. “Surprisingly?” you said with a laugh, stepping toward him. “I probably look like those Renaissance paintings where they were still figuring out how to paint cats.”

He laughed out loud. “You’d make a very cute ugly cat,” he teased.

Your cheeks flushed, and you almost hated that you were smiling at him. But then his eyes met yours again, and you felt that same shift in your chest. That stupid pull, that traitorous flutter of your heart.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, motioning at his camera. “Would you like to see the picture?”

You hesitated for a second—unsure why it suddenly felt like it was a big deal to step in closer to him—but nodded. He stepped closer, holding out his camera. And you leaned in, your shoulder brushing his.

You tried to focus on the photo, but the proximity was almost dizzying, and the strong smell of peaches filled your head. Your breath hitched.

The photo wasn’t perfect. You instantly saw all of the little imperfections surrounding you. Your hair was windblown, your expression flat. But your eyes… there was a softness in your eyes. A realness in them.

“You see?” he said. “Surprisingly photogenic.”

“I look caught off guard,” you murmured sheepishly.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t look good,” he corrected gently.

Your heart thumped so hard that you were sure it was almost audible. But he didn’t look away.

You breathed in, trying to push the fluttering feeling out of you as you exhaled. “I should get going,” you said.

Wonwoo nodded, noticing the look in your eyes. “Your bag,” he said and unhooked the umbrella that you had lent him the other night. “Thank you for the umbrella and now the photos. I owe you one.”

You gave him a small smile. “You owe me nothing,” you told him. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Wonwoo paused, and for the first time, you wanted to get an in on what he was thinking. “Right,” he nodded.

Friends.

The apartment was dark when Wonwoo walked in, and only the faint light coming from the TV illuminated the way. Slipping off his shoes, he took his jacket off and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance.

Mingyu was on the couch, looking at his phone, not really watching anything. He was just sitting there, elbows planted on his knees, head bowed like he had been stuck in that position for a while before Wonwoo came home.

Wonwoo opened the fridge, took out a banana milk and punched the hole with the little straw. He sipped quietly, afraid to break the silence.

But it was Mingyu who spoke first. “You were out late.”

Wonwoo leaned against the counter, pressing his elbows against it. “Yeah. I went to the bookstore. Took some photos near the river.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, still not looking at him.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly, starting to feel worried.

Mingyu shook his head. “I ruined everything.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything right away. The rawness in Mingyu’s voice made Wonwoo’s heart falter.

“I keep thinking about her. About what I did,” Mingyu said, putting his phone away.

Wonwoo caught a glimpse of your profile photo on the display. His heart dropped to his stomach. “So call her.”

Mingyu gave a small, empty smile. “It’s not that simple,” he said, rolling his eyes with an annoyance that Wonwoo was sure was directed towards something else, not him.

“No, I know it’s not simple,” he said. “But it’s a start.”

Mingyu finally looked up, his tired eyes finding Wonwoo’s. “Would you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “If you had broken her heart, would you do it?”

Wonwoo shrugged, like the answer was clear as day. “If I cared about her, yeah. I would.”

Wonwoo remembered your sad smile. He remembered the brittle sound of your voice when you talked about your past heartbreak.

Mingyu looked away, shaking his head. “She deserved better than the way I left things.”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened, it was hard to swallow. He thought about the photos in his camera. About you. Your eyes. The way you were finally starting to laugh again.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said softly. “Yeah, she does.”

But Mingyu didn’t catch the shift in his tone. He locked his phone, deciding to not call you, nor text you. Not yet.

“I’m not ready,” Mingyu said, rising from the couch.

Wonwoo watched him walk to his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

After a moment, Wonwoo decided to head to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

He leaned against the door for a long second, letting his head rest back, closing his eyes. The silence inside the apartment felt heavier—a hundred times worse than before.

He pressed the Enter button on his keyboard, bringing his computer to life. The hum coming from the fans of his computer started to fill the room. Wonwoo used the faint light coming from his double monitors to look for a change of clothes, something comfortable, before he sat down to work.

After he found a pair of black shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, he sat down on his chair, getting his camera out of its bag.

He scrolled through the different photos he got from the day at the museum. And then the photos he got from today. Photos of the wet pavement, the river, and the leaves scattered on the floor.

And you.

Wonwoo’s breath caught when he saw a photo he didn’t realize he had caught. In this photo, you weren’t looking at the camera. There was a softness in your features, a sad look in your eyes. The way you stood in the light, the shadows pooling at your feet.

Wonwoo stared at the photo, his finger hovering on the right click for a second before he moved the photo to another folder. One that wasn’t destined for the task.

He leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his long, dark hair. He didn’t want to feel guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he knew this. But the weight in his heart begged to differ.

Wonwoo reached for his phone as he chewed on his bottom lip.

Then, with a laboured sigh, he opened your chat.

The last message between you and him was a simple thank you after he asked if you had arrived home alright. It was simple, friendly. 

Wonwoo hesitated, flexing his fingers over the keyboard before typing: “it was good seeing you today”

And that was it. He put the phone away, face down on his desk and dropped his head back against the chair. His heart was doing that stutter that it hadn’t done in a while. 

In years, even.

Things happen randomly sometimes. You weren’t looking for your life to be derailed one Sunday night. Not on purpose, at least.

You were curled up on your bed, scrolling numbly through your phone, a thing that would eventually lead to falling asleep, but you weren’t having any luck yet.

Your phone started vibrating in your hands, and the picture of your best friend from college, Mona appeared on the screen.

You had been dodging her calls lately, feeling like your recent actions might bring her judgment. But something about her calling late at night spiked your intrigue.

You swiped your thumb across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” Mona replied, and something about her tone was off.

“Is everything okay?” you asked curiously.

“I need you to sit down,” Mona instructed bluntly.

You sat up on your bed, reclining on the headboard. “What’s happening?”

“Listen, I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to find out by other means.”

“Please, Mona, just tell me,” you sighed tiredly, already feeling the weight of anxiousness seeping in.

“Jay is getting married.”

You stopped cold. It was as though you were abruptly submerged into a pool of ice-cold water. Your body was too slow and too heavy to muster a reaction.

“W-what?” you blurted. A part of you felt like your friend was playing a really bad prank on you.

“Jay just announced his engagement,” she repeated, and you could hear the raw rage in her tone.

“H-how do you know?” you stammered, trying to compose yourself with slow and deep breaths.

Mona didn’t get along with your ex-boyfriend. Or with anyone who was still related to him. You knew this.

“Someone sent me screenshots. Look—I don’t mean to put you in a bad spot, but,” she paused, and you could tell from the deep sigh coming out of her that she was debating to tell you more. “But you deserve to know. Before someone else tells you and makes it worse.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath catching painfully against your ribs. “Thank you, Mona,” you told her.

“I got you,” she said right before hanging up.

It was about two seconds later that she sent you two pictures. There he was. Your ex. Smiling in a way you hadn’t seen in years, his arm slung around someone else’s shoulders. It was a girl you didn’t recognize. But she was cute. Glowing with a radiant smile on her face, showing off her brand new engagement ring.

The caption under the photo made your stomach lurch.

To a future together- Mr. and Ms. Bang 💞

You stared at the photo. Read the caption. Then stared at the photo again.

The screen blurred, and you realized that your hands were shaking.

No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

You left the phone aside, burying your face in your hands as though you could fix the stabbing pain in your chest.

You weren’t supposed to care anymore. You stopped caring about your ex long ago. But the pain was raw, eating at your heart quickly. It hurt so deep you couldn’t breathe.

It was like you were sitting at that basketball court again. With nothing but your aching heart in your hands.

The room was spinning, and everything felt wrong. You got out of bed, grabbed your hoodie, keys, and shoved your phone in your pocket. And without thinking, you scrambled to the door.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to move, to do something.

It rained again on the walk to the nearest convenience store. But you didn’t bother with an umbrella this time. You let the drizzle soak into your hair, your hoodie, your sneakers.

Maybe the rain could help wash this pain out of you. Maybe the rain could fix whatever was broken inside you.

You grabbed a couple of bottles of alcohol, not caring what you took with you and paid.

You were walking out of the convenience store when you bumped into him. A tall, hard frame that almost had you stumbling back onto the floor, weren’t for those hands holding you steady.

You looked up, your heart stopping at once when you saw the man who had helped you catch your step.

“Careful there,” Jeon Wonwoo said, helping you catch your step.

His gaze swept over you—taking in your soaked hoodie, your damped hair, your hurt, glassy eyes.

“Sorry,” you said awkwardly, looking down at your feet.

Rain continued to fall, slowly, trickling down the back of your head and soaking through your clothes. You were sure that Wonwoo had already spotted the state you were in, and the bag with bottles of alcohol inside.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, studied you.

And saying nothing was somehow worse. Because it meant that he saw all of you. He saw the way you could barely hold yourself together. Your lip quivered. You hated yourself. You hated the power that you had given to other people to make you feel this way.

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight the sting in your eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I was heading back home but—” Wonwoo took a cautious step towards you, like approaching something wounded and dangerous.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, his voice barely audible. “You’re okay?”

The stupid kindness in his voice snapped something inside you.

The first sob ripped from your throat without any warning. It was sharp, humiliating. It told of the many days and nights you contained yourself. You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was far too late.

Wonwoo swayed towards you, closing the distance. He didn’t touch you, not right away. He just stood there, as though figuring out what to do. Figuring out what he wanted to do.

Something broke loose in you. Without thinking, you stumbled forward, crashing into his chest. Your hand clutched the front of his jacket, twisting the fabric.

Wonwoo caught you with not even a second of hesitation, wrapping you in a big hug. Like he was holding you to keep you from falling onto the ground. 

You didn’t question it, and neither did he. It was a simple gesture. A human connection. 

You cried against his chest, broken, shuddering gasps tearing out from your chest as the flood you had been containing finally broke loose. A part of you wanted to explain to him why you were crying. But you couldn’t make out the words—the pain was so great, greater than you.

You had broken your promise. 

“I’m sorry,” you said disjointedly, backing away from him while wiping your tears.

“It’s okay,” he said, sending a look around. “Where are you going with that?” he asked, motioning to the paper bag you were holding in one arm.

“To my home,” you sniffled, pointing down the street.

“Do you need company?” he said politely, but you realized he wasn’t taking a no for an answer. “Let me walk you there.”

You wondered how messed up you really looked like that, he felt compelled to walk you home. “Okay,” you agreed, and started walking towards your apartment building.

The walk was quiet. Your head was so filled with different thoughts that you couldn’t bring yourself to say something.

You didn’t remember the walk to your building. But you remember standing beneath the awning, turning around, and sending a flitting glance up to his face.

“Do you need to talk?” he asked slowly. It was a simple question.

Your throat tightened, and burned. Gnawing on your lower lip, you nodded.

A worried expression flashed across the features of his face. It was for a second, fleeting.

“Come upstairs?” you asked, and the sorrow and desperation rose in your tone, showing in your eyes. “Please.”

His mouth parted ever so slightly. He surely must’ve realized the implications of him coming to your apartment. But what exactly was to be expected?

“Of course.”

Stepping inside your apartment with Wonwoo following you closely felt surreal. But everything else going on in your life made it shrink in comparison.

“Come in,” you whispered, leaving your sneakers at the front door, closing it once Wonwoo followed you inside, watching you closely.

You hadn’t even turned the lights off when you walked out of your apartment. You left the bag on the counter before grabbing a bottle, cracking it open and gulping down three large mouthfuls of straight alcohol.

Wonwoo blinked in shock. “Oh, God,” he stammered, watching you as though he needed to do something soon. “Calm down.”

You exhaled heavily, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. You motioned the bottle to him, raising your eyebrows.

But he shook his head. “I don’t drink,” he said politely.

“Okay, then,” you shrugged, drinking down another three large gulps.

Wonwoo watched you intently, crossing his arms as the muscles of his jaw tightened. “You’re scaring me,” he said finally.

You laughed—a raw and broken sound. It tore from your chest. “Good,” you said, putting the bottle down.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head forward, his eyes zeroing in on you.

You shook your head, commanding your gaze to look anywhere else but his face. But sadness started to seep in, like icy venom running through your veins. Anger and humiliation took over so fast that you couldn’t stop the muscles of your face from contracting.

“My ex,” you choked out. “Remember him? The one I spent years with, the one who swore he would never be ready for commitment?”  

Wonwoo’s posture shifted slightly, his mouth parted with realization before you could even speak out the following words:

“He’s just got engaged,” you said, your tone breaking in the middle of your sentence. “He’s getting married to someone else. Someone good enough.”

The words were heavy, bitter on your tongue. And even if they weren’t true to some extent, they hurt to say.

Wonwoo’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He blinked slowly once, breathing in through his nose. And when he opened his eyes again, you saw anger flashing in his eyes. But you also saw pity in them.

You laughed again, the sound dry and almost miserable. “It’s not like I care about him,” you spat. “It’s not about him.” You looked down at your hands, trembling around the bottle of alcohol. “It’s about me.”

You finally raised your gaze, making eye contact with him. You hated the broken worry you saw in his eyes. The way his eyebrows twitched, and his dark eyes searched your face. You wondered what he was seeing in your face that made him react that way.

“It’s gotta be me, right? I have to be the common denominator,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s always me. I’m not good enough to stay for.”

You let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob. A broken moan of loneliness, heaviness. A storm that was brewing deep inside you, and it wasn’t just because of this recent turn of events.

“But that’s not it,” you said, hot tears brimming in your eyes as your voice rose: “It’s everyone. No matter what I do. I’m always someone’s almost.”

Your voice cracked in the last word, and you had to bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling.

Through the corner of your eye, you saw Wonwoo approaching, closing the space in your tiny kitchen. It was a cautious move, but steady. Determined.

“You’re not the problem,” he said firmly. “You’re better off without him. He’s an idiot.”

You laughed bitterly this time. “Right. Because Mingyu wasn’t another idiot who decided that I wasn’t enough either.”

Wonwoo flinched.

But you didn’t care if your words were harsh. You tipped the bottle between your lips again, downing the last bit of alcohol in it. You would feel its effects soon, and you were beginning to wonder if getting drunk was the right thing to do.

It would take the pain away. And you needed that.

“You really think I don’t know he fucked up?” Wonwoo said, his voice hard.

You blinked, your eyes snapping to his face.

But he continued, taking another step towards you. “You think I don’t see it? You didn’t deserve any of it,” he said, his voice raw, and there was an edge to it that you couldn’t understand. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”

You swallowed your tears, your heart thumping so hard that it was starting to hurt in your chest. “You don’t know me,” you whispered.

Wonwoo didn’t skip a beat. “I know enough.”

Perplexion hit you, and part of you wanted to pause and listen to what he was saying. The look of pity painting the features of his face made you think that you were probably looking more broken apart than you had initially imagined.

But before you could stop yourself, you huffed a laugh, letting your tears go. “And what happens when you get to know me more?” you snapped. “You’ll leave like the rest of them.”

The features of his face contracted slightly, your words hitting somewhere he wasn’t letting show. “You don’t know that—”

“Save it,” you cut in, but the sharpness in your voice had lost its edge. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like—” your voice broke, and you blinked away from his gaze. “—to never be enough. To love someone and then watch them walk away to someone new.”

His expression hardened. “Don’t turn this on me,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “Don’t tell me I don’t get it.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face?!” you shot back, wiping the tears with the back of your hand.

He ran a hand over his mouth, as though trying to smooth out the quiet rage that you had sparked. “You really think I don’t care,” he spat, the snappiness of his words making you flinch. He took another step, so close to you now that you could sense the storm shaking inside him. “You still think that I'm an asshole.”

Your breath hitched, making your brain swim inside your head. You were sure that it was the alcohol starting to take effect.

But you were also not equipped to hear this. You didn’t want to hear this. You didn’t want to feel this. Not now.

But it was too late. You had fractured the only thing that held Wonwoo’s composure. It was then that you saw him. His hair was ruffled, wet with the few droplets of rain he had caught on the way here. His glasses had slipped down the perfect bridge of his nose. He looked messy, angry, and out of control.

He pointed at his chest. “You think I like sitting on the sidelines?” he said darkly. He never raised his voice at you, but he was breathing hard. “You think I like to watch you like this over the people who hurt you?”

You froze, your heart stammering painfully against your chest. His words had hit you like a slap. “W-what?” you breathed, so shocked that you had stopped crying.

His breathing turned ragged, he looked torn. Like he was trying with everything in him to stop himself. Every inch of him trembled with the force of what he wasn’t supposed to say to you.

“You’re not a second choice.” He rasped, letting out a short sigh through his nose. It was done now. Too late to take it back.

His words stunned you. You should’ve reacted quicker, were it not for the feeling making your heart flutter. “Wonwoo—” you pleaded, but you didn’t realize that your body was moving. Moving towards him.

His hands grabbed your face, his fingers burying themselves in your wet hair, just as your hands found the front of his jacket.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. The kind of kiss that neither you nor he wanted, you could feel it in him. His lips captured yours with a vehemence that overpowered you completely. But your hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down into you like you needed him to breathe.

And Wonwoo kissed you back. He kissed you like he waited for so long to do that, his tongue brushed against your lip as he rolled it inside your mouth, tasting the alcohol in your tongue. He breathed out softly when he heard the broken moan he got out of you, and stopped.

You broke apart, panting. Wonwoo pressed his forehead against yours, and you realized as he dropped his hands from your face that he was shaking.

“I.. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspy, low. He sounded lost. “I didn’t mean to, but...”

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice breaking.

But neither of you pulled away.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes. You wanted to cry. The very feeling that had made your heart flutter went wild, beating against your chest. You wanted to get rid of it—you wanted to rip your own heart out.

Slowly, Wonwoo peeled off your body, lifting his forehead from yours. You stepped back, your hands falling at your sides.

And with one deep breath, you raised your gaze to his face.

You had to put a hand on the counter for support. Your head started to swim with a remorseful pain. You knew this was wrong, but didn’t exactly know why. “Wonwoo—” you said, unable to raise your voice any higher.

“I should go,” he cut in, as though the weight of what he had done just caught up with him. “This was wrong. I shouldn’t have come here.”

But Wonwoo looked torn. His face was painted in sick worry, his eyebrows were drawn, his mouth slightly twisted. Somehow, his words cut you deeper. You nodded, agreeing with him, but it cost you to breathe normally.

However, he did not attempt to move. His eyes read your face, and his gaze softened when he saw your eyes brim with tears again.

“I understand,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to cover your mouth to hold in your sobs.

Except that you couldn’t understand. Not really. You couldn’t understand why kissing you was such a bad thing. Mingyu left you.

And you were always the one who made it easier for everyone to go.

You could feel Wonwoo’s scrutiny on you. The way he silently absorbed every emotion showing on your face. Your face tickled with shame, the sensation spreading and lingering all over you. You shrank under his gaze.

The rain pattered lightly on the windows, the quiet, distant lightning illuminated the room for a second. But the space between you was heavy with everything neither of you wanted to say, despite it being obvious.

You had crossed a line you wouldn’t be able to come back from.  

“I-I’ll walk you to the door,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence.

Then, you motioned to the door, walking past him in your tiny kitchen. Your shoulder brushed against his arm, feeling the way he moved towards you, his hand catching yours in one second.

You snapped your gaze to him, having no time to move or to stop him.

There was something in his eyes when you exchanged a short glance with him. He paused, but only to make sure that you wouldn’t back away.

Wonwoo kissed you again—this time more certain. There was no fumbling, no scrambling to get the kiss done in a rush. You closed your eyes, your hand searching for his wrist as he held your face, kissing you deeper.

His other hand found your waist, grabbing you to pull you into him. You could feel the warmth coming from his body, the way it seemed that he was still shaking, but it felt different this time. Like the quick beating of his heart wasn’t out of anxiousness of kissing you, but from finally doing it because he wanted to.

When you broke apart, both of you were panting, but Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you. His lips brushed against your lower lip, giving you tiny, but feathery kisses that trailed to the corner of your mouth and to your cheek.

You could feel his quick breathing brushing against your skin, making it prickle. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your wet hair.

“This is wrong,” he repeated with a whisper, but now there was an air of finality in his tone. “But I want it.”

Your eyes fluttered closed again. The sound of his voice so close to your ear sent shivers down your spine. “W-what—I don’t understand, you said—”

“I wish I had answers right now,” he said, pulling back softly from you. He gave you a solemn look, his glinting eyes searching yours, searching for reasons to pull away from you, from this. “But I don’t think I can pretend any longer.”

“What?” you breathed warily, your heart skipping a beat.

He shook his head softly. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, taking a tiny step towards you. “I know that this is a lot for you right now. And I don’t have issues with stepping back, if that’s what you want.”

Everything inside you raged. It was a split-second of realizing that everything was upside down, everything was wrong. No matter what you felt, no matter how hard you tried, there was always something in the way.

And this time, your broken heart was the thing in the way.

“You deserve better,” you whispered. It slipped out before you could even stop yourself. You sounded raw and vulnerable.

His face shifted, his eyebrows knitted softly, his eyes reading your expression. “But I want you,” he said.

His words were like a thousand bricks falling on you. Everything that he told you came crashing down—about him being tired of being sidelined, of watching you torn apart for other people.

“I’m broken,” you whispered, and you wished to sound less angry about it, but there was an undeniable venom coating your words.

His fingers clenched your waist, resting his forehead against yours. “And I still want you all the same.”

You went still while your mind reeled with all the possible consequences that this might bring to your life. You were a mess.

“This is not a good idea,” you finally whispered. You were giving him all the reasons to walk away, to choose for himself before he let himself get involved with you.

His breath hitched slightly. “I know.”

You stepped back, but not far. You just wanted to look into his eyes, to get a read on what he so jealously protected with his mask. “Please…” you started, trying to select your words carefully, but your mind was swimming. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

One poison draws out another. Wonwoo remembered his friend’s words carefully.

His brows narrowed. “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered. And you realized that his hands had stopped shaking, but you knew he was still nervous about holding you this close.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to list out all of the reasons why you were not good for him.

But, God, you were lonely. And angry.

Wonwoo saw the quiet determination settling on the features of your face, making him step closer to hold you tightly to his body. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, one last confirmation before crossing that line, permanently.

Your head was swimming, but the determination weighed heavily in your heart. “I am,” you nodded. Then you slipped a hand on his nape, pulling him into a kiss just as he leaned towards you.

He circled your neck with one hand, holding you to kiss you fully, deeply. His lips fit with yours perfectly, moving seamlessly in a passionate way. This kiss was different, it was burdened with a heat that made you suspect he wanted to kiss you for a long time, but couldn’t.

This was wrong, but it felt so good.

And now, neither of you could stop. 

It soon dawned on you that Wonwoo wasn’t stopping either. A wave of need and arousal rose within you, wrapped with a bitterness that you should’ve stopped to pay attention to.

Your hands skirted over the pads of his jacket, starting to peel it off. He helped you, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you, and he did this with such force that you thought you could break.

Because that’s what you wanted. You wanted to be bad, to give in to the sticky feeling spreading inside your chest.

Neither of you stopped to talk, it was clear where the moment was leading down to.

Your movements were rushed, as though if you paused for longer than a second, you might start to regret this. You took his t-shirt off, messing up his glasses in the process.

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly, fixing his glasses back up. As he looked at you, there was an undeniable feeling that made your heart stutter.

You took his hand, staggering towards your bed, but Wonwoo pulled your body in before you could make it, quickly grabbing your hoodie to strip it off your body.

The hesitation, prudence, and any morsel of sanity that was holding you back evaporated. You fully gave in to the craving inside you once your clothes started to drop on the floor.

Wonwoo grabbed you by your bare waist, pulling you closer to his body to kiss you again. His hands roved all over your back, finding the clasp of your bra to undo it.

It happened fast, one by one, both of your clothes were discarded in between rushed kisses. None of you spoke a word, and you were thankful for that.

“Sit on the bed,” Wonwoo said with a rasp, his hands leaving your waist.

You obeyed without a second thought, sitting on the foot of your bed. Wonwoo pressed a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning over you and pushing you to lie back. His arms towered next to your shoulders, serving for support as he pressed his bare chest against yours.

He watched you for one long second, his gaze dark and lascivious. His hand returned to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip softly. “Stop me if you don’t want any of it,” he said.

“Wonwoo.” You called, feeling like you might just pass out from the wanton need brimming inside you.

“Mmn?” he raised his brows, his eyes studying your face.

You grabbed his face, holding his gaze. “Fuck me,” you whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. “How?” he replied.

“Just do it,” you said. But then, swallowing hard, you reconsidered. “Fuck me hard.”

 He showed you a grin. It looked wicked, almost feline. But before he could explain where the smile was coming from, he was leaning again, brushing his lips against yours slowly, lightly. “Dirty girl,” he whispered into your mouth, kissing it softly.

A low, breathy moan escaped you at the sound of those words. “Please,” you begged, your lips still brushing against his.

You didn’t have to ask twice. Wonwoo kissed you deeply, removing his hand from your chin to find your waist. He sank down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth to your neck, then down to your chest.

His wet lips on your skin awoke something within you. It had been so long since you felt something at all that your skin was already prickling at the slightest touch. He kissed your chest, his hands cupping your tits, pushing them to make them bulge. He planted soft, slow kisses around your nipples, pulling out his tongue to glide it on your areolas.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands cupping the back of his head.

His lips wrapped around one of your perked nipples, tugging at it lightly as his thumb teased your other nipple, brushing his pad against it. He hummed lightly, giving your breasts a couple of open-mouthed kisses before he continued exploring your body further down.

Your head was spinning, and you had to force yourself to close your eyes. The sight of him getting down on his knees before the bed was so arousing to you that you shuddered from it.

He gently nudged your thighs apart, propping them on his shoulders as he leaned against your body to press his lips on your inner thighs. He taunted you with kisses, bringing out sweet moans from you as he came closer and closer to your dripping wet pussy.

“Please,” you whispered, feeling his breath fanning against your skin, the tip of his tongue brushing before he pressed another kiss on your inner thigh.

That was all he needed. His mouth was on you, licking you, tasting you. You arched your back off the mattress, your hands balling into fists around the covers. The first brush of his tongue against your folds made your whole body come to life.

You moaned loudly, closing your eyes so hard you saw stars. “Fuck, Wonwoo!” you cried out, already panting for air, making yourself dizzier.

He forced your thighs open, burying his mouth on your pussy like he had something to prove. He didn’t do the bare minimum, no. He licked every single inch of your cunt, exploring it with his tongue, and repeating the things that brought the loudest moans from you.

So he quickly realized that teasing your clit was the way to go. He wrapped his lips around your clit, pressing his tongue on it before starting to flick it from side to side.

You didn’t know what to do, between grabbing his hair or holding onto the covers, you felt like you were about to pass out from pleasure. Your head was spinning, your whole body tingling with your orgasm.

His fingers slid between your folds, finding your pooling entrance. The first slide of his fingers into you tipped you over the edge, tearing a loud, raspy moan from your chest. You went rigid, letting the fiery waves of your orgasm consume you wholly, making you whine and moan pathetically.

His fingers massaged into you, bringing out lewd, wet sounds from out of your cunt. He was now giving slow, thorough kisses, drinking in your arousal, moaning with you.

“Wonwoo…” you called weakly, brushing his hair back with tired fingers.

You were more than ready for him now.

So you sat up, trying to push him back so you could finish undressing him.

Wonwoo understood what you wanted without having to speak up. He rose to his feet, and your tummy twisted when you caught sight of his dishevelled form. His hair was ruffled, and his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose. There was a glistening wetness on his chin.

Your thumbs fumbled to take his boxers off, tugging at the waistband clumsily. You raised your gaze, finding his eyes before you pushed the last piece of clothing he wore down.

A sudden rush invaded you. There was no going back now. And you wanted this, you needed this.

You swallowed hard, revelling at the sight of his naked body. Wonwoo was lean, the muscles of his abdomen were well-defined, dipping between his bulging pectorals. His shoulders were wide, and his biceps were toned.

There was a soft, dark trail of hair from his belly button, which you followed down with your gaze. Your breath hitched. He was huge—not that girthy—but the length of it almost made you doubt whether it would fit inside you.

“You’re very sexy,” you stammered, looking away in shyness.

But he used a hand to cup your chin, tipping your head back so he could meet your gaze. “You’re very sexy too,” he said.

You gave him a small smile, grabbing his hand as you lay back on the bed. Wonwoo followed you, his body towering over yours.

He pushed one of your thighs with his knee, crawling on top of you and framing your head with his arms. His lips trapped yours in a feathery kiss, smearing your arousal on your chin.

He tensed, his breath hitching when you wrapped your fingers around his hard cock. “Do you have condoms?” he whispered.

“Mm-mmn,” you shook your head, rolling your hand all over him.

You lifted your knees to your chest, gliding the tip of his cock between your folds.

“Raw?” he breathed, still giving you sweet kisses.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded.

“Words, baby,” he said with a rasp, pulling away to look at your face. “Use them.”

You blinked at him slowly, not hiding the lust that was threatening to consume you whole. “Fuck me raw,” you pleaded.

Your words had an effect on him; his gaze darkened. He grabbed your wrists with one hand, driving them above your head and pinning them there. He notched his cock on your entrance, and that was the only warning he gave you before sinking inside you.

Your mouth dropped open, a silent gasp coming out of him as Wonwoo pushed his cock inside you, looking into your eyes, grabbing every detail, every reaction showing on your face.

Wonwoo blinked slowly, letting out a breath through his nose once he sheathed himself completely in your walls. “Fuck,” he whispered. And that might’ve been the first time you heard him cuss like that.

You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe. He released your hands, and you found his shoulders, your fingers shaking slightly against his skin.

Wonwoo trapped your lips with his, kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against the roof of your mouth. Slowly, you felt your body relaxing, your walls fluttering and easing around him. You moaned into the kiss, just as he pulled his hips back slowly, making you feel every raw inch of his long dick.

You whimpered slightly as he pushed into you, still slow but deeper this time, his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

He slipped a hand beneath your head, his fingers curling around your hair. “You okay?” Wonwoo whispered, his lips lingering on yours slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, breathing fitfully. 

It was the only confirmation he needed before he drove into you, picking up a pace. Panting, he gave you a quick kiss on your lips before he started plowing on you.

He started fucking you hard, fast. As though the anger from the argument he had with you returned and he wanted to fuck the steam out of his system. His thrusts became rougher, calculated, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you whimpered, your mind going blank. “Please, please, don’t stop,” you were begging again, losing control. Pleasure started to build inside you again, and you were afraid that the alcohol you had consumed before was also pushing you closer to your second orgasm.

Wonwoo was panting, his breath brushing against your cheek before he kissed it. “Cum for me, baby,” he muttered darkly.

It was maddening to think that the shy, quiet and reserved guy could talk to you like that. Let alone, fuck you like that. And he was not slowing down, his thrusts were brutal, pushing his cock deeper each time.

You didn’t have the space to breathe, nor to give him any warning. You could only give him a couple of sharp gasps right before you orgasmed again. You cried out, the sound whiny, raspy, while your orgasm rippled through you.

Wonwoo groaned, feeling your pussy clamp tightly around his cock. Burying his face on the crook of your neck, you felt his laboured breaths, right before his lips latched onto your skin, sucking a lovebite into it.

“Fuck—Wonwoo,” you gasped. Unable to do anything else but give in to the sweet rapture.

Wonwoo heard you, peeling off your neck to kiss your lips swiftly. “Where do you want me?” he asked with a strangled tone.

You could feel your walls flutter around him at the sound of his words. You considered it for half a second, but then— “Inside,” you whispered. “Cum inside me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He grunted, leaning to press his forehead against yours. His fist tightened around your hair, just as his strokes became harder, and deeper, fucking his cum into you.

Wonwoo was panting tiredly as he dropped his face on the crook of your neck again.

You stared into the void, wrapping your arms around him, realizing that you body was shaking.

Slowly, as though coming to his senses, Wonwoo peeled off your body, but just barely. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. His glasses were slightly fogged, which he fixed with one hand. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head on your pillow.

Wonwoo’s brows knitted softly.

“I’m okay,” you replied, realizing your voice was hoarse, you swallowed. “I promise.”

He was still breathing hard, so he just smiled tiredly at you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling out of you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You blinked at him dumbly.

He pointed with his finger to one side of his neck. “I did that,” he put in meekly.

You instantly brought a hand to your neck, right on the spot that was tingling and hot. “It’s okay,” you sighed.

Wonwoo paused, making sure that you were indeed alright. “Want me to bring you something to clean up?”

“No, I’ll just take care of it in the bathroom,” you said, rolling over on your bed. Once you stood on your feet, the whole room spun around you, making you giggle.

“Careful,” he said, springing into action. He rose from the bed, stretching an arm toward you to keep you from stumbling to the ground.

“I’m okay,” you said. Staggering to the bathroom, you got to see the red spot right on the curve of your neck.

But you couldn’t care less.

After weeks, you could finally feel something again. Something other than the fucking misery that seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

Part of you wondered when the moment would be to start feeling bad about this. But you realized that you were too tired to feel remorseful about fucking Mingyu’s best friend.

You’d feel dirty tomorrow.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed somewhere on the floor. It was buried in the scattered clothes, beneath his jeans. He picked it up, his heart jolting nervously when he read Mingyu’s name on the screen.

“crashing late?” read Mingyu’s text.

Wonwoo chewed on his lower lip. “yeah, sorry, something came up” he replied.

You were back in the room, rummaging in your drawers, looking for a t-shirt to cover your bare body.

You didn’t notice the worry flashing across Wonwoo’s face. “Hey,” you called softly.

Wonwoo was already looking at you, thinking of what to do. “Hey,” he mumbled, giving you a tiny but sweet smile.

“Do you want to stay the night?” you asked meekly, realizing that your request might be too much, you added. “I don’t want to be alone,” you added with a note of sincerity.

The tight feeling trapping his heart eased. “Of course,” Wonwoo replied, locking his phone before climbing onto the spot next to you on the bed.

As you lay back, you sent him a fleeting glance, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo smiled when he saw the hesitation in your demeanor. “Come here,” he whispered, motioning you closer to him.

You gave him a light smile. “Okay,” you whispered, deciding to scoot closer to his body.

“We can cuddle, if that’s what you want,” he said with a knowing smile, despite the shyness he was exuding.

You let out a guilty giggle, realizing that you were subconsciously expecting aftercare with him. And Wonwoo was more than willing to give you just that.

“Don’t make it weird,” you mumbled shyly.

“We just had sex, and you think I’ll consider cuddling weird?” he laughed.

“Just… shut up,” you sighed.

He didn’t reply, just watched you as you moved towards him beneath the covers. You rested your head on his chest, just as he wrapped an arm around you, hugging you comfortably to his frame.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice like velvet against your senses.

You tilted your head back, glancing at his face. “Yes,” you replied. “This is nice,” you told him, turning your head again to nuzzle against his warmth.

Wonwoo wrapped a hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Rest up,” he whispered gently, kissing your brow.

But you were already dozing off, only being able to reply with a sweet hum before you were completely gone.

Wonwoo waited until the rhythm of your breathing deepened to raise his phone, unlocking it to read Mingyu’s last messages.

“I regret everything,” the first message read.

And then the last two read,

“I want to fix it.

But I don’t know how.”

☾ author's note: alexa, play bittersweet

this author's note is to once again, thank you for your support! the feedback i got from the previous chapter. i was amazed by the amount of comments and asks that i got! 🥺 i still can't believe the amount of people who commented, reblogged and came to my inbox to say something! i love you all!

this post has been in my drafts since january 2024 🫥 and since i posted the previous part of this series, a lot, and i do mean a lot of you guys came to me with questions about whether or not i had something planned for our wonwoo. i didn't want to give too much away because it would've ruined what i had planned.

well, this is how wonwoo is going to debut in his own series; in the wicked games series.

fun, right? 🙂

same as always, y'all know the drill. if you have something to say, comment it down below, share your opinions anonymously, reblog, like this post, share it with your grandma 🙂

yell at me, if that's what you want but keep it civil :D

i love you, thank you for reading!

toodles

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