#I don’t know what happens in offices. what do I look like. I don’t think he does either really. he just likes the aesthetic

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don’t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos

[luvyeni]

WHAT’S IS YOUR DESIRE ๑. ( 박종성 )

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── what you truly wanted in life ? what you truly desired ? it was money , to not live such a miserable life .. and jay , jay was willing to give you that in exchange for one thing , what he truly desired … everlasting love…

( 対 ) jay park + fem. reader wc. 4k genre smut · contains! vampire!jay , murder , misogyny ( not jay ) unprotected sex , oral (f) , blood , biting mature content. / back to library

you woke up 5 minutes before the alarm went off , something you always did — so you can contemplate whether you should jump out the window of your beat up second floor apartment or get up and go to your job and be verbally abused by your boss.

you’re soon interrupted by the alarm going off , your empty stomach rumbling from not eating enough to make you drag your body out of bed to shower for work — you weren’t gonna jump .. at least not this morning , the day was still very very young.

getting dressed in the same clothes you always wore for work , you sigh — it’s grey much like your mornings; slipping into your raggedy heels that hurt your feet but you couldn’t afford another pair right now before making your way to your small kitchen , opening the fridge — which was depressing in itself.

you pulled out the carton of milk for some cereal , it was empty. “that’s fucking great.” you gritted through your teeth. “another bill this week.” you tossed the carton into the trash. “guess i’ll pick up something cheap on the way.” you pack your stuff , making a reminder to add going to the grocery store when you got paid this upcoming friday; along with rent , gas and water.

you hold the cheap coffee and muffin in your hand as you walk through the office to your desk. “yn!” your boss's voice booms through the office , some people pretend that they didn’t hear , not looking up. some look at you with sympathy knowing this happens everyday at least 3 times. “s-sir.” you don’t have a chance to sit down before he’s storming out his office , eyes trained on you. “are you a fucking idiot?”

“hu-huh?” he huffs slamming his hand on your desk. “i asked , are you an idiot?” he repeated. “i ask for the files for the presentation to be printed out and stapled and put in the conference room for the meeting today with the new investors — i go check the conference room and you know what i see?” he says but you don’t answer thinking it’s a rhetorical question. “are you deaf?”

“well — i see nothing!” he shouted. “there’s nothing on the tables why didn’t you do it?” he was looking for an answer. “well sir , you didn’t tell me to do that.” you said , his eyes darkened. “are you saying i’m lying , you’re my assistant who else would i fucking ask!” he shouted. “if we lose this investor you’re out of a job.” he said. “sir i’m sorry i’ll do it now.” you said , taking the paper. “i’m sorry.” you repeated. “just go.” he said , and you obeyed, basically running to the copy room.

“he totally asked me to do it.” you heard someone whisper as you made your way to the conference room. “i just didn’t want him to yell at me.” you wanted to shout. “she’s used to it , it probably doesn’t even bother her anymore.” you sighed , walking into the empty room. “could this day get any worse.” and as if god himself heard you , your stomach rumbled , you just laughed. “of course.”

“sorry is this the right room?” you turn to the man , with his expensive suit. “excuse me?” you responded. “the meeting? is this the right room?” he had the same furrowed brows like your boss. “oh yes , we’re waiting for the investor now , he’s supposed to be here soon.” you began to pass the papers out. “is he not prepared?” the man asked. “oh no he’s prepared , this was my fault , i stupidly didn’t print the files out , the investors prefer that and he’s trying to impress th— i’m sorry who are you?” realizing you were casually talking to him. “i’m — mr. park!”

your boss was now wearing a smile as he greeted the man. “you’re late.” the man said. “i’m sorry man , you know how it is.” he turned to you. “someone forgot to make copies.” you lowered your head in shame. “but she was here before you.” it just clicked who you were in the presence of. “yn.” he chuckled. “have you greeted mr. park?” you bow politely. “good morning sir , i’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” jay looked you up and down , causing you to shift a bit , his eyes were cold , but he nodded. “yn go.” your boss shooed you off , you shuffled out of the door , closing it behind you before making your way to your desk , finally sitting down.

jays eyes followed you out, even watching you as you sit down at your desk , rubbing your temples. “don’t mind her that girl can never do anything right , probably would’ve fired her if she wasn’t such a nice piece of ass to look at , yeah her clothes are a little shabby but i can’t be picky can i.” jay turned to the guy , who was half your age sitting down , his belly hanging over his pants. “yeah.” he said sitting down — he already knew how this was gonna go. “let’s get started.”

you look through the glass window , seeing your boss stand up along with the man , shaking his hand with a smile. you stare at the muffin that was thrown in the trash before you could eat it. “what a waste of money.” you whisper to yourself ; the door to the room opening both men stepping out. “i hope to hear from you in a few days.” your boss said , the man looked at you, your boss staring bitterly. “yn , stop staring and get up and wish him goodbye.” you turned to jay and he looked at you like he was waiting to see what you do ; you began to get up but he stopped you , he saw how badly your worn down cheap shoes hurt your feet. “no need . you have a nice day.” he said walking away without another word.

“how stupid can you be?” your boss gripped your arm , pulling you up. “when i say do something you do it.” he yelled in your face , you nodded and he let you go , you fell back in your seat. “gosh you can’t do anything right.”

the day seemed to go by so slowly; all you wanted was to go back to your broken down apartment ; eat the chinese food that you pray is still good , climb into your lumpy bed and sleep — then again what’s the point you’ll have to do it again the next day. you tried not to think about that as you packed up for the evening. “hey yn , we’re going out for drinks.” you coworker said ; you couldn’t even afford dinner right now , let alone drinks. “i’m okay , i’m really not feeling good.” they nodded , not bothering to push it , they probably didn’t care. “yn i need you to come in early tomorrow.” your boss opened the door to his office , you went to open your mouth and protest , but he slammed the door closed. “guess that means i’ll have to get up even earlier to catch the bus.”

you make your way out of the building; walking down the street to the bus stop; unaware of the eye on you. “that’s her boss” the driver said , jay looked up from his phone , watching you limp down the block. “follow her , make sure she doesn’t notice.” he said , the driver started the car , following you — he followed you all the way to your run down and sketchy apartment complex , watching the three guys try and stop you as you go in but you just ignore their attempts, walking into the building. “boss are you gonna get out? do you know her from somewhere?” jay shook his head. “no.” he said. “but i want her.”

he walked through sunghoons , no interest in the dancer around him , he had one thing in mind ; you. “he in there?” he stopped by sunghoon who looked upset , probably had something to do with his “ fiancé .” but that had nothing to do with him. “what? oh yeah , you know how easy it was to get him to come here.” the pale man smirked. “all heeseungs girlfriend had to do was say she was your secretary and he came running here.” jay nodded. “good , thank you.” sunghoon nodded back. “don’t make too much of a mess.”

he made his way to the room in the back , where the walls were sound proof , taking off the suit jacket and handing it to his guard. “it’s expensive , don’t need to get it dirty.” he opened the door , where the man was already getting drunk. “jay man wassup!” the man shouted like he was friends with him. “can’t believe you called me down here , i was shocked when your secretary called.” the man slurred. “man does she sound fucking hot , i would love to get to meet her , you must get no work done with her around.” good thing heeseung didn’t hear that , he’d tear the man limb from limb before jay got a chance to do anything. “this scotch is good.”

“it’s a $1000 bottle.” jay said. “damn , if this goes well , i’ll pay you back , i signed those papers already , i’ll have yn look them over tomorrow.” the man patted jays back. “no need to pay back.” jay smiled. “oh thanks man.” the man said. “but you can give me something.” he said staring at the man. “yn.” the man stared at jay , before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “her? sure take her .” he said it like it was nothing. “she’s useless to me , i was already gonna fire her tomorrow , found a new and hotter one — i mean look at her , she’s shabby , a poor girl with no future , sure she’s hot and now that she’s gonna be jobless in the morning maybe she can get a job here , as a dancer , put that body to use seeing as she can’t do work right.”

jays blood boiled listening to him speak about you like that — he just snapped , grabbing the drunk man , slamming him up against the wall. “man what the hell?” the man shouted , trying to push jay up against him , but jay was too strong. “you know i really dont fucking like you.” he said. “but you have something i want .” jay pushed down on the man’s neck , he could hear the blood flowing through the man’s body. “well a few things.”

the man was getting a little scared. “wh-what? yn i said you can have her.” he said. “oh that’s not it.” jay said. “i’m taking your company as well.” jay said , the man began to fight back , but he could barely move. “fu-fuck you , like hell are you getting my company.” jay chuckled. “well it doesn’t really matter , seeing as you already signed it over to me , and you won’t be alive to do anything about it.”

before the man could do anything it; jays finger went straight across the man’s neck, his eyes widened in pure horror. “there won’t be anyone to mourn you , so this just makes me even happier.” jay smiled menacingly , right before he sunk his sharp fangs into the man’s jugular , drinking straight from his neck , the almost lifeless man barely put up a fight before falling to the ground , blood still seeping from his neck.

waiting for the man to stop twitching; before wiping his mouth , leaving out the room. “make sure the body is completely gone , tell sunghoon i’m sorry for the mess , he pissed me off.” he said holding the papers in his hand , exiting out the back where the car was already waiting for him. “did it go well boss?” jay nodded silently. “why did you need this company ?” the driver pulled off. “i didn’t.” jay said , his shirt red from the blood.

you ran like your life depended on it as you looked at the clock on your wrist. “fuck.” you said; not only are you not gonna be early like your boss demanded , you were gonna be late — your alarm on your phone didn’t go off , and then the shower was cold. you barely got out the door.

you made your way to your job ; fully prepared to be yelled out — even fired. “there she is.” it felt like the entire office was watching you; the whispers that followed you made you uneasy as you made your way to your desk , the curtains that were normally open , were closed… that couldn’t be good. “um the boss wants you.” your co worker seemed confused. “oh okay.” you sat your things down. “thank you.” fearing this was the end , it felt like blood was in your throat as you knock on the door. “come in.”

you push the door open; confusion washing over you. “uh…” you said , standing before you was the man from yesterday. “yn.” he said , but this time he smiled at you. “sit , please.” you look at the seat , slowly making your way to the seat. “sit.” you did , folding your hands in your lap. “i-i’m a bit confused.” you lowered your head. “i could understand why.” he said. “you were a bit late today , you okay?” you nodded. “just a bunch of inconveniences.” you confessed. “that’s understandable.” he said. “you probably have a bunch of questions.”

“where is mr. kim?” you said. “oh he unfortunately stepped down.” he said. “while going over the agreement my lawyers found a bunch of interesting things that warrant me to make a few phone calls.” jay stood from his chair , your breath hitched. “and the board thought it would be better if he stepped down .”

“so now you’re in charge?” you asked , gulping as he sat on the desk right in front of you. “not just in charge , i own it.. he surprisingly signed it over to me. ” he said. “b-but don’t you have to run your own company?” you didn’t dare to look him in the eye , almost scared to. “well this is only temporary , i’ll get someone to take over , while i work from the sidelines .” he talked with some much confidence. “don’t worry this won’t affect you , but i guess you’re a bit glad he’s gone?” you gave a little nod. “good.” he said , his leg brushed against yours , you coughed nervously , standing up quickly. “you don’t have to worry about me , i’m a good worker.” you said. “i wasn’t worried.” he said — after he was done he’d promised you’d never work a day in your life again.

“what happened?” there was a crowd around your desk as you made your exit. “no-nothing.” you sat down. “just went over the schedule.” you said. “what the hell is going on , where is kim?” you shrugged. “don’t know.” jay made you promise not to say anything , even though you didn’t understand why seeing as it wasn’t a big deal , but you agreed. “this is so weird.” they all began to walk away , leaving you alone , the curtains were still covering the windows , except the one next to your desk , you could see him working on his computer — he looked up at his you , like he could feel you staring, smiling at him before going back into his work… and for the first time since you’ve started working here you let out a little smile.

“yn? drinks?” your coworkers asked , you were about to decline like usual when jay opened the door. “not tonight.” he said coldly, turning to you. “i need you to stay back for a bit.” you sighed , you knew it was too good to be true , he was just gonna yell at you like the other. “have a good night.” he sent them on their way , before turning to you. “come.” he beckoned you into his office. you stood up , hesitantly following him inside his office. “i’m sorry for whatever i did.” you said , lowering your head.

“yn you are not in trouble.” he said. “you haven’t even done anything , i haven’t asked you to do anything today.” you think about it , you haven’t done anything , he even told you to go to lunch early. “yn sit down please.” he said , you sat down in the seat , picking at your stockings. “yn.” he said softly. “yn look at me.” he said a little bit more firmly , you looked up at him. “here.” he sat a box on the desk. “what is it?” you asked , he opened the box , revealing a pair of heels — a very expensive pair of heels , a pair of heels that would leave you homeless if you even could scrounge up the money for it. “mr-mr. park — jay.” he interrupted you. “call me jay.”

“i can’t accept these.” you said. “why not?” he asked. “because these shoes are expensive,” you said. “i’m not asking you to pay me back.” he said , taking the shoes out the box. “those shoes hurt your feet , i see you limping around , i can sme- i can see the blood on your stockings from the blisters.” he said , sitting down on the chair across from you. “you don’t deserve that.” he bent down , grabbing your foot. “mr-mr. park.” he didn’t say anything , taking your old shoe off putting the brand new expensive one on. “see they fit perfectly.” he said , letting your foot go to do the other one , they were gorgeous , you don’t think you’ll ever own anything like this again.

“how do i thank you for these?” you say , he didn’t say anything for at least a minute. “what?” you ask , he sat back in his seat , his shirt was rolled up , tie undone for the day. “yn are you happy?” he asks suddenly , you’re taken aback. “am i happy?” you repeated , the man nodded. “i- i mean i guess , yeah i’m happy.” you say with uncertainty in your voice. “you don’t have to lie to me.” he says. “i can see that you’re struggling a lot.” you gulp. “i’m gonna be fine sir , i promise.” and he knows you will — because he’s gonna change your life.

you stand up , already feeling the pain in your feet melt away. “there’s no need to worry about me.” you say , going to turn. “ yn.” he started , you stopped in your tracks hearing his low voice behind you. “what is something you really want , something you truly desire in this life ?” he said. “happiness ? love ?” he was right behind you , you could feel his breath on your neck. “money?” your body twitched. “it’s money , i know , everyone desires wealth.” he said. “even i did , and that's why im where i am today,” he said. “and are you happy?” you asked him much as he had asked you. “i’m wealthy,” he said. “that’s not what i asked sir , i asked are you happy?”

“i’m lonely.” he confessed , you turned around. “what i desire cannot be obtained , not in this life , not in the next.” you said. “but i’m sure you can get what you’re looking for.” you said. “good night sir.” you go to open the door. “i can give you money.” he said. “i can give you what you desire.” you stood there. “and you can give me what i desire.” he said. “everlasting companionship.”

what was he proposing right now? “um sir , this is inappropriate.” you said. “no one is here,” he said. “and you’re free to leave.” he smiled once he seen you not move. “yo-you can’t buy me , i’m not an object.” you said. “did i say you were? i like you yn.” he said. “like me? you met me once yesterday.” you scoffed. “and that’s saying something , that one meeting was all i needed.” he said , you bit down on your bottom lip. “i’m not trying to buy you , i’m trying to give you what you truly want in life.”

“in return , you stay by my side , forever.” there he goes again with those words. “what do you mean forever , you genuinely believe you could be with me until we both die.” it seems like you saying that shocked him. “die?” he scoffed bitterly . “something like that.” your brows furrowed. “what does that mean? something like that?” you said , his face seemed stoned now , like he didn’t want to tell you. “sir — jay what does that mean?” he didn’t say anything , and you were about to reach for the door , when he grabbed your wrist. “don’t go.”

“you’re scaring me.” his face softened. “that’s the last thing i want to do.” he said. “then tell me what you mean , something like that.” you realized his hand was still on your wrist — and it was cold , like really cold. “do you get it now?” he said , looking you dead in eyes. “no , no i don— ah!” his mouth was near your neck , stopping you in your movements completely. “do you get it now?” out the corner of your eyes you can see his eyes were now glowing red. “oh my god.”

this is it , where you were gonna die. “i told you the last thing i want to do is scare you.” he said. “i don’t want to harm you either.” he let your arm go , now looking at you again , his eyes back to their original color. “i want you.” he whispered. “i saw you and i knew you were the one for me.” he said. “mr-mr kim , what did you do to him? you did something to him , didn’t you?” you stuttered. “i did what i needed to do , trust me he deserved every bit of it.” you gulped , he just confessed to killing your boss and to being a vampire. “i want you , only you.” he said. “i don’t want to see you struggle ever.” his hand caressed your cheek. “but i have to turn you.”

“turn me?” you asked. “into what you are? into a vampire?” he nodded. “yeah.” he said. “you’ll never have a bad day again , i will make sure of it.” it felt like a dream , like you’d wake up back in your bed. “this is unbelievable.” his lips crashed into yours , his hand holding your cheek , the other gripping your waist. “answer me.” he pulled away with a sigh , pressing his forehead against yours. “answer me now before i can’t control myself anymore.” he growled.

“do it , please.”

that’s was all he needed before he was pulling you down on the couch , slouching in between your legs. “gonna make you feel good.” he pulled down your stockings. “gonna make you see stars.” he lifted up your skirt. “si-sir.” his eyes darkened. “call me that again and i’ll fuck you and turn you right now.” he growled , pulling your panties down. “such a pretty pussy , gonna get used to eating you out every day." he said, licking your folds , you moaned.

the starved man before you held your thighs on each side of his head as he ate you out. he ate like he hadn’t eaten in days ; it felt so good, you could barely think. “ja-jay.” you gasped out, throwing your head back against the couch , the heel of your feet , digging in his back. “fuck jay i’m gonna cum!” you screamed. his nose was pressed against your clit he continued to lick your folds , tasting your juices. “it’s been a while , hasn’t it?” he smirked , his fangs now visible. “you came so much.” he licked the insides of your thighs. “so messy.”

“ye-yeah.” you stuttered , he chuckled. “no need to worry about that.” he said. “i’ll make sure to fuck you every single night.” he said , turning you around. “make sure you’re always satisfied.” his clothed cock pressed against your ass. “you’d like that?” he pulled your skirt up. “to be fucked every night.” you heard the unzipping of his slacks. “full of my cock , right before you feed.” his sharp teeth on your neck , you whined. “please bite me.” he cursed. “good girl.”

he pushed himself inside you; his thick cock filling you up. “mine.” he said , his teeth quickly piercing your skin , your eyes rolled to the back of your head , gripping the couch as he drank from your neck , his hand holding your head to the side. “jay!” you screamed as his fucked you , drinking your blood. “ah fuck!” the venom from him entering you as he fucked you through another orgasm.

he pulled away , his thrust not slowing down. “oh fuck.” he cursed , bringing his own wrist to his mouth biting it , the blood dripping from his wrist , as he brought it to your mouth. “drink it.” you brought your lips to his wrist , allowing the blood to flow into your mouth and down your throat. “that’s it -fuck- good girl , i’m gonna cum.” he groaned , his other hand gripping your waist. “fuuuck.” he hiss as he came , pulling his wrist from your mouth. “jay.” you gasped , feeling his cum seeping deep into your womb.

he stood back , admiring what he did to your body , his bite mark was embedded into your neck , he bent back down , whispering into your ear. . “i’m taking you home with me tonight.” that was the last thing you heard before everything faded to black.

he allowed you to sleep , picking up his phone to dial his driver. “sir.” he answered. “i’m ready for you now , ask the maid to prepare a bath for her.” he said. “okay sir , and for her first feeding.” the driver said. “she’ll be super hungry when she wakes up.” jay thought about it for a second. “damn should’ve kept kim locked up and allowed her to tear him limb from limb when she woke him.” he sighed. “i guess we’ll figure it out when she gets up.” he said. “ok sir , the car is pulling into the garage now.”

“and make sure to clear her schedule for future , she’ll quit when she’s ready , but she isn’t to return until she can control herself.” he picked up your sleeping body.

“gonna give you a good life , no matter who i have to kill for it.”

©️LUVYENI

[fluentmoviequoter]

New Life

Requested Here!

Pairing: TO!Jim Street x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: After you get custody of your 11-month-old niece, you see your TO's softer side. Your niece loves him, but he takes the time to make sure you are adjusting to your new life.

Warnings: brief angst, familial angst (sick sibling - not specified if it's a brother or sister), fluff, comfort, yearning and mutual pining

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

A/N: TO Street is back!!!!! I had to use this gif because Gasoline Drum is one of my favourite Street episodes🤭

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Street is the best training officer in the history of police training, you think. You came into the station on your first day with just enough confidence to get by and your heart in your throat, worried that you’d get one of the TOs your friends in the academy told you about: the pushy one, or the burned-out cop who’s more interested in proving you wrong than helping you. Street is the complete opposite. He’s clearly passionate about police work, and even if you remain confused about why he didn’t take the opportunity to return to SWAT, you’re grateful that he’s your TO.

Someone yells your name as you exit the roll call room, prepared to gather your war bags from the equipment room. You freeze as your mind begins racing, evaluating everything you could have done wrong, even glancing down to check if your socks match. Turning slowly on your heel, you see Street watching you, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression unreadable.

“Yes, sir?” you reply quietly.

“Do you know what day it is, boot?” he barks.

Pressing your lips together, you try to remember, but nothing is remarkable about today. So, you tell the truth, and answer, “No, sir.”

“Are you nervous?” he inquires, taking a step toward you.

“Yes, sir.”

Street stops then. “Good,” he murmurs, dropping his arms. “Ready to go?”

You blink, confused, and feel like you’re buzzing with nervousness. “Sir?”

Street taps your shoulder, directing you toward the equipment room, so you fall in step beside him, watching his profile as you walk.

“My old SWAT commander started a bet that I wouldn’t try to intimidate you on purpose,” he explains softly. “Sorry.”

“Oh,” you reply, still blinking owlishly as you stare at him. “Okay.”

Street leans over the clipboard to sign out your bags, not looking at you as he asks, “You alright?”

“My heart’s racing and I was about thirty seconds from a panic attack,” you mumble. “But, yeah, I’m alright.”

Street straightens, his muscles flexing under his short sleeves, and you have to remind yourself to look at his face and not his triceps.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But I can’t let them be right about anything, ever. And I won $300, so I’ll order you a pizza or something to make up for it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. You reach for your war bag, but Street knocks your hand out of the way and pulls it onto his shoulder. “Officer Street?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grunts, lifting his bag in his other hand. “I feel bad.”

“You also called me boot. What happened to I’m not like other TOs, I’ll treat you like a person?” you ask, lowering your voice to imitate him.

Street smiles, shaking his head. “I told you. $300.”

“We don’t get paid enough,” you sigh.

“Adam-13,” dispatch radios. “Report of a drunk and disorderly male near Harvard Park.”

Street sighs as he drops your bags in the trunk and closes the door. “Adam-13 responding,” he replies. “I’ll drive.”

“Which is different than any other day?” you murmur as you enter the passenger side of the shop.

“Hey!” Street calls as you step out of the car. “LAPD. We need to talk to you for a second.”

The man waves his hand over his head, then staggers off the sidewalk. You jog toward him, hoping he’ll stop when he sees your uniform is real.

“Hi, Jessie,” he mumbles as he brushes past you.

Furrowing your brows, you turn as Street approaches your side.

“It’s barely 8 a.m.,” he muses. “Little early for this, isn’t it?”

You want to tell Street that you think the man is confused rather than drunk, but don’t get a chance to before he turns into a park, where children are playing. Street leads the way as you run after the man, overtaking him easily as he drags his feet along the sidewalk. Standing in front of him, you block his path with your hands up and your badge visible.

“Sir, I’m Officer Jim Street,” Street says. “Have you had anything to drink today?”

“Water went shoo,” the man slurs, tossing his arms to the right and throwing himself off balance.

You step toward him, your arm extended to assist him, but Street grabs your wrist and shakes your head.

“He might get violent,” he reminds you. “Keep your distance and try to get his voluntary cooperation.”

“Sir, what’s your name?” you inquire.

“Kenneth,” he answers, squinting as he drops his head.

“Kenneth, where are you walking from?”

He squeezes his eyes closed, tilting his head to the side as he thinks. “Dunno,” he replies, shrugging.

“Street, I think he needs medical attention,” you whisper.

“Sir, do you have your ID?” Street asks. “Can I see it?”

Kenneth pats his pockets, then tsks. “Lef’it in car.”

“What kind of car do you drive?” you ask, pulling away from Street to approach Kenneth. Closer, you can see that his clothes are disheveled, and a few scrapes and bruises line his hands and jaw.

“Blue Mustang,” he answers, raising his hands to his head. “What do you want?” he demands, stepping toward you quickly.

You move back, laying your hand on your Taser before he stops and sways.

“Blue Mustang,” you repeat softly. “Street, he was in the accident off Western this morning; unoccupied Blue Mustang was leaking gas.”

Street nods, raising his hand to his radio to call for an ambulance. Kenneth tries to walk away, so you step in front of him and ask him more about his car. His short-term memory seems worse for wear, but other than the clear head trauma, he seems relatively unscathed.

You glance up when Street moves behind Kenneth, and he flashes you two fingers, so you know how long you have to distract Kenneth until the ambulance arrives.

“Weird guy, him,” Kenneth mumbles, moving his head toward Street.

“He’s just jealous of your car,” you tell him, watching Street roll his eyes. “He wants one but can’t afford it.”

A few minutes later, after you helped the paramedics coax Kenneth into the ambulance because he’d listen to you but wanted to fight them, you return to the shop with a sigh.

“What are you going to write me up for first?” you inquire. “Forgetting protocol or the Mustang joke?”

“Neither,” Street answers, looking over his shoulder to pull away from the curb. “You saw something that I didn’t. Good job following your instincts.”

“Thank you,” you reply, looking out the window so Street can’t see the smile on your face. You’re a police officer, your TO’s feedback isn’t supposed to make you giddy or cause images of hearing his praise in a much different context. Yet, Jim Street. The one guy in the LAPD you can’t seem to get enough of.

“Any sage words of wisdom?” you ask Deacon while waiting for Street.

He doesn’t answer before Hondo interrupts to say, “Don’t date playboy.”

“Playboy?” you repeat, incredulous. “Street?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hondo breathes dramatically, while Deacon rolls his eyes.

“He’s… flirty,” Deacon says. “Doesn’t usually lead anywhere. Not for long.”

You nod, pressing your lips together. Street might have made a borderline flirtatious comment once or twice, but you’re his rookie. There was never going to be anything between you, no matter what. No matter how much you think you’d like it.

“He’s not with me,” you say. “Guess his TO training advised against it.”

Hondo scoffs. “That’s never stopped Streeter before.”

Maybe it has, you think. Because the alternative is that he doesn’t like me, and I don’t know which would hurt worse.

“Because I’m impressed by how you handled Kenneth this morning,” Street begins.

“I don’t like how that sounds,” you complain, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I said I was impressed. I’m going to let you pick where we get lunch today. You have three blocks in any direction to choose from.”

You know precisely where you are, which proves to be helpful for more than patrolling today. There’s a food truck less than two blocks south of you, and Street nods as he enters a turn lane.

“Are you being nice to me because of what Hondo and Deacon said?” you blurt.

“What’d they say?” Street asks, sparing a glance at you as he drives.

“Nothing,” you murmur, wiping your uniform pants to look nonchalant.

“No,” Street replies. “What’d they say?”

“Just that I shouldn’t be surprised if you do something else because of a bet,” you lie.

Street hums, and you feel his eyes on you. He’s a good cop, a better TO, so he most likely knows you’re lying. Yet, he decides not to say anything, opting to drive silently to your chosen lunch destination.

After you order, you carry your tray to a nearby table and sit, checking your surroundings before you unwrap your straw and put it in the first cold drink you’ve had since breakfast. Street is still watching you closely, but it’s not as obvious or concerning as before. He’ll catch you in the lie eventually, you’ll laugh it off and move on. That’s how it works with Street. You thought the easy approach to serious topics was to make you comfortable as a rookie, but you see now that it’s just who Street is.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you expect to see it void of meaningful notifications, because your friends and family respect your career choice and know that you can’t get back to them while you’re working. That, and because they all have day jobs too. Today, however, you have three missed calls. Two from callers you recognize, and one from a local number you don’t have saved. You click that voicemail first, raising your phone to your ear as Street steals something off your tray and passes something from his in return.

“Good morning, this is Pamela Watson from the Los Angeles County Department of Children and Family Services,” the woman says. You set your drink down, feeling your heart pound in your throat as you listen. “I’m calling in regards to your niece. If you’d like to call me back today, please return this call and use extension 515, or you can email me through the office. Thank you.”

“What’s wrong?” Street asks, his gaze entirely different after he sees the concern on your face.

You can’t speak past the lump in your throat, so you shake your head and open the next voicemail, this one from your sibling.

“CFS probably already called,” they begin. “I’m fine, just dealing with some health stuff, and in turn, some money stuff. I’d never ask you to do this, and you don’t have to take responsibility, okay? If you want to, I’ll help you however I can and I will explain everything tonight. I- I’m okay, and I love you.”

You press your phone harder against your ear when the voicemail ends, clenching your teeth together as you try to make sense of everything you’ve heard. There’s another message, but you don’t want to listen to it right now. You doubt you could understand it even if you did.

“Hey,” Street calls, his voice commanding your attention this time. When you look up, his eyes bounce between yours, silently evaluating you and everything your body language tells him. “What’s wrong?” he repeats.

“I don’t know,” you admit, dropping your phone to your lap. “My- my family is… going through something, I guess. They didn’t tell me what.”

“How long ago did they call?” he inquires.

“Two hours.”

“Why didn’t you answer then?” he exclaims. “Family comes first.”

“My phone was silenced,” you answer weakly, feeling pressure in your eyes as you stare at the table. “They- they never call during the day.”

“Come on,” Street says, picking up your trays and empty cups as he stands. “We’ll tell the watch commander what happened, and you can go check on them.”

“But I can’t get time off,” you remind him. “I’m a rookie.”

“Time off is different than a family emergency. I’ll clear it. Come on.”

You follow Street to the shop, mumble your gratitude when he opens the door for you, and watch Los Angeles pass in a blur. Within an hour, you’re in the back of an Uber, showered and changed for a meeting with Pamela Watson to find out why your niece needs a new guardian.

“I know,” you say when your niece grins. “But I’m going to kill your parents for worrying me.”

She smiles wider as she giggles, reaching up toward your collar as you carry her around your living room. The calls made the situation sound much worse than they are. It’s a temporary solution to a short-term problem, Pamela had explained. Someone would take care of your niece for six months while your sibling received treatment for a recently discovered health condition. Doctors caught it early, and the treatment is 99% successful. But they’ll need time to travel, a sterile living environment, and may experience side effects that will make it harder to care for a child. With a monthly check from CFS and as many visits from your sibling as their doctor clears, you're prepared to take care of the cutest and most lovable member of your family.

It's the second night she’ll spend with you, and things are already going better than last night. You’ve chalked it up to the sudden changes, hoping that things improve with time, and you have what it takes to be a parent. As the sun sets over the Pacific, your phone buzzes on the counter. You tuck it between your ear and shoulder as you rock her to sleep, talking quietly.

“Hi,” Street greets. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you answer. “Thank you again for everything.”

“Of course. Your family?”

“Is going to get through this,” you say before briefly explaining the situation your sibling is in, but failing to bring up your new roommate.

“If you need to, we can push plain clothes day,” he offers. “I can have Hicks intercede, because I spent my one get out of jail free card.”

“No, I’ll be ready,” you assure him. “And I took your advice about using sticky notes to revise for the rookie exam. It’s helping a lot, so thank you.”

“Any time. Get some rest, and I’ll see you at the station Monday.”

“You, too. Goodnight.”

You hang up, and your niece nuzzles her face into your bathrobe, inches from your heart.

“Yeah, he gets to me, too,” you murmur.

Exactly a week after getting custody of your niece, you get put on the midnight shift. It’s inconvenient for more than your sleep schedule now, but you can’t get out of it, regardless of your excuse. So, you ask your cousin to watch your niece for one night only, going so far as to give up your apartment so she can have time away from her roommate as an incentive. She agrees, more than happy to spend time with the youngest family member, and you breathe a sigh of relief when she shows up on time.

“I thought you had to wear a uniform,” she muses as she carries her bag inside.

“I change at the station,” you inform her. “Everything you should need is on the counter, there are a few notes on the fridge, and I’ll try to have my phone on.”

“We’ll be fine,” she promises. “Be safe.”

You smile, thanking her once more, then focus on the job. Not on your family, how tired you are, or Street. The last proves to be the most difficult, because something about the way the city lights reflect off his profile makes his magnetism grow infinitely stronger.

“Hey, wait up!” Street calls, jogging out of the station behind you.

The sun is beginning to rise, stray beams of light illuminating the city. You’re ready for breakfast – or is it dinner? - and a nap, you think, but you’re willing to wait for Street.

“20 David is having their annual arm-wrestling competition against LAFD tomorrow,” he says, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. “Would you maybe want to come?”

“Arm wrestling against firefighters?” you repeat.

“Yeah, but don’t count us out.”

“Oh, I made the mistake of accepting an offer from Luca once,” you remember. “I have no doubt they’ll win. It’s just…” I have a baby at home sounds wrong, so you trail off.

“You don’t have to come,” Street offers, his smile dropping and his dimples disappearing. “Just wanted to offer.”

“No, I want to come,” you assure him. “Could I bring someone?”

“Yeah, of course,” Street answers, his smile long gone.

You thank him for the invitation and turn around, eager to get home, leaving him wondering who you’re willing to bring into this part of your life. He must be special, Street thinks, instantly hating himself for how jealous his inner voice sounds.

Your niece laughs, smiling with her cheek smushed against your chest. The baby carrier her dad insists on using every time they go out is now hooked over your shoulders and around your waist, and your first thought was, Oh, I get it. This is amazing. She giggles every time you tap her feet, so as you enter the police station, you distract her with rhythmic taps and gentle pulls to her feet and hands.

Inside SWAT HQ, dozens of firefighters and officers mill around, some carrying drinks, others with plates of cake and snacks, and some trash talking the competition. You found out this morning that the competition isn’t just for bragging rights, but for charity. Looking around for an officer you recognize, you don’t notice that your niece quiets, her eyes wide at the sight of so many large men.

Someone calls your last name, and you lay your hand on the baby carrier, pressing gently against your niece’s back as you turn. Deacon’s eyes widen in surprise for a brief moment, then he smiles and steps closer to you.

“Who is this?” he inquires, waving to your now-smiling niece.

“My niece,” you answer. “I’m watching her for a while.”

Deacon nods, letting her reach out and clasp her fingers around his finger before she giggles. He doesn’t press or ask for the specifics about the situation, and you’re grateful for that.

“I hope it’s okay we’re here,” you add. “Street told me I could come, and could bring someone, but I didn’t exactly tell him my plus one was an eleven-month-old.”

“More than okay,” Deacon assures you. “Everyone is going to love her. Here, follow me. You can put her bag in the situation room, come in here if you need peace and quiet or anything.”

“Thank you,” you say, punctuated with a sigh, following Deacon toward the closed door. “I really appreciate it.”

He nods, taking your backpack after you slip it off your shoulders. There’s a large table against the far wall, and he sets it there for easy access, then offers to show you around until Street finds you. “And he will,” Deacon murmurs.

“You have a baby,” Luca exclaims when you exit the situation room. “Oh, she’s adorable.”

“Thanks,” you reply. “My niece.”

Luca smiles, and she matches his expression before kicking her legs and pointing. You turn your head toward her new object of admiration, and your smile falls when you see Street. He’s not looking at her; he’s staring at your face and standing completely motionless in the hall.

“Hi,” you greet softly.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Deacon says, patting your back kindly.

“Yeah, and I’ve got to stretch out my bicep,” Luca adds, turning to follow Deacon.

You watch Street momentarily, everything growing more awkward by the second. Luckily, your niece breaks the silence with a heart-warming giggle that draws both your attention and Street’s.

“Did I…” he begins. “Did I miss a chapter in the get to know my rookie book?”

“Remember when I said something came up with my family?” you ask. He nods, so you gesture to your niece. “She needed a temporary guardian. I got custody of her last week.”

“She’s your…”

“Niece.”

Street nods as he approaches you. “She’s adorable,” he murmurs.

She squeals, reaching toward him as she pulls away from your chest.

“Nice to meet you too,” Street says, his arm pressed against your shoulder as he smiles at her. “Yeah, I like your aunt, she’s okay.”

“I think I’m a little better than okay,” you mumble, pinching your brows.

Street smiles, turning toward you as you tilt your chin to look at him. Your niece whines, hitting your chest until Street returns his attention to her. She smiles up at him, dropping her head toward her shoulder as she reaches toward him again.

“I think someone likes you,” you muse, patting her back gently.

“Really? Who?” he teases, glancing at you quickly as he offers his hand.

Your niece wraps her hand around his finger, kicking her legs excitedly against your rib cage. Wincing in surprise more than pain, you don’t notice how quickly Street looks up at you, bent at his waist to talk to your niece.

“You alright?” he inquires.

“Fine,” you assure him. “She really likes you. I haven’t seen her respond to someone like this before.”

Street nods as he straightens, then asks, “May I?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Not what I asked.”

You nod then, holding one arm under the bottom of the baby carrier as you reach to undo the clips on either side of her.

“Wait,” Street murmurs. “I got it.”

His hand covers yours briefly, your eyes meeting with only a breath – and a baby – between you. He nods, so you drop your hand to support your niece while Street opens the carrier. His fingers run along the sides of your rib, and you fight off the shiver that threatens to run through you at his touch. It disappears too quickly as he pulls your niece into his arms, chuckling when she smiles against his chest and gets comfortable as he sways.

“Not exactly what I expected when your team said you were a playboy,” you joke.

Street freezes, pursing his lips for a moment before he speaks. “Is that what they told you that made you act so weird?”

Right, you remember. The one thing I wasn’t supposed to bring up. In my defense, I have a baby now. Maybe late off-set pregnancy brain rubbed off on me somehow.

“It- it was just a joke, Officer Street. I know you’d never do anything like that with me, even if it wasn’t,” you defend.

He hesitates before answering, “Fine. But drop the Officer. We’re out of uniform, hanging out with my new best friend to watch Luca demolish some firefighters, so I’m just Street today.”

“Okay. Thanks, Street.”

You watch him walk away, gaining several steps before you trail behind him. Remembering that you have an empty baby carrier halfway strapped on, you stop and look at the situation room, then at Street’s back. You trust him, so you let him carry your niece out of sight while you put her carrier with her bag. In the privacy of the situation room, you press your hands against the edge of a table and sigh deeply. Your niece might be obsessed with Street, and that’s fine, but your feelings about your TO, which aren't so dissimilar, are not.

Street has been with your niece for one hour and forty-six minutes when she grows fussy. Not that you’ve been counting, but Street disoriented you enough when he took her from you that you noticed and remembered the time. That’s normal, you tell yourself, you’re a cop. It’s your job to be observant.

He excuses himself from the group of cops and firefighters who lost all inhibition and dropped their tough acts when they saw a cute, smiling baby, and walks toward you.

“She’s hungry,” you say, pushing off the wall you’d been leaning against to watch practice rounds (and Street). “I’ve got her food.”

You reach out for her, but Street moves one arm behind her head, blocking her from you as he turns away.

“No, I got it,” he argues, drawing a pleased squeal from your niece.

“Street, I didn’t bring her here to have you babysit,” you explain, smiling. “I appreciate it, but you’ve done more than enough.”

“You didn’t sign up for this, but that doesn’t mean you can’t accept help.”

You nod slowly, tipping your head toward the situation room. Street follows you inside, sits beside your bag, and acts like he’s been doing this his whole life. You stand by the door, your fingers hooked together as you watch him. As he feeds your niece, carrying a one-sided conversation with her, you tear your eyes from him and wander around the room, looking at the equipment 20 squad members use daily.

“Is your family okay?” Street asks, his eyes still on your niece as she blinks slowly.

“Yes,” you answer, rubbing a spot on a table to keep yourself from looking at Street. If you turn around, he might see how worried you are, not just about your family but your future with Street and in the department. Incredibly, your niece has brought up so many questions about your own life, but you wouldn’t change this for anything. “Her, uh-her parents are just dealing with some health issues, getting treatment, and need her to stay with me for six months.”

“The doctors are hopeful?” he clarifies.

“99% confident,” you answer. “And everyone is chipping in to help.”

“That’s great.”

Street sounds closer now, and you turn to discover he’s walking toward you. He points to his left, and you see your niece fast asleep on her roll-out changing mat. Street has positioned it against the wall, with her carrier on the other side so she’s safe from falling or hitting the metal table. You sniff, dragging your hand under your eye to ensure you aren’t showing the emotions you’re feeling.

“How are you?” Street asks, leaning against the table beside you.

No one has asked that yet. Your family has called to check in on your niece, offered to babysit while you work, dropped off toys and food, but no one has taken the time or interest in learning how you are adjusting to this new life.

“I’m fine,” you answer softly, inhaling deeply to keep yourself composed.

Street shakes his head, and you drop your chin toward your chest. “I’m tired,” you admit then. “Scared I’m going to mess up or hurt her or something else. I can’t disappoint anyone, Street, they’re counting on me.”

“Hey,” Street murmurs. You don’t look up, so he hooks his finger under your chin to direct your eyes to his. “Hey. You aren’t going to disappoint anyone.”

“You don’t know that,” you argue, your voice strained.

“I do. I’m your teacher, I know everything about your potential.”

You smile, leaning closer to Street. He drops his hand to your waist as he steps closer.

“We can’t,” you whisper.

Street looks between your eyes, the world slowing around you. Someone yells outside, and you both look toward your niece, but she’s still asleep.

“We can’t now,” Street amends. “Care to watch some arm wrestling?”

“Sure,” you answer. “Thank you, Street.”

“Street!” your niece exclaims as she blinks awake.

His eyes widen, his fingers dragging across your waist as he rushes to her side, pulling her to his chest again.

“That’s me!” he says. “You’re so smart, just like your aunt.”

You smile as Street takes your hand, leading you into the heart of SWAT HQ with your heart tucked safely beside his, waiting for the right time.

“Hey, you can’t cheat in front of a baby!” Street yells, drawing a groan from the entire LAFD and a happy giggle from your niece, who will be impossible to part with in six months.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Thanks for the prompt @carnationsandrobots! Here's a bit of post-canon Nightbutcher:

28. “...I don't hate you.” “...you don’t?”

CW: Character injury

Jenny doesn’t think any of the kids notice; they’re too jubilant after solving what sounds like a long, difficult case involving multiple hellhounds, a demon, and a bunch of Tories. Edwin is switching back and forth between bickering with Crystal and scolding Charles for being reckless. Charles is too busy making cow eyes at both Edwin and Crystal. As usual, Niko is just happy to be there. None of them seem to notice the way the Night Nurse grimaces when Niko brushes by her and sticks to the edge of the room, leaning slightly against the wall.

“We’re going to go out to celebrate,” Crystal tells Jenny, eyes bright. It’s good to see her in her element, even though Jenny still doesn’t think a pair of seventeen year olds should be running around London chasing after hellhounds, demons, and asshole politicians. “Do you want to come?”

Jenny shakes her head. “Some of us have work in the morning.” 

“How about you, Charlie?” Charles calls, one arm thrown over Niko’s shoulders, the other one around Edwin. “You coming?”

The Night Nurse sniffs. “That is not my name, Charles Rowland.”

“Well, you won’t tell me your name, will you? Gotta call you something.”

She doesn’t look like she agrees. “There’s no need to celebrate doing our jobs. We’re professionals.”

“Sure, we are,” he says easily. “Professionals that are taking the night off. Cheers!”

“Just make good choices,” Jenny calls as the kids pile out the door. “Ones that don’t involve demons.”

“No demons, we promise!” Niko beams at her over her shoulder before the door closes behind him, leaving the office suddenly quiet and empty.

The Night Nurse sighs and shakes her head. “They should be working on their bloody reports, not out gallivanting. This is why nothing ever gets done around here.”

“Right.” Jenny goes to retrieve the first aid kit from the drawer the boys keep it in. It annoys her that she spends enough time here that she knows the layout of the office like the back of her hand by now. “Where are you hurt?”

The Night Nurse blinks at her. “I am not hurt. I am an eternal, trans-dimensional—”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned. But you’re an eternal, trans-dimensional being that’s been swallowed by at least one fish, so it’s not like you’re Superman.”

“Who the bloody hell is Superman?”

“Just show me where you’re hurt.”

The Night Nurse rolls her eyes at the ceiling and raises her left arm.

“Jesus Christ,” Jenny says emphatically when she sees the dark bloodstain drenching the side of the Night Nurse’s brown jacket.

“It’s nothing. It will heal.”

“What the fuck happened?”

“The hellhound got in a lucky swipe. Hellish beings are one of the few creatures that can hurt me.”

“What, so you were just going to not say anything to anyone?”

The Night Nurse draws herself up, which would be more impressive if that didn’t make her wince. “There was no need. This won’t kill me.”

“Just take off your fucking jacket, Charlie.”

She expects the Night Nurse to protest, but instead she just sighs and shrugs off her jacket. “I keep telling all of you, my name is not Charlie.”

“Well, then you should tell us your actual name, because trust me, Charlie is the nicest of the things we could call you.” Jenny grimaces when she sees the mess under the Night Nurse’s blazer. The hellhound must have gotten its paw under the blazer; the side of the Night Nurse’s shirt is shredded, the white fabric soaked with blood and sticking to her skin. “Jesus Christ.”

“You keep invoking that name, but I assure you, He has nothing to do with this. That’s an entirely different department.”

As she has with the many, many things in the nearly a year since she found out that ghosts and demons and fucking dandelion sprites exist, Jenny decides not to ask. “Shirt off.”

“That’s not—”

“I promise, I won’t tell any of the other eternal, trans-dimensional beings that you needed a fucking Band Aid.”

With a huff of exasperation, the Night Nurse begins to unbutton her shredded shirt. “You’re a butcher. I don’t see how you’re qualified to give me medical attention.”

Jenny smiles thinly. “Meat is meat.”

Her patient doesn’t seem impressed by that, but Jenny wasn’t expecting her to. Still, the Night Nurse pulls her shirt off. Jenny carefully doesn’t pay attention to the sensible white cotton bra or the swell of freckled cleavage underneath. Mostly because the four gashes slashing from the Night Nurse's hipbone and up her side to nearly her armpit are incredibly distracting. Jenny has never been squeamish—you can’t be in her line of work—but she still winces at the sight.

“You’re lucky those aren't deeper” she tells the Night Nurse.

“If they were, I still would have been fine, because as I said, immortal trans-dimensional being.” The Night Nurse sighs gustily, which does interesting things to her cleavage that Jenny does not take note of. “Proceed, if you must.”

“Thanks,” Jenny says dryly and ducks into the bathroom that adjoins the office—which looks a hell of a lot nicer after a year of Crystal and Niko being a fixture here—and wets a few paper towels. When she returns, she finds the Night Nurse sitting on the desk with the air of a disgruntled cat who’s about to just let the vet close enough to scratch the shit out of them. Her fingers drum impatiently on the desk as Jenny approaches.

“I do hope this won’t take long,” the Night Nurse says as Jenny slips on a pair of latex gloves and begins to gently wipe the drying blood off her skin. “I have work to do.”

“Don’t you always?” Jenny mutters.

“The Lost and Found Department does not run itself.”

“Doesn’t your boss lady, who is actually Niko but old, run the Lost and Found Department?”

“The Principal is second only to Death. She’s far too busy for the likes of the Lost and Found Department.”

And doesn’t that just make Jenny dizzy that Niko is going to grow up to become Death’s second-in-command, but due to time fuckery in the afterlife, she already is. Another thing that Jenny isn’t thinking about, because it makes her want to go hide in the closet that Edwin and Charles are always ducking into to “discuss things.”

“Well, the Lost and Found Department is going to have to survive a night without you.” Jenny can’t feel the Night Nurse’s skin through her gloves, but it looks soft. Freckled too, which is weird. It seems like an eternal trans-dimensional being shouldn’t have something as human as freckles. She has a little scar under her belly button. Jenny wonders where she got it, but doesn’t ask.

The Night Nurse harrumphs.

“You don’t usually go with the kids on cases,” Jenny says.

“I wanted to be close at hand, given that a demon was involved.”

“In case Edwin got dragged to Hell again?”

“Exactly.” The Night Nurse’s lips press into a thin line, like the admission pains her.

That’s the other thing that the kids haven't noticed: that despite all her sighs and scoldings and complaints about being forced to linger on this vile mortal plane, the Night Nurse clearly cares about them. In their defense, the Night Nurse is about as affectionate as the feral cats Jenny used to leave food out for behind the butcher shop back in Port Townsend. She seems only slightly less likely than the cats to scratch your eyes out for getting too close.

“This is going to sting,” Jenny warns her as she pulls an antiseptic wipe out of its packet.

“I’m not human. It’s hardly going to bother—ow.”

Jenny raises an eyebrow at her. “You were saying?”

The Night Nurse huffs, but there’s a hint of a rueful smile around her lips.

“Maybe if you're going to keep taking on hellhounds, you should brush up on some self-defense,” Jenny says as the Night Nurse tightens her grip on the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.

“My self-defense is that I cannot die.” For the first time, the Night Nurse’s voice carries a tinge of strain.

“A few inches to the right and your guts would have ended up all over the ground, which wouldn’t have felt great, immortal or not.”

“The beast took me off guard.” The Night Nurse grimaces as Jenny moves on to the deepest of the gashes. If she were dealing with a human, Jenny would probably suggest stitches for this one, but she can guess how that would go over.

“But you didn’t tell the kids you were hurt.”

The Night Nurse watches Jenny’s hands work, brow furrowed in concentration. “They were busy dispatching the demon. I did not want to cause a distraction.”

“And afterwards?”

“There was no need for a fuss.”

Jenny snorts.

“What’s so funny?” The Night Nurse asks severely.

“All that complaining about them going out to celebrate, and you didn’t want to worry them.”

“They would not have been worried. Trust me, I am well aware of what you all think of me.” Something flickers in the Night Nurse's expression.

“And what do we think of you?”

“You hate me.”

“I don't hate you."

The Night Nurse actually looks surprised at that. “You don’t?”

“No,” Jenny says. “Do you think I’d be spending my Friday night stopping you from bleeding to death if I did?”

“I cannot bleed to death. And no offense meant, but in the months I’ve known you, the only plans I've ever seen you have are with four teenagers, two of whom are dead. Did you have any other plans for your Friday night?”

Yeah, Jenny really needs to start getting out and meeting new people. Fuck, she hates new people. “And for what it's worth, the kids don’t hate you either.”

“I don’t know about that,” the Night Nurse murmurs, glancing down.

God, why is Jenny always the one stuck giving people pep talks around here? She’s the least qualified person to give a pep talk, except maybe Edwin, whose encouraging speeches always seem to circle back to that time he went to Hell. “Look, I’m not going to lie, you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” the Night Nurse says dryly.

“I haven’t forgotten about that mind fuck thing you did to me when you were looking for Crystal and the boys.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“The extenuating circumstances were that you wanted to take an innocent kid to Hell, so that isn’t really the defense you think it is.” She seems to have nothing to say to that, so Jenny presses on. “You don’t seem to understand child labor laws, you think everything has to go exactly your way or it’s the end of the fucking world, and look, we get it, you hate earth. You can stop bitching about it now.”

The Night Nurse regards her with narrowed eyes. “I was under the impression you were trying to convince me that you don’t hate me.”

"But I know you're the reason we were able to get Niko back," Jenny says. "And I'm pretty sure you're the reason more demons haven't come after Edwin since he escaped Hell again. And you do look out for them, even if you're determined to make sure everyone knows what a hardship it is for you.”

“I take my responsibilities seriously. I was tasked with looking out for them by the Principal herself. And…” The Night Nurse’s gaze flicks over Jenny. “And not everything about the mortal plane is entirely unpleasant.”

Jenny finds herself lost for words, unable to do anything but stare at the Night Nurse in surprise. Look, she’s out of practice on the whole dating thing—besides Maxine, though she doesn’t like to think about that—but she’s pretty sure the Night Nurse just flirted with her. And Jenny, who is thirty-five years old and not a blushing teenager too hopped up on hormones to think straight, has no idea what to do with that.

She doesn’t think she hates it, though.

Jenny clears her throat and busies herself with grabbing the bandages out of the first aid kit. “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to stop radiating disdain at all times. Maybe you and the kids would get along better.”

The Night Nurse sniffs. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

They’re quiet as Jenny wraps the bandages around the Night Nurse’s torso. There’s no way to do it without getting close, close enough that the Night Nurse’s hair keeps brushing her cheek. She smells nice, like vanilla. Jenny usually has steady hands—you have to as a butcher, or you’re going to lose a finger, like her dad did towards the end when the drinking got really bad—but she keeps fumbling the bandage, distracted by how close her cheek is to the curve of the Night Nurse’s shoulder.

As soon as she ties off the bandage, Jenny steps back, snapping off the gloves and tossing it in the trash. “Okay, you should be all set. Just try not to get in fights with any more hellhounds, okay? Someone around here has to have some sense of self-preservation.”

The Night Nurse sighs gustily. Jenny continues not to look at her cleavage, but Jesus Christ, they need to find her a shirt that’s not covered in blood. “Thank you, Jenny. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Jenny says. “And next time, just say something.”

“There won’t be a next time,” the Night Nurse says. “Like I keep saying, I’m an eternal, trans-dimensional—”

“Pain in the ass,” Jenny grumbles.

The Night Nurse actually laughs at that. Not her usual sardonic bark of laughter, but a real laugh. It’s a nice laugh.

Fuck.

“It’s Asa, by the way,” the Night Nurse says.

Jenny is trying to think around the fact that she’s pretty sure she’s attracted to the most exasperating woman she’s ever met. Who isn’t even a woman, but some kind of immortal being. “What?”

“My name. It’s Asa. Not Charlie.” The Night Nurse—Asa—rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell Charles. He’ll be even more insufferable than he already is.”

Jenny feels her mouth tugging into a smile against her will. “You can buy my silence by going an entire day without complaining about the mortal plane even once.”

“Impossible.”

“You’re an eternal, trans-dimensional being. Pretty sure your whole existence is impossible.”

“Clearly not, since I am sitting right here. Unfortunate, since I do not belong on this—”

“And there you were, about to complain about the mortal plane again, weren’t you?”

Asa opens her mouth, then closes it. She’s cute when she’s befuddled. “You didn’t specify when the day was supposed to start.”

“It started about a minute ago.”

“Well, it is not my fault that there are so many things to complain about. Like those blasted cellular devices the girls are always waving about. All the knowledge in the world at their fingertips, and they waste it watching Tic Tacs and—”

Jenny rolls at the ceiling as Asa launches into her familiar list of complaints. Well, she's always had disastrous taste in women, she supposes. She may as well see where this goes.

***

[mongoosingisme]

That last ask was so good, but I have to say, my favourite concept is them flipping the script. Like specifically you end up in some form of dominant position, and you get a little too teasing. Like, you aren't walking out of there by yourself 😭 Gah I love the older bachelors so much thank you for writing them

Hello anon. Thank you for this. Also I think we might be soulmates.

This little Harvey short grabbed me by the throat and made me write it. If something similar happens for Shane or Elliott I’ll link it here.

Thank you and I hope you get everything you want out of life.

(Uh, saucy, MDNI, etc etc etc)

Date nights with Harvey were hard to come by, but when they did happen you tried to make the most of them.

That would explain the lack of underwear.

You loved the look on Harvey’s face as you flipped up the back of your dress the second before you walked out the door. All wide eyes and bright red cheeks and that hand going to his tie. A giddy feeling, like you had the night in the palm of your hand, like you weren’t just going out to the saloon for a drink and a meal, like you were a little more than just the person you were.

That’s probably why you couldn’t help but push it a little. Press up against him as you were walking. Lean over the table at dinner, elbows close together in your lap. Slip your foot out of your shoe, let your toe nudge up under the cuff of his trousers. Smile whenever he blushed.

And if the whipped cream got knocked off a bite of your tart, what choice did you have but to scoop it off your chest with your finger, make a show of cleaning it off?

Harvey was in for a good night.

You had visions of him stretched out on your bed, the noises you could make him make while his hands were fastened to the headboard, but his hand ended up fastened around your upper arm instead. A firm grip as you left the saloon, pulling you not towards the farm but to the clinic.

He exuded an air of quiet determination as he steered you through the waiting room and into his office, but it shattered as he backed you up against his desk and cupped you around the chin. “What,” he asked, voice uncharacteristically ragged, “did you expect to accomplish by all of that?”

You pressed your lips together to control the grin that wanted to overwhelm your face. This was a-okay too. “Just wanted to have a nice evening with my favorite person?” All innocence and wide eyes.

Harvey wasn’t buying it.

“Nice, was it? I hope it was very nice for you.” And then his hands were on your hips, turning you to face the desk. A hand between your shoulders, pushing you down with more force than you’d ever seen Harvey exhibit, and holy shit, you’d have to skip the panties more often because his hand was fisting at the back of your neck, pushing your cheek into his paperwork while his other hand palmed at your ass. “What do I do with you?”

Before you could come up with a snappy reply, his hand was gone, only to return in a stinging smack against you. “Fuck,” you gasped, more from surprise than pain.

That was new.

Yoba be praised.

“Do you think you get to tease me all night and get rewarded?” His palm out flat, smoothing over where he’d just hit. Though hit was a strong word, barely more than a tap, because it was still Harvey, after all.

Though people could change.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Still trying for innocence, but you made no attempt to hide the way his attention was making you shift your hips.

Another impact on the other side, a little harder this time, then that wide palm flat and heavy. “You can’t possibly expect me to buy that.” His hand shifted, fingers stroking up between you. “Look at how wet you are. Does driving me crazy get you this worked up?”

“It would appear so,” you deadpanned.

Harvey sighed, all weary authority. “Well, if that’s what you were after….” The jingle of a belt buckle, the shuffle of clothes, and then Harvey pushing inside of you in one swift, even thrust.

You didn’t try to hold back the way the sudden intrusion made you cry out, made you push back against his hands, but he didn’t give you an inch of space or time, just started moving in a slow, steady rhythm. “You… you’re so….” His words were failing him, but his hands stayed strong against a hip and the back of your neck.

Yoba, he felt good, all big and hard and filling you up so beautifully. The angle was good, pressing against you, making you squeeze, making you whimper each time he thrust in, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, had to have more, would absolutely fucking combust if you didn’t get it, so you snaked your hand down between your legs.

But then Harvey’s hand was around your wrist, pulling it away, pinning it down on the desk with a “no, no, you haven’t earned that,” and fuck if that didn’t have you moaning and pleading. “Complain all you want, won’t make a difference.” His voice was a little breathier, the hand on your neck now an elbow bracing on the table, his chest on top of yours, his thrusts becoming more like snaps. “You can tease me all you want, sweetheart, but you have to accept the consequences.”

If the consequences were Harvey holding you down and fucking you like that, hard and fast, losing its rhythm, breath hot on the side of your cheek, belt buckle jangling, fingers curling tighter and tighter on your wrist as his control slipped further and further out of his grasp until finally he emptied into you with a shuddering groan?

Well.

Who needed underwear anyway?

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window – special chapter | ksj

special chapter title: don't say you love me pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: a special chapter depicting a trip to singapore that happened sometime in between chapter 5 and 6 warnings: chaotic. maybe even cacophonous. maybe some angst? maybe some fluff? inspired by jin's "don't say you love me" mv, jin POV with some reader POV sprinkled in drop date: May 17th, 2025, 11:00am pst word count: 3.9k please check out the full series here - -

The trip wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was meant to be a reunion with friends from elementary school that you and Jin decided to reach out and reconnect with. Loud, chaotic, full of half-drunken memories and spontaneous laughter between old friends. A trip born out of a group chat fantasy: “What if we all just disappeared to Singapore for a week?” Moonbyul had the idea. You were the first to actually look up flights to see if it could even be possible. It seemed like a cool idea, but also sounded pretty expensive. Jin was the one who booked the flights and hotel for you both. Everyone else just talked and said they booked their stuff too.

But life happened. One had a family emergency. Another got hit with a last-minute deadline. One had a commitment they forgot about. One just ghosted. And then it was just the two of you.

You told him the night before the flight, guilt-ridden and frustrated, saying you think it’d be a good idea to cancel the trip. Said it didn’t feel right anymore, not with everyone bailing. Said it wasn’t worth it. You didn’t even have the money to pay Jin back for everything. The camming makes money, but you really should save up for when you move out, not for a trip. It’s expensive living anywhere in this area.

But Jin still persisted, which you found hard to turn down.

“I’m paying. Just come. You need the break, and so do I.”

You nodded, going back to your room to finish packing. You sighed.  And then you both took off to Singapore, doing your best to enjoy this trip.

Now it’s day three, and something’s shifted. Jin can feel it. You smile at the right times. You laugh when you’re supposed to. But something’s... off.

You both are at the Singapore Art Museum (SAM). You're looking at a painting, blanking out. Something seems to be on your mind since you got to Singapore, but Seokjin can't pinpoint it out.

"Something wrong, Y/N?"

"Huh?" You go back to reality, turning to him. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just the jet lag."

"Then let's get your blood flowing and keep it moving, alright?" He playfully grabs your wrist and gently drags you along the hall.

You don’t pull away, but you don’t laugh either. Well, not the way you usually do. Not like before. He notes the delay in your steps, the way your fingers rest limp in his grip instead of curling around his like they used to when you were just being playful.

It’s not jet lag. He knows it.

As you walk through the wide, echoing corridor, surrounded by soft lights and experimental installations, Jin sneaks a glance at you. You’re here—physically—but your thoughts are clearly somewhere else.

And maybe he’s being dramatic, but he kind of misses you.

Not the version of you standing beside him, quiet and tense, but the you that used to shove your camera in his face mid-bite at a food market. The you that would elbow him in the ribs when he made a stupid pun. The you who, a few nights ago back home, rode him like you had something to prove, then passed out in his bed like you genuinely live there and not temporarily.

Maybe that’s the problem.

You’re not just friends anymore. You’re not dating either. You’re in this in-between place—sharing beds, sharing skin, but never talking about what that means. And now here you are, in a foreign country, staying in the same hotel room, eating at the same table, doing everything together like a couple… but you’re not.

And it’s eating at you.

He knows because you’ve stopped meeting his eyes when he offers to pay for something. Because you barely touched your laksa yesterday even though you’d been excited to try it for weeks. Because last night, you showered and pretended to sleep early before he even got out of the bathroom.

You don’t want to owe him.

He gets it. But it doesn’t make it easier to watch.

“So…” he says, voice light as he tugs you into another exhibit. “What’s your honest opinion of this one?”

You blink up at the installation in front of you—a large digital screen looping a surreal, color-shifting animation. “It’s… trippy,” you murmur.

He chuckles. “Very insightful. You’ve got a future in art critique.”

You give him a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Still, it’s something.

He lets go of your wrist and steps a bit closer to the piece, arms crossed. “You know, if our friends were here, they’d have made us pose in front of this thing and made it a whole bit. Probably pretended we were in a music video or something ridiculous.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. They would’ve.”

There’s a pause. A quiet kind of ache settles in the space between you.

By day four, Jin has stopped trying to make you laugh.

Not because he doesn't want to. But because every smile you offer him is painfully polite. Controlled. Pretty on the outside and hollow underneath. He knows the difference—he's known you long enough to see through the cracks.

You pay for your iced coffee before he gets the chance to tap his card. You walk beside him like everything’s fine, but it’s all surface.

And it’s eating at him.

You both have dinner at a tucked-away café on a quiet street corner. The food is warm and good and the ambience cozy, but you're barely touching your plate. You nod at his stories, sip your drink slowly, but your eyes drift past him to somewhere he can’t reach.

You walk slower on the way out. He doesn’t ask where you’re going, just follows. You wind up at a multilevel parking garage with a view of the skyline. The city glows in the night, sharp against the dark, and for a few minutes, neither of you say anything.

Then it breaks.

He doesn’t remember what sets it off. A comment, maybe. Something small. Something that hits a nerve.

“You’ve been acting weird this whole trip.”

You don’t look at him, but respond with an annoyed twinge in your words. “Have I?”

“You have. You’ve barely looked at me.”

You push off the ledge, finally turning toward him, brows furrowed. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Tired doesn’t make you shut me out.”

That’s when your face changes. Like something inside you snaps.

“Well this is your fault, Seokjin!”

The words slice through the quiet like a blade. Jin flinches. You keep going.

“I didn’t want you to pay this trip for me. I was supposed to pay—even though I barely have the damn money—I was still willing to go through with this. I wanted to hang out and see everyone. Our old friends. That’s what this was supposed to be.”

Your eyes are shining, your voice trembling.

“But it’s just us now. And instead of canceling, you threw money at it and acted like it was no big deal. And now I’m here…feeling like your stupid sugar baby.”

Jin’s mouth opens, then shuts. You don’t stop.

“You don’t even see it, do you? How humiliating it is to feel like I owe you. How fucking small it makes me feel.”

His heart is pounding. “Y/N… I didn’t mean for it to feel like that.”

You don’t even know, he thinks.

You don’t know that he booked this trip not just to get away, but because he couldn’t stand seeing you so burned out every day. He’d watched you stay up night after night, rereading the same job descriptions, rehearsing for interviews that went nowhere, rewriting resumes that got tossed aside without a second glance. He saw how it was breaking you down. The apartment had started to feel like a trap, quietly suffocating you. He knew you wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t admit it, but Jin saw it in the slump of your shoulders, the way you didn’t bother turning the lights on when you came home.

He paid for the flights because he wanted to see your smile again, your real one. The one where your nose crinkles and your eyes disappear and you forget for five seconds that the world has been unfair to you.

And maybe—just maybe—he hoped being away together like this would open a door. Maybe in another version of this trip, where you weren’t upset and pushing him away, he might’ve told you everything. That you mean more to him than you probably realize. That this isn’t just about friendship or sex or convenience. That he’s scared shitless of ruining what you already have, but even more scared of watching you drift away into someone else’s life someday.

“I know you didn’t,” you spit. “But it does feel like that.”

Your voice wobbles. “I’ve always been an independent person. I’ve always figured things out on my own. And now I’m living in your place. Now going on a trip you paid for. And no matter how many times you say it’s fine, it’s not fine for me.”

Jin steps forward instinctively, reaching for you. “Y/N, God, don’t do this—”

You shove him. “Just leave me alone, Seokjin’

It’s not hard enough to hurt, but the rejection using his full name stings more than a slap.

He grabs your wrists on instinct, not to restrain you—but to stop you from slipping further away.

“Y/N. Stop.” His voice drops. “Just—breathe. Please.”

But you’re shaking your head, furious tears welling.

“You don’t get it. You’ve always had your shit together, Jin. You’re successful, stable, rich, hot, loved. And I’m just… struggling. All the time. And being around you like this—it makes me feel pathetic.”

He stares at you. Words rise up in his throat, thick and real.

He wants to tell you he understands more than you think.

That his ex left him because she didn’t believe in him at the time.

That the world sees his achievements, but not the loneliness he carries like a second skin.

That when he looks at you, it’s not pity he feels. It’s awe. It’s what he’s felt ever since he met you in elementary school. The amusement he had bickering with you and being competitive against one another. And the budding feelings that he didn’t realize until he left.

He swallows hard. He could tell you all of that. He could tell you everything.

“Y/N, I—” His voice is raw.

But he chokes.

“…I just thought you needed a break,” he says instead. “That we both did.”

Your face crumples, just slightly.

You yank your wrists free.

“I’m going back to the hotel alone.”

“Y/N—”

“I need space. I’ll take a cab.”

And then you’re walking away.

Jin watches you go, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. His chest is hollow, chest tightening with every footstep that takes you further from him.

This is why he’s scared to feel.

This is why he’s terrified to hope.

Because even when he gives the best of himself, it never feels like enough.

Maybe he really is too much of a provider and not enough of a partner. Maybe no amount of success can fix what’s always been broken inside him.

Maybe—

He watches the cab door close behind you.

Maybe this is what being close to you means:

Knowing when to let you walk away.

Before the cab pulls away, Jin suddenly moves.

His legs act before his mind can catch up. He darts forward and yanks the door back open, sliding in beside you.

“You’re not going alone,” he says, out of breath but firm. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I’m not letting you go back by yourself in a country we barely know.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parted in surprise—but you don’t push him out. You don’t say anything at all.

So he shuts the door behind him.

The driver nods and merges into the road, unaware of the hurricane churning inside the cab.

Silence fills the space between you. Not awkward, not hostile. Just heavy.

You glance at him—just once—and Jin feels it. The air shifts.

You don’t know what you were expecting when you lashed out at him. Maybe for him to get angry. Maybe for him to throw his hands up and let you spiral alone. But instead, he followed you. He always does. And now he’s here, quiet and steady beside you, while your chest aches from too many emotions you don’t know how to carry anymore.

You turn your face back to the window on your right, your fingers tightening slightly on your thigh.

Jin catches your reflection in the glass. He looks away toward the left, but the image of your expression—tired, vulnerable, guarded—sticks in his mind.

He gets it now. It wasn’t just about money. It wasn’t even about pride, really. You’ve always fought for your independence, and the fact that things still haven’t gone your way lately has made you feel like you’re failing. And him stepping in—offering help, offering ease—it must have felt like another reminder that you couldn’t stand on your own two feet. That he could always do the saving, but you couldn’t.

He swallows hard. His voice is gentle when it finally breaks the silence.

“I didn’t bring you here to make you feel small, Y/N.”

You stay quiet, but he continues.

“I just… I’ve been watching you fall apart back home. The way you pretend you’re okay when you’re not. You didn’t think I noticed, did you?”

You blink once, still looking out the window.

“I didn’t want to take something away from you,” he says, “I wanted to give you something. Peace. Air. A few days without expectations. And I’d do it again. Not because you owe me, and not because I want anything from you—but because I care about you.”

That lands between you. Heavy and real.

“I care about you so fucking much,” he admits softly, eyes flickering down to his hands, “that sometimes I don’t know what to do.”

You finally turn to face him.

Your voice is quiet. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Because the last time I told someone how I felt about something, shit hit the fan?" He doesn't want to mention that someone. It's irrelevant and off-topic anyways. This is about you. "And this friendship… between us… it’s been good. Simple. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you reach over and thread your fingers through his.

“Simple’s overrated,” you murmur. “And for the record… I care about you too. You’re one of the closest friends I got right now. A little too close if you ask me.”

Jin chuckles, squeezing your hand gently. The cab glides down the road, the glow of the city lights painting golden reflections across your faces.

Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to.

By the time you reach the hotel, you’re still holding hands.

And for once, it feels like everything complicated between you two is starting to slowly make sense.

The morning sun filters through the hotel curtains, casting soft light over your sleeping face.

You're curled into the comforter, breath steady, no longer weighed down by yesterday's storm.

Jin watches you quietly, eyes tracing the slow rise and fall of your chest.

He never slept that well, even after you reached out for his hand last night. Even after that quiet, fragile peace settled between you. His body had been still, but his heart was loud. Because you said you cared. And that should’ve been enough. Should’ve felt like winning. But it’s never that simple with you. Not when he wants more. Always more.

You stir a little, your eyes fluttering open. “What?” you murmur sleepily.

He smiles softly. “Nothing. You snore.”

You shoot him a look through mussed hair, then throw a pillow at him.

It’s the start of a better day.

Later that afternoon, you arrive at Gardens by the Bay, surrounded by tourists and locals milling about for some kind of seasonal couples event. The air is humid but fresh, the sound of chirping birds mixing with the chatter around you.

The line at the ticket booth is long, but it moves fast. You both finally reach the front—and the person at the counter explains there’s a couple’s discount.

Jin doesn’t hesitate.

“We’re together,” he says, flashing his charming, public-friendly smile.

You turn to him, wide-eyed, half a breath away from denying it.

But his hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining.

It’s not just for show. He could’ve left it at the words. But he doesn’t. He holds you like he means it. Because he does.

Your hand twitches in his, caught between pulling away and holding tighter. You glance down, a little dazed.

“…Guess we’re a couple now,” you mutter under your breath.

He grins. “Just for the discount.”

He doesn’t let go.

You start with the OCBC Skyway, a narrow walkway suspended high between the Supertree structures, giving a sweeping view of the gardens and city skyline beyond.

The wind flutters against your clothes. You grip the railing with one hand, his with the other.

You’re still flustered, pretending like the height has you distracted, but he catches the way you glance down at your joined hands. Not pulling away.

“You afraid of heights?” he teases.

“I’m afraid of losing balance and accidentally launching both of us off this thing,” you mutter.

He laughs. “Noted. I’ll hold on tighter.”

He does.

Next stop: The Flower Dome

Cooler, calmer. A burst of color at every turn. Orchids, tulips, lavender, desert plants.

You take your time here, pausing at every odd flower, reading placards aloud with exaggerated voices. Jin pretends to be annoyed but listens to every word.

You’re cute when you talk to plants. He won’t say it out loud, but the way you squat beside a cactus and go, “He looks like a grumpy uncle,” nearly makes him choke on laughter.

He sneaks a few photos of you from behind when you’re not looking. Later, he’ll pretend he was testing the lighting.

And finally, The Cloud Forest.

Misty, cool, and otherworldly. The towering indoor waterfall roars from the center of the space, mist curling around the edges of your clothes.

You both stand in awe at the base of the mountain-like structure wrapped in plant life.

You glance at Jin. “It’s like something out of a fairytale.”

He tilts his head. “Yeah.”

But he’s not looking at the waterfall.

He’s looking at you.

You, cheeks flushed from humidity, hair a little frizzy at the ends. You, who cried in a parking garage last night and still let him stay beside you. You, who always pretends to be fine until the cracks show. He’d give you the world if you’d let him. He’d build a waterfall higher than this one just to see you smile.

“I think we should get married,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “I—what?”

He smirks. “If we’re still single by the time we’re 42...let’s just do it. Save ourselves the trouble.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I mean it,” he grins, “We’d make a great tax bracket. And we get along, I think.”

You nudge his arm. “So… kind of a lavender marriage?”

His heart stutters. You’re joking, of course. You don’t see it. Not the way he does. Not the way he looks at you and sees late mornings, shared coffee mugs, and dancing in the kitchen. Not the way he wonders what your kids might look like. Or what your name would sound like with his.

“Sure,” he says with a tight smile. “Lavender.”

You turn back to the waterfall, cheeks sore from smiling.

He watches you.

Forty-two sounds too far away. But if it meant waking up next to you, even once, he’d wait.

He’s caught in the afterglow of your laughter, a little stunned that you actually found his marriage joke funny.

You turn to grin at him, nudging his shoulder. “You’re so silly sometimes, you know that? But... if I was stuck with you forever, it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Jin raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Stuck with me? Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, “better stuck with you than some boring guy who doesn’t make me laugh or even make good food or have a good dick!”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “God, I can’t believe you’re saying this out in public!” “Nobody knows who we are here! Plus, did I lie?”

“Jeez, flattery will get you everywhere, huh?”

Before he can say more, like a sexual innuendo aimed towards you, you tug at his hand.

“But hey! Come on. I wanna show you something,”

He stumbles forward a little, caught off guard, but doesn’t resist. Never resists you.

Your palm is warm in his, fingers curled loosely around his.

You pull him toward the Lost World, a level near the top of the Cloud Mountain. The air gets cooler as you ascend in the elevator, and when the doors open, it feels like you’ve stepped onto a different planet.

Clouds of mist curl around your ankles. Vines dangle from high archways. There’s a little footbridge up ahead, overlooking the whole space.

You don’t say much—just lead him forward, step by step, until you reach the edge. From here, you can see nearly the whole Cloud Forest below, thick with cascading greenery, wet with dew and mist. People move far beneath you like tiny toy figures.

“It’s so nice and quiet up here,” you murmur, leaning forward just slightly. “I like it.”

Jin stands beside you, too aware of how close your shoulders are. He can smell the faint trace of your shampoo and something light and citrusy from the hotel lotion you complained about, but still wear.

You look peaceful. Maybe the most peaceful he’s seen you in weeks.

And suddenly, he’s not thinking about forty-two anymore. He’s not thinking about jokes or what-ifs. He’s just thinking: I wish this could be ours. Not just a moment. But a life. A forever. A reality where you weren’t only his friend, or his escape. A reality where your hand in his was normal, not borrowed. Where he didn’t have to play pretend with strangers at a ticket counter just to feel like you were his.

You turn to him with a faint smile, a quiet ease in your eyes. “Cool, right?”

He nods, swallowing. “Yeah.”

He wants to say: you’re the most beautiful thing here. He wants to say: I brought you here because I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d have the guts to tell you everything. He wants to say: if I gave you my heart, would you keep it safe this time?

Instead, he says, “We should take a photo.”

You blink, then grin. “Yeah. Definitely. Give the people what they want! Two people pretending to be a couple for the discount.”

He lifts his phone with a faint chuckle. You lean into his side, resting your head briefly on his shoulder, your hand still in his. The timer clicks down.

Three... two...

One day, he thinks, he’ll look at this photo and wonder why he didn’t just tell you the truth right then. Maybe he’ll say it next week. Or next year. Or maybe never. Because loving you quietly is safer than losing you loudly. And some things, he’s learned, are better left unsaid.

Click.

The photo snaps.

You pull away gently and keep walking toward the next part of the path, talking about the waterfalls again, something about how the plants are real and not artificial like you thought.

Jin grins and teases, “So what, I’m not real enough for you?”

You punch his arm lightly. “Shut up, go enjoy being a fake boyfriend for the day.”

He laughs. “Fake boyfriend, huh? I’m way too good at this.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

He follows. He always does.

Because maybe he can’t have all of you.

But for now, this moment is enough.

And maybe… that’s love too.

a/n: I spent yesterday and today cooking this up and was debating to even drop it since it's just a mess. but enjoy! keep streaming jin's new album as well!!

[specialagentlokitty]

Carlisle x daughter!reader - safer jobs

Hi!! Im not sure if you're open for requests or not, but could you do a dad! Carlisle x adopted!human! reader who is wanting to be a cop but he's really worried about her? Thanks!!!! <3 - @totaltangerinewife💜

Ever since you were little it had always been your dream, and you wanted nothing more than to follow your dream.

Every summer holiday you spent it with Charlie at the station learning about his job and what he did, you even did you work experience with him.

You wanted nothing more than to be a police officer, and Carlisle knew as much when he adopted you a year ago.

He had seen your passion and drive to be in law enforcement, to help people and put away bad people, and he found that to be amazing that you had a dream like that.

As much as Carlisle wanted you to follow your dreams he worried about you at the same time, you were his newest addition to the family, not only that but you were human, so much could happen to you.

Carlisle watched you from the house as you ran back and forth in the front, doing laps round the parking spaces and weaving in and out of everyone’s cars.

“She’s getting faster.” Esme hummed with a smile.

Carlisle nodded softly, wrapping his arm around his wife.

“She is, she’s putting a lot of work into her training.”

Esme glanced at Carlisle, though he had a small smile she could tell he was worried, and turned her gaze back to you.

“She’s been training for a long time, she’s going to make a wonderful officer.”

Carlisle sighed softly.

“Maybe so, but it’s a dangerous line of work, we’ve spoken about it she wants to be in the front line and I can’t seem to talk her into a safer position.”

Esme gave a small sigh, gently turning Carlisle so he was facing her instead of watching you.

“This has to be a choice that (Y/N) makes, she’s been dreaming of this ever since she a was young, she knows what she’s doing. You trying to talk her out if this will only push her away from you. Why not help her train instead?”

Carlisle thought for a moment before kissing Esme softly on the forehead and heading downstairs.

For a few minutes he stood in the doorway watching you before walking over, gently placing a hand on your back to stop you and handing you a bottle of water.

“Take a break.” He said softly.

You give a soft nod, opening the bottke to down the water inside while leaning against him.

Carlisle softly pats your back before guiding you to sitting down on a log that Emmett and Jasper had been using for arm wrestling.

Carlisle crouched down in front of you, giving a soft smile.

“You’re working so hard, I’m so proud of you (Y/N).”

You give him a small smile and take another sip of your water.

“Do you think I’ll be ready for next year?”

Carlisle gave a gentle nod of his head and resting his arms on his knees.

“I think you will if you keep up the hard work, but you need to remember to take care of yourself as well, alright? That means taking rest days and knowing when to stop.”

You give a slight guilty smile and nod your head at him.

Carlisle laughs a little bit, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

“Come now, let’s get you something to eat. Exercising is important but so is eating healthy.”

You take his hand, grabbing your bottle of water and letting him lead you back inside, holding his hand lightly in yours.

“You know I worry about you sometimes (Y/N), but I want you to know that I’ll never stand in your way. If you want to be a police officer I want you to go after that dream, but I also want you to look after yourself as well.”

You nod your head slightly.

“I know Carlisle.”

He nodded back.

“I don’t want anything happening to you, alright? I want you to be careful and always think carefully about what you’re doing, and never do anything reckless.”

“I won’t I promise I’ll be careful.”

Carlisle sat you down at the counter as he began to make you your dinner.

You sat watching him, chin resting on your hands as he prepares your dinner from scratch.

It always fascinated you that despite the fact that he didn’t need to eat food like you did he knew how to cook such amazing meals.

In fact it was something he enjoyed doing, he loved making food for you, and you loved eating the food he made.

Carlisle smiled at you, gently placing his hand on top of your head as he put your dinner in to cook.

Despite his worries about you he knew you would go on to do great things with yourself, he just wanted to be sure you’d be safe because he wasn’t sure the family would be able to handle it if anything happened to you

[nahoney22]

Liar Liar (Part 10/?)

Part 10 - Seeing Double // <<< Part 9

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧Chapter Summary: When work is getting too much, you go to 79's to try blow off some steam. But, you find yourself living bitter memories and jealousy.

🫧Warnings: Angst, alcohol mention, light flirting, jealousy, arguing, awkward moments. Dancing, miscommunication, Drama drama dramaaaa (I’m convinced nobody reads these warnings)

The following week was exhausting.

Somehow—Force knows how—Thire and Hound had convinced you to stay.

It had taken hours of back-and-forth, of them wearing you down with reassurances and well-meaning arguments, but in the end, you let them win. Stone, however, remained blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal. Not for lack of trying, though. You’d bet a million credits that he had been pestering Thire and Hound at least a dozen times, demanding to know what was going on.

But, just as Fox had promised, he was too preoccupied with Coruscant’s safety to linger in the office. Not only was Rik Walder still at large, but riots and fires had been breaking out in the lower sectors of Coruscant so his work pile had doubled.

You saw very little of him, only ever catching traces of his presence in the form of an empty caf cup pile steadily accumulating on his desk. Yet somehow, even without seeing him, the weight of everything still lingered.

At least Pia had been keeping you distracted. She messaged every night, checking in, filling the empty space with something lighter. It helped. And with Fox nowhere in sight, the ache in your chest had started to dull.

Unfortunately, the ache in your head was another story.

The systems were a disaster. What you had initially assumed was a one-time mishap with reports and patrol logs had spiraled into an ongoing nightmare.

Errors crept in like clockwork, reports misfiled, schedules jumbled. No one could even work out how it was happening. Technicians were brought in, sifting through the logs for signs of hacking and slicing but nothing. Nada.

Everything was now even triple-checked before uploads, and yet, somehow, the mistakes kept slipping through. And Thorn -bless his soul- was barely holding it together.

He loomed over everyone’s desks like a vulture, giving reminders, breathing down necks. You liked Thorn as a Commander well enough, but if you heard “make sure it’s secure again” one more time, you might throw yourself out the window.

But at least now it was your lunch break. And you could get some peace and quiet. Almost.

“Plans for tonight?” You looked up from your tray in the cafeteria, spoon hovering mid-air, to see Hound and Stone standing in front of you.

“Sleep,” you muttered, eyeing the unrecognisable grey slop on your spoon. “Why?”

“We’re going to 79’s.” Stone rolled his eyes. “I need a break from all these kriffing error checks.”

Your stomach twisted. 79’s. “I don’t know…” You trailed off, letting the spoonful of slop fall back onto your tray with an unceremonious splat.

Hound shot you a knowing look, knowing full well why you didn’t want to go. But Stone, still in the dark, pressed on. “Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “It’ll be fun. Thire’s going too, though let’s be honest, he’s only going to see your friend.” He waggled his brows.

Your ears perked up. “Pia’s working tonight?” Now that had your interest.

It had been over a week since you last saw her, and the last time you had, you were ugly crying into her arms while devouring an obscene amount of sweet treats. You needed a new memory that was less embarrassing.

You also wanted to know if the two of them ended up on a date, too.

Hound gave you a small nudge of encouragement. “What do ya say? You need a break. Just a few drinks, some bad music, and—” he smirked, “—watching Thire completely lose his cool over Pia.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” he added quickly. “Or stay long. But you do need to get out of this place before Thorn gives himself an aneurysm.”

Stone grinned. “You’re coming. I can see it in your face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of a change of scenery and even of normalcy, even for a night was becoming harder to resist. You didn’t want to keep avoiding places just because he had been there. You weren’t about to let Fox ruin 79’s for you.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go.”

Stone clapped his hands together. “Good. Now you’re making smart choices.”

Hound shot you another look, quieter this time almost as if he was checking in, making sure you were really okay with this. You gave him a small nod. You’d be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

“Oh, and since you’re here—" You barely had time to react before Stone pulled a handful of data pucks from his belt, holding them out like an afterthought. "Can you drop these off with Officer Sinja? The new one?"

Before you could protest, he unceremoniously dumped them onto your tray—right on top of the unappetising slop—then bolted, Hound trailing behind him with a barely concealed grin.

Unbelievable.

Then again, running an errand was still preferable to forcing down whatever questionable meal the kitchen had concocted today. With a resigned sigh, you picked up the data pucks, abandoning your tray altogether.

At least it gave you something to do. Something that didn’t involve system errors, Thorn breathing down your neck, or—

No. You weren’t going to think about him .

Tucking the pucks securely into your belt pouch, you made your way through the corridors, weaving past troopers and officers alike. The station was as busy as ever, filled with the usual hum of voices, boots against durasteel, and the occasional curse from a frustrated officer and new prisoners being escorted to the cells in the lower levels.

It was all fine. Normal.

Until you passed that same vent.

It was shut . But you could have sworn that just for a second, you had seen it shift. Like it had just barely snapped back into place after being moved.

You swallowed, glancing around. The corridor was empty now. Too empty.

You're imagining things. You had to be. Between the stress, the lack of sleep, and the mess of emotions still tangled inside you, it was no surprise your mind was playing tricks. If anything was in the vents after all, it would have been set off in the security alerts.

With a tense inhale, you forced yourself to keep walking, quickening your pace. Maybe getting out tonight really was a good idea.

It isn’t long until you realised you had another problem on your hands that wasn’t the data pucks. The problem was that you had no idea who Officer Sinja actually was.

With a frown, you realised you’d left your datapad in the office, and the idea of trekking all the way back for it just to turn around again made you groan internally. But if your memory served you correctly, Sinja might’ve been that young officer you’d spoken to in the hangar once—back when you were looking for Whisky.

That was as good a place as any to start.

You reached the lift, hitting the button and waiting as the numbers flickered down. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, selecting your floor. The red lights above blinked with each passing level, and you exhaled.

Then you noticed one light turn green. Someone else was about to join you.

You shuffled toward the side, hoping— praying —it wasn’t a horde of astromechs again. The last time that happened, you’d been wedged into the corner while seven droids piled in, then spent four hours trapped when the lift broke down.

With a small wince at the memory, you kept your gaze down as the doors opened, waiting for whoever was about to step in.

As the door opened, your gaze inadvertently travelled along the floor when you spoke a pair of white boots. And then as your gaze moved up, a deep red stripe along the knee plates.

Instantly, your head snapped up and your eyes lock onto the visor that was probably the last one you wanted to.

Your body stiffened, fingers curling at your sides. He froze, too, hovering at the threshold like he’d just walked into a battlefield unarmed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted back a step. “I’ll get the next one.”

His voice was gruff, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at you. His helmet was tilted just slightly toward the floor, like if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be happening.

You weren’t sure why you did it. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and suddenly, your hand shot out, stopping the door from sealing. “N-no, it’s okay,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “There’s enough room.”

Fox hesitated. You swore you felt the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t see his eyes. He glanced between your hand and your face, as if trying to decode something—why you’d stopped him, why you would let him in.

Stiffly, he nodded and stepped inside.

The air in the lift grew heavy the second the doors slid shut.

He reached forward to press his floor button, and you clasped your hands behind your back, hoping he couldn’t see the way your fingers trembled.

The silence that settled between you was thick, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

The lift hummed. A steady, low vibration beneath your feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “How’s your hand?”

The question startled you. You blinked, glancing at your palm—the one you’d burned on scalding caf last week.

“Fine,” you managed, though it came out too high-pitched, too breathy. You cleared your throat. “Uh, the medic put some kind of gel—or spray—on it. I don’t know. But yeah, it’s fine.”

Fox shifted on his feet, rocking slightly on his heels. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

The tension wasn’t budging. It was thick, suffocating, like the walls were about to close in like a trash compactor.

You sucked in a slow breath, then blurted out, “How’s, uh… life?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

Fox exhaled, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Same old, same old.”

Except it wasn’t. You heard it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken.

Maybe small talk wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe if you could just talk to him, things would feel less… tangled. You risked a glance at him, but it only made your stomach tighten and heart sink.

“Any luck on that prisoner?”

This time, he did sigh, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if pinching the bridge of his nose beneath it. “No. Nothing yet.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you… worried?” He didn’t turn his head, but you caught the slight tilt of his helmet as he regarded you from the corner of his visor.

“Sure,” you admitted. “From his record, I don’t remember anything particularly pleasant. I just… hope you catch him.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmured. “Me too.”

Are we not there yet?

The silence stretched again.

“Haircut?”

This time you looked at him, raising a brow. “S-Sorry?”

“Your hair… looks different.”

Your hand moves to your hair as if it wasn’t you who had washed, brushed it and styled it this morning. “Uh, no.” You say almost sheepishly. “I’m just wearing it up today.”

“Oh, yeah. Obviously.” Fox swallows, looking away from you.

You inhaled slowly—then regretted it immediately.

He still smelled the same. That warm, familiar scent that clung to your memory, pulling you back to that night in the cab. To the way he’d drawn you close, arm slung over your shoulders, voice murmuring into your ear…

You swallowed hard.

“Any plans this evening?”

His voice snapped you back to the present, and you jolted. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Hound asked me to go to 79’s with him.”

Silence. A few seconds too long.

“He did?”

There was something odd in his tone. Strained.

You suddely realised how that might have sounded. “And Stone,” you clarified quickly. “They both invited me. Y-You could come too.”

Fox didn’t speak at first. Then, briskly, he nodded. “You deserve a break.” He settled.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess. Though instead of actually taking a break, I’m running errands for Stone.”

Fox tilted his head—a familiar motion, one you now hated to admit looked adorable on him. “Why?”

You explained the data pucks, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the eye-roll behind his visor. “Could he not do it himself?”

“Obviously not,” you muttered, sighing.

The lift still wasn’t there yet.

“Do you even know who Officer Sinja is?”

“Kind of.” You hesitated. “I think I met him in the hangar once.”

Fox let out a breath and nodded. “You did. That’s him.”

You resisted the urge to shift again. You remembered that conversation now. Sinja had been smooth-talking, arrogant in a way that could be charming or insufferable depending on the day. And you remembered something else, too:

Fox had been watching.

The lift finally dinged.

The doors hissed open, revealing your destination and Fox stepped aside giving you room to pass.

But for a moment, you didn’t move.

And you weren’t sure why.

The air felt different now. The weight of his presence behind you pressed against your skin, a silent question hovering in the air between you both.

Then, just as the door started to close, Fox stopped it with his foot.

His voice was quiet when he asked, “Is this where you want to be?”

The question wasn’t just about the floor. It wasn’t just about the lift.

It was about him .

Was this where you wanted to be? Standing on the edge of something unresolved, pretending it didn’t hurt?

Your breath hitched. Then, softly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

And you stepped out.

You walked ahead, not looking back but you felt his stare on you and you will yourself not to look back.

Although, you find yourself really wanting to.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Getting ready for 79’s took longer than it should have.

You stood in front of your closet, arms crossed, debating over what to wear like it actually mattered. It didn’t, really. It was just a night out; a distraction. But something in your gut told you to put in the effort.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric hanging before you, pausing when they brushed against something familiar. Soft material, deep red.

The dress.

You pulled it from the rack, letting it drape over your hands, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. It was the one you’d worn that night. The night with him . The one that never really got to happen.

A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. You should have let Pia keep it when you left it at hers. Stars, maybe you should’ve burned it. But… you hadn’t.

And you weren’t sure what that said about you.

“Whatever,” you muttered, shoving it back and reaching for something else.

A top you hadn’t worn in a while. A skirt that felt a little daring (in your eyes, at least). Heels that deserved a night out, even if they’d make you regret it in the morning.

It wasn’t for anyone in particular. Just for you . That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

79’s was alive with its usual chaotic energy by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, a steady bassline that vibrated under your feet. The scent of cheap alcohol and something fried lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and polished plastoid. Conversations overlapped, voices rising and falling, troopers crowded around tables, shouting over drinks, some even dancing, playing hologames. or just simply blowing off steam after another long shift.

You moved through the bodies, sidestepping a trooper who nearly sloshed his drink on you, and made your way to the bar. Settling onto a stool, you scanned for a familiar face. It didn’t take long as Pia was in the thick of it, handling a rush of orders.

When your eyes met, she practically lit up, waving so energetically you thought she might knock over the bottle she was reaching for. Instead, she managed to steady it at the last second, shooting you a quick ‘one sec’ before turning back to pour a round of shots.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” You turned to see Thire settling into the stool beside you, his eyes fixed on Pia with such open admiration it was almost laughable.

You grinned. “Always has been.”

Thire exhaled, like he was trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “We went out last night.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, thoroughly enjoying his smug expression. “And?”

He smirked, slow and self-satisfied. “It went great .”

Before you could pry for details, Pia finally made her way over, all confidence as she purred, “Hey, hot stuff.”

Thire barely suppressed a grin, straightening. “Hey, you—”

“I was talking to her,” Pia cut in smoothly, glancing your way with a mischievous smirk.

You snorted into your drink, and Thire’s face immediately fell, mouth snapping shut.

Pia, delighted with herself, laughed before leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to Thire’s cheek. Just like that, his mood rebounded, his smirk returning in full force.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, clearly savouring the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “You two are cute. I hate it.”

Pia winked as she reached for a glass. “You love it.

She slid a drink across the bar toward you with a flourish. “On the house.”

You frowned. “Pia—”

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “As long as I’m working here, you don’t owe me a single credit.”

You sighed, eyeing the drink, then her. “Fine. But I’m buying you food later.”

She considered this, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll allow it.”

Shaking your head, you turned your attention back to Thire. “Stone and Hound here yet?”

Thire rolled his eyes. “They’re outside. One of the new shinies from the 212th had one too many shots and thought he could go round-for-round with a Corrie.”

You snorted. “Let me guess, thought he could hold his liquor?”

Thire smirked. “Poor bastard didn’t even make it past the third shot.”

The three of you fell into easy conversation, drinks flowing. Pia and Thire were perfect for each other, bounced off each other and you had to try and suppress a jealous feeling in your stomach.

Eventually, Thire finished off his drink and stood with a stretch. “Gonna go check in on the lads.”

Before he could step away, Pia grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to steal a quick kiss. “Don’t start any fights.”

Thire grins down at her. “No promises.” She swatted his arm, laughing as he disappeared into the crowd.

Alone now, Pia wiped down the bar as the onslaught of clones dwindled before leaning forward against the counter. There was a look on her face, hesitant but knowing, and you could already guess where this was going.

“You can ask if you want,” you muttered, swirling the ice in your glass.

Pia sighed. “How’s the thing with you and Fox?”

You exhaled slowly, staring into your drink. “There is no ‘ thing’ to begin with. I just… feel weird whenever I’m near him.”

Pia arched a brow. “Weird how?”

You hesitated, then told her about the lift; the tension, the awkward small talk, the way Fox had hesitated before stepping inside and how you let him in in the first place. How, for a brief moment, you’d both just stood there when the doors opened, neither of you moving.

Pia, for once, was quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t hate me because I know how much this upset you… but do you think it’s worth possibly exploring something with him? As Fox?”

You stared at Pia, almost disgusted at the thought. “He lied to me, Pia”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know. And I’m not saying what he did was right, because it wasn’t. But—”

“Oh, there’s a but now?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

Pia gave you a look, the kind that said don’t be difficult , but she pressed on anyway. “We know he didn’t do it to mess with you. He didn’t do it to get you fired. Or humiliate you. Or as some kind of stupid prank.” She shook her head, watching you closely. “He did it all on his own. No one put him up to it.”

You scoffed, looking away and back down at your drink. “Right. And that makes it better ?”

“I just think…” Pia hesitated, then continued carefully, “Maybe he really liked you.”

The words twisted something in your chest, but you forced a bitter laugh. “Doubt it.”

Your mind went back to that night in the refresher—the way you had cornered him, raw and desperate for the truth, asking if any of it had meant something, if anything he said was true. But he had just stood there. Silent. No answer. No confirmation. Not even a single damn word to give you peace of mind.

Pia studied you, but she must have seen the storm in your expression because she softened. “You should talk to him.”

You tensed. “No.”

“Just hear him out.”

“No.”

She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, for kriff’s sake, will you just —”

“What ? ” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar. “Let you and Thire push me into talking to him? Try and set us up again like you’re some kind of miracle workers? Just because your love life is suddenly peachy doesn’t mean I should forgive someone who deceived me and embarrassed me!”

Pia’s expression flickered with hurt and frustration. Then, with a shake of her head, she muttered, “I need to serve someone on the other side of the bar,” and walked away.

The moment she was gone, guilt sank its teeth into you.

You knew she only meant well. She always did. But she didn’t know what it felt like to build a connection with someone, to feel that pull toward them, only to find out it had all been a lie .

Nobody did.

You huffed, rubbing your temples and slouching forward on the bar. Everything inside you felt messy and tangled.

You felt sorry for yourself, sure, but you felt even worse for Pia. Her usual spark, that infectious joy that lit up every corner of a room, was gone. She moved mechanically behind the bar now, polite but muted, handing drinks over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Your gaze drifted across the room, zeroing in on the empty stool near the far end of the bar. That stool. The one Fox had sat at the first night you met ‘Whisky’. You stared at it like it might conjure him if you focused hard enough—but it didn’t. It just sat there. Vacant. And the longer you stared at it, the more your gut twisted with confusion.

Would you ignore him if he were there now? Would you walk up and demand answers? Or would you crumble under the weight of everything you still felt, despite how badly you wanted to be over it? Over him?

Frustrated, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan.

“Can I refill your drink?”

The voice came from behind, a little too smooth to be accidental. You blinked, lifting your head and glancing over your shoulder.

A clone stood there—handsome, of course. They always were. But this one was clearly a shiny. Stark white armour, no markings, no scuffs. Practically fresh out the vat. He gave you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on half the people in here already tonight.

You lifted your glass, giving it a tiny shake before setting it back down. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He moved to your side, still keeping a respectful distance, like he’d been trained well in the art of not being pushy. “No worries. Just saw you sitting here. Looked like you needed a bit of a pick-me-up.”

You snorted softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well,” he said with a playful shrug, “you’ve got that look.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

He grinned. “The ‘I need someone to come over and distract me from whatever is eating me alive’ look.”

You let out a laugh “You might be onto something.”

He leaned a little closer, his tone lighter. “So… how about a dance? Just one. You look like you could use a little movement therapy.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your half-finished drink, then back toward the empty stool across the bar. The music was loud, the bass thrumming through your chest, and the lingering buzz from your drink made everything just a little warmer, a little fuzzier around the edges.

Screw it. What’s one dance?

“Okay,” you said, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “But no funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, miming the gesture with a grin.

You let him lead you to the center of the dance floor, bodies pulsing and swaying around you in time with the beat. The music was thunderous, the lights casting bright flashes across the room, and for once, you let yourself lean into it.

The liquid courage you had been served by Pia made your moves smooth, fluid even. As for the Clone, he danced like he knew exactly where the line was and kept it friendly, playful, respectful.

It was exactly what you needed. A distraction. A little freedom.

The clone spun you smoothly with a boyish grin, and as the beat picked up again, he leaned closer and asked with a playful lift of his brow, “Another?”

You hesitated for a breath, eyeing his outstretched hand. He looked so eager, so harmless in his own cheeky little way—and truthfully, the night had already gone off the rails emotionally. What was a little more harmless chaos?

“Screw it,” you muttered and took his hand.

He beamed and pulled you right back into the rhythm, both of you swaying to the beat. This time, though, he dared a little more—his hand found your waist, featherlight at first, just testing. Waiting for the pushback.

You didn’t give it.

His confidence kicked in. The grip on your hip firmed just a little, and his other hand stayed loosely linked with yours as he guided you through the crowd. His voice was warm and easygoing as he leaned in. “You dance pretty well for someone who looked like she was about to cry into her drink.”

You shot him a glare. “Wow. You always this smooth?”

“Only when it’s working.” His grin widened.

“You trying to pick me up, shiny?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

You snorted, tilting your head with faux-seriousness. “A little. But I’m still undecided.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” He winked.

The conversation was easy and natural. His flirting was cheeky enough to be fun without being suffocating. You were actually enjoying yourself—laughing even—as you both leaned in close to hear each other over the pounding bass, your bodies swaying in tandem.

And then you saw him.

Over the clone’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of red armor moving past the crowd. Fox.

Just off to the side of the bar, leaning against it with his usual practiced stillness, arm braced as he reached for a drink offered by one of the droids. Pia was nowhere near him—and of course she wasn’t. You knew she wouldn’t serve him.

But your body froze.

The clone you were with was still talking but his words came through like static.

Because then she appeared.

A woman. Striking. Stunning.

She stepped up beside Fox with all the familiarity of someone who knew him well. You watch as her hand lands lightly on his forearm, leaning in to speak.

Your stomach twisted.

That sick, lurching ache started in your chest and crawled down your spine. It was a feeling you knew all too well—the same hollow punch you’d felt when you caught your ex sneaking around behind your back.

Except this wasn’t your ex. And he wasn’t yours.

“I’m Whisky, by the way.”

The voice snapped you back like a slap. You blinked, suddenly aware of the clone’s hand still on your waist, his face inches from yours, smiling.

“What?”

He tilted his head, confused by your expression. “My name,” he said, still smiling. “Whisky, ma’am.”

Your world spun.

You simply stare at the clone. Your voice had vanished, like your brain refused to make sense of what he’d just said.

“Is that a joke?” you manage, the words flat and shaky.

He shifts, confused. “Ma’am?”

Completely unaware of the war now erupting inside your head, he blinks at your sudden switch in emotion as you pull away from his touch.

“Did I say something wrong—?”

“I have to go,” you rasp, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for his response. Couldn’t. You turned and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulders, limbs catching on others mid-dance. The music was suddenly thunderous, pounding through your chest like your heartbeat was syncing with the bass. Lights flashed, voices shouted, laughter echoed—but it all blurred into a wash of noise that had now swallowed you whole.

You felt like the walls were closing in. Your breath came short. Too many bodies. Too many faces. Too much everything.

You finally broke through the crush at the exit and staggered into the cold night. A gust of chilled air slammed into your lungs, and you gasped like someone who had been drowning.

Your hands trembled as you leaned against the nearest post near the cab bay, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But it wasn’t exertion and it wasn’t the alcohol.

It was the cruel, gut-punch realisation of how fate had twisted the knife.

What were the odds?

Falling for a man who lied and called himself Whisky —only to later dance with the real one . A clone who was bright, kind, flirtatious… and had done absolutely nothing wrong except exist.

You let out a bitter laugh that barely made it past your lips. What’s joke.

But then your mind cruelly drifted to him again. Fox.

The flash of red armour, the drink in hand. The woman beside him. Her fingers brushing his forearm.

Pia’s voice echoed in your head, maddening and far too well-timed. "Maybe he really liked you."

You let out a breathless, humourless huff. “Yeah. Joke’s on me.”

“You alright?”

You flinched, spinning so fast on your heel you nearly toppled over. Luckily you were caught by a hand on your shoulder that belonged to Hound.

He steadied you with ease, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in your sickly expression, watery eyes, and unsteady stance.

“Too much to drink, eh?”

You tried to speak. Tried to wave it off, make a joke, anything . But nothing came.

Then he saw it, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Wait, hey,” he said, voice dropping in concern. “Are you alright?”

You broke.

The emotion hit you like a crashing wave as you stumbled forward and sobbed into your hands, chest heaving under the weight of it all. “I feel so stupid , Hound,” you choked, the tears falling now, unrelenting, hot against your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

But the words failed you. Because how could you even begin to explain it? The betrayal, the confusion, the jealousy, the aching longing for something that might never have been real in the first place?

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to offer clumsy comfort or tell you that everything would be okay. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you

One strong arm crossed your back, the other settling gently at your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest without hesitation. You collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth and stability he offered like it might keep you from falling apart entirely. His hand moved slowly in comforting circles across your back

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, locked in a silent embrace under the hazy streetlight glow outside 79’s. But eventually, the storm inside you dulled just enough for you to pull away, still sniffling as you swiped your cheeks with trembling fingers.

You exhaled, shaky and uneven, and looked up into the night sky in a vain attempt to keep any more tears from spilling. “Sorry, Hound.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like seeing you like this. None of us do.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it past your lips. “I don’t think Fox would care.”

But Hound just shook his head slowly, lips pursing in quiet disagreement. “He definitely would.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving scoff—but nausea coiled in your stomach at the memory of Fox at the bar. The look on his face. The way the woman touched his arm. That stupid, stupid beautiful woman.

“I’d like to believe that,” you said hollowly, “but if he told me? I wouldn’t believe him.”

Hound didn’t push. He only nodded solemnly and raised a hand to signal a cab. “Get some rest, this thing you’re going through will pass.”

When one pulled up, you stepped toward it, but not before snapping a little too sharply: “I’m not going through anything.”

The silence that followed stung.

You closed your eyes, hating how your voice had cracked, how petty it sounded—even to you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Hound said gently.

The cab hissed open, and just as you stepped forward, he pulled out a handful of credits and handed them to the driver before you could protest. You gave him a small, wordless nod and climbed in.

As the cab pulled away, taking you from a rather terrible evening.

As Hound turned, ready to rejoin Thire and Stone, he stills as he came face to face with Fox.

The commander was standing rigid, eyes locked on the departing cab, his jaw tense and unreadable. A heavy silence settled between them before Fox stepped forward, his tone sharp and bitter.

“That looked cosy.”

Ah. There it was.

Jealousy.

Hound’s face remained calm, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Probably looked the same way you and that civvie looked. You know, the woman at the bar. Same one you were with in the same spot you first talked to her.”

Fox’s face twisted in frustration, already shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. She was just thanking me. I pulled her out of that apartment fire in Sector Eight the other night.”

Hound raised a brow. “I believe you. She didn’t.”

Fox’s fists clenched tighter as he gave the ground a frustrated kick, scuffing his boot against the duracrete with a low growl that sounded far more dramatic than he intended. “How the kriff am I making things worse when I’m not even with her?”

Hound leaned lazily against the railing beside him, arms folded, watching traffic streak past on the levels below. “I thought you said you talked to her today?”

Fox groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I tried. I think I said something about her hair.”

There was a pause. “…Her hair ?” Hound’s lips twitched, and Fox didn’t have to look to know he was holding back laughter.

“I panicked, alright?” Fox muttered. “It looked nice and I forgot how to be a person. My brain turned into soup.”

Hound finally let out a low chuckle, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

Fox glared at him but didn’t deny it.

“I just—” he exhaled hard. “Is there even a point anymore? She was dancing with some shiny tonight, probably moved on. And then there was you ,” he added with a bitter edge, side-eyeing Hound. “She had her arms all over you.”

Hound didn’t even flinch. He just slapped Fox on the back of the head.

“ Ow. ”

“She was crying,” Hound said flatly. “She is not into me, she was just upset. And like I told you, she saw you with that civvie at the bar and her whole face changed. She looked like someone punched her in the gut.”

Fox instantly panicked when he heard you was crying, worried that you had been hurt Fox blinked. “Wait… you think she was jealous ?”

“Yeah,” Hound said, nodding. “I do. And you know what that means.”

“That she wants to feed me to a rancor?” Fox guessed.

“That she still cares , idiot.”

Fox went quiet, staring down at the passing speeders below. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts tripping over each other. She cares. She was jealous. She danced with someone else but still cried about me. Okay. That’s good. Terrible. Confusing. But good. Kinda.

“…She’s still pissed at me, though.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Hound said, clapping him on the back again. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Means she still gives a care. And before you ask, no, I am not speaking to her on your behalf.”

Fox sighed, leaning on the railing beside him. “So what do I do?”

Hound raised a brow. “Figure out what you want to say. Then actually say it before you combust.”

Fox nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in determination. “Okay,” he muttered, “but just to be clear… I’m never mentioning her hair again.”

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[golyadkin]

Since I've talked on here some about my chronic pain, I've decided to share a personal essay I wrote for my creative writing class last semester about my experiences with the medical system during my attempts to get diagnosed and treated. It's called...

Weird Body

My physiotherapist diagnosed me with having a weird body. We were doing squats together one day in the communal gym between the offices and I told him it was a little more difficult for me because my hips are double-jointed. Confused, Adam asked me what I meant.

            I planted my feet and locked my knees, and started popping my hip in and out of its socket. You could hear it clearly, the quiet thuck, thuck, thuck, but through gym shorts it was hard to see. “What am I looking at?” he asked, and I invited him to come put his hand on my hip. When I did it again his eyes went wide. “What’s happening?” he said. “What are you doing?”

            “I don’t know,” I told him. “I’ve always been able to do that.”

            “Can I examine you?” he said, and together we went into his office.

            My old physiotherapist didn’t have an office that I ever saw. Instead, we would talk in the gym area while other patients rode on stationary bikes in the corner and she would tell me the pain that lived down the right side of my spine was because I wasn’t trying hard enough. The only time we ever got alone together was in a curtained off area where I would remove my shirt and she would massage my back.

            ‘If it hurts that bad,’ I would think with tears in my eyes, ‘then it probably needs the attention,’ and so I would let her palpate my bad rib until I almost couldn’t breathe. It would be another few years before I learned that the rib she was pushing on was permanently sprained and shouldn’t have been stimulated at all. It would be a different doctor who would push my spine from side to side and tell me it had too much give, and I would wonder how the woman massaging my naked back didn’t notice.

            In Adam’s office, there was a desk and chairs and even an examination table. He told me to lie on my back. Once I was comfortably situated on the paper topper, he took my ankle in his hands and raised it up so that my thigh rose at a right angle from my body and my knee was bent forward like I was taking a large step. Then, slowly, he began to rotate my leg. His face lit up and I watched him with growing concern and curiosity.

            “Most people,” he told me, “can go about 90° from side to side. You’ve got nearly double that.” The movement he was testing is called ‘passive hip rotation.’ I would google it that night. Adam didn’t tell me the technical name, he only continued to rotate my leg slowly, fascinated by the give, and showed me how far he could move it before my hip began to resist.

            This wasn’t the first time he’d been surprised by my body. In one of our first sessions together I told him that I often cracked my back over park benches while working at High Park when the pressure in my spine got to be too much. He asked to see how I did it and after I showed him he told me that I had just subluxated both my shoulders. He asked me if it had hurt and I told him no, it was easy. It felt good, in fact. This baffled and amazed him, much like my hip.

            He let me get off the examination table, the paper crinkling back into wrinkled place, and he led me back out into the gym with renewed enthusiasm that I didn’t really understand. He seemed excited by this new aspect of my anatomy. It was another charming novelty that didn’t really mean anything to him other than I was different from his usual patients. It was a sports clinic, after all, so most of his patients were jocks recovering from injuries sustained on the field. Not many of them were born damaged like me.

            I never met any of his other patients, though. There was rarely anyone else in the gym when we were there, and if they were then Adam and his coworker would ignore each other while the other patient and I would make eye contact like strange dogs on opposite sides of the street, stuck on leashes but desperate to know more.

            On this day we were alone. “You’ve got a lot going on,” he told me as we arrived back at the blue exercise mats. “Nothing to be worried about, though. You’ve just got a weird body.”

            A weird body.

            It’s not something you ever want to hear a medical professional say, but at the time it was the closest thing I had to a diagnosis. It would be another few months before any doctor would put it all together, not long after Adam told me there was nothing more he could do for me. Just like the last physiotherapist had.

            Usually, however, they would put it in cleaner terms. Lots of bodies are weird in harmless ways. When a body is weird within the usual parameters they call it ‘idiopathic’ and leave it off your chart because at the end of the day it doesn’t mean anything. They don’t connect the idiopathic things because they’re normal, even if they are weird. It takes investigation that they’re not trained for to figure out that there’s even a puzzle to which these pieces belong.

            The only doctor who ever did figure it out was a specialist who only ever met me once and in that one meeting he told me three things:

I was too young to be there.

I was too healthy to be there.

He knew what was wrong with me, but he would not help me.

            By this point the pain was bad enough to qualify me for ketamine infusions. To have a metal rod inserted into my shoulder to shock a nerve into submission. To wear braces on my knees and back that I had to buy cheap at Shoppers because no doctor wanted me to rely on them. But I wasn’t in bad enough shape to be his patient and so he would not write down the diagnosis in my chart. He would not even allow what he told me to be called a diagnosis.

            I would tell two separate nurses at my final pain clinic what he had said about my joints, why everything hurt all the time, why my body was weird. Both nurses decided not to put it on the chart, one because, “There’s nothing we could do about that,” and the other because, “Sometimes things look like something else.” At my last appointment at this clinic I would walk into a room of five doctors I’d never met before who had decided to work together to figure out what was wrong with me because, in spite of me telling them, they couldn’t figure it out.

            It wasn’t entirely their fault. For all the things that were wrong with me, none of them really escaped the realm of ‘idiopathic,’ and so none of it got written down. And when things don’t get written down they disappear. It gets tiring to tell people the same thing over and over again when you know it doesn’t go anywhere so eventually you learn to accept it and move on.

            In the gym with Adam, before I really knew anything, we both got down on our stomachs on the exercise mats and together we planked—an exercise that was meant to strengthen my core and improve my posture. “I like exercising with my more in-shape clients,” Adam told me, his biceps bulging as mine trembled. “It’s a free workout.”

            I gasped out a polite laugh and grit my teeth. It was difficult not to resent the dismissiveness of the comment. These exercises weren’t enjoyable to me, they were a means of survival. And even when I was keeping up with them and doing them regularly, the exercises were hard. No matter how hard I tried, it always hurt.

            “That’s what you have to expect with chronic pain conditions like this,” he would tell me two weeks later. It would be the first time a medical professional ever called what I had a chronic pain condition and I would spend the whole trip home trying not to cry on the subway. Not because I didn’t know that it was a chronic pain condition, but because it was official now. Adam wasn’t a doctor, but in my mind he was close enough, and at that point he was the first medical professional to not say it was my fault. That counted for a lot.

            ‘Chronic pain condition,’ didn’t go on my chart either. Officially the only thing wrong with me was mild scoliosis and anything else was simply idiopathic. A blip in normalcy. The pain I was feeling in my ribs and arms and ankles and knees wasn’t because of anything medically wrong with me, at least nothing serious. It wasn’t anything they could diagnose without dusting all the pieces off and noticing they fit together, and so to them there was nothing to diagnose. It wasn’t anything real, I just had a weird body.

[jacksonekennedy]

"Well. I got ready just for you."

That statement had nearly knocked the wind out of Jack. The idea drove him crazy. Alice, in his guest bedroom, brushing her hair while she thought of him. Alice, applying a beautiful shade of lipstick across her mouth, thinking about Jack. Getting pretty just for him. Even though she was already beautiful — like, drop dead gorgeous — but the effort … it was for him.

“Don’t tell me that. You don’t know what that does to me. Actually.”

Alice, the most beautiful woman in the world, doing all of this for Jack.

Fuck.

Jack tugged on Alice’s hand, leading her out of his office. He shut the door, wondering how long it would take for him to be able to walk into that room without feeling ashamed. Ugh.

Okay, he wasn’t going to let his mistake ruin their evening. Once the coke was washed away in the sink, Jack would try to forget about it. And he’d try to help Alice forget, too. He’d earn her trust back before the night was over. He was sure of it.

Jack pulled Alice into the kitchen. Alright. Disposing of the coke was the first thing on the to-do list. He turned on the faucet, dumped the remaining white powder into the sink. Yeah. That hurt a little bit, but the look on Alice’s face hurt a lot worse, so. Jack disposed of the baggy into the trash. There.

He didn’t give either of them the time to react or discuss it any further.

"I'm gonna text someone to pick up dinner for us."

Jack pulled out his phone, Googled the restaurant, and searched for the menu.

“They’ve got a lot of options, but my favorite is the duck breast. It’s got this cherry puree that comes with it. And this salsa. It’s so, so good. But the pork loin is also amazing. And the New York strip is such a classic. Basically — you can’t go wrong no matter what you pick.” Jack paused, already savoring the food. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, Jack still had an appetite.

“Here.”

Jack handed Alice his phone, allowing her to freely scroll through the menu.

“Don’t worry about the live entertainment. I’m already way, way ahead of you.”

Jack bumped her shoulder gently. Yeah. Yeah, Jack already felt better. This was fixable. They could forget everything that had happened.

By the time they woke up tomorrow morning, Jack’s mistake would be long forgotten.

'For the record, I don’t think any night is wasted with you. You look so beautiful.'

That hits Alice right in the chest.

The look in Jack's eyes. The way he rose up, his hair swaying softly, with a smile that was real, and genuine, not something he flashed in attempt to reassure Alice that it was fine.

And.

Well.

It's actually impossible, to fully dislodge the worry in her chest. Alice thinks when she closes her eyes tonight, she might still see that image, the panic in Jack's face, the white powder. Her heart is still beating hard right now. There's still a tangle of emotions in her her stomach.

But pressing him now won't do anything. Alice needs to decide how best to help him; maybe, after all his worry about Alice being sad, and disappointed in him, about her canceling New Mexico, maybe he just needed Alice to be near him.

Maybe he just needed to see how much Alice cared for him— how he made her heart spin, and that this moment hadn't changed what she felt for him.

Alice smiles.

"Well. I got ready just for you."

And she had. Combed and beaten her curls into submission, into a pretty twist, dug deep into her toiletry bag praying she'd packed her sultry lip-liner, not the subtle one.

Jack, thankfully, doesn't release Alice's head. He only suggests they go downstairs, and order food— and then immediately turning to grab the little baggie atop his desk.

Oh. Yeah.

That was still there.

Alice feels her heart thud.

'I’m gonna throw this away.'

Please, Alice wants to say, but she doesn't— she just nods, tries to keep her face neutral.

"Okay. Yeah, good."

Well, that was a good sign, right? That he didn't just conveniently leave it there atop his desk and hope Alice forgot? Jack was a senator, and of course he could get fucking more, but even that tiny little detail helps Alice let go of her panic a bit slightly. Just by a few degrees.

She exhales, and tries to refocus on the excitement of tonight.

Of a date— Jack had called it a fucking date!

Their date, a first one.

That was enough to make a toothy grin appear on Alice's face. Focus on the now.

Her fingers squeeze his palm.

"I actually, uh, am gonna request live entertainment from you, at dinner."

"I sang for you that one time. I think it's fair I see a card trick or two..."

[j-esbian]

i lost the post but i saw someone talking about how some of y’all act like being weird is a choice and like. YEAHHHHHHH.

that’s fine, it might be for you. but i just live like this and don’t know any other way. like yeah i’ve worked customer service, i can do innocuous small talk, but anything beyond that, i don’t understand what i’m missing. and it’s frustrating to see the tonal disconnect especially from people who are like “uwu embrace weirdness!!” where they’re like. dressing quirky and talking about bugs and listening to obscure music and eschewing small talk to ask Deep Questions on the first date and unlearning their tendency to not infodump. and generally have an idea of what Weirdness is supposed to look like. idk man some of us wake up and get out of bed and can’t figure out why the rest of their coworkers chitchat with each other but when they join the conversation it dies.

weirdness is value neutral. let’s stop trying to turn it into a badge because quite frankly, it’s not a choice for everyone. it’s fucking exhausting to never be on the same wavelength as other people and they’re going to react the way they do and label you the way they will without any conscious actions on your end. it’s difficult to talk about this without feeling like you’ll be dismissed as immature, a teenager whining “no one understands me” but the thing is. sometimes you don’t grow out of feeling alone and different, and there’s no good way to talk about it without feeling like people will think you’re just fishing for pity.

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[thebibliosphere]

Do you think Bruce Wayne would flirt with Benoit Blanc?

I think if Bruce ever found himself in a situation to meet Benoit Blanc, to his great chagrin, it’d be as Brucie Wayne. He’d be on some rich fuck’s island under cover when a murder happens and it’d be killing him that he can’t break cover to get a closer look at the body. And then along comes Benoit Blanc and Bruce decides, well he’s Brucie right now, it’d be weird if he didn’t flirt a little.

And hey, who knows, if Blanc likes him maybe he’ll let Bruce tag along and get into places Brucie wouldn’t normally be if he wasn’t trying to seduce this weirdly accented, tall glass of deductive skills. (And maybe he’s enjoying it a little more than he should, but technically he’s on vacation so…)

Blanc, of course, catches on and thinks Bruce has something to hide and is keeping him close because he thinks he’s either the killer or in on it.

Except that’s not what the evidence or instincts are actually telling him. Not really.

But he also can’t ignore the fact that Bruce managed to trip and fall directly into the filing cabinet in the office, causing the drawer to fly open and reveal the evidence Blanc’s looking for. Or that the billionaire has a slightly delayed reaction to seeing blood. Not much, but enough for Blanc to notice.

There’s also the way he keeps making suggestions that on the surface seem benign, but are nevertheless intended to lead Blanc toward where his own instincts are telling him to look. So either Brucie is one of those killers who likes to be involved in the investigation because they want to make sure you’re noticing their ‘genius’ or because they think they can control the narrative by being helpful, or…

“Y’know something, Mister Wayne…”

“Benoit, please,” Bruce says with a slow, seductive smile that unfurls like silk over rich velvet. “How many times do I have to ask? Call me Bruce.”

“… Bruce. You’ve been so remarkably helpful.”

“Oh, you know me. I always aim to please.”

Bruce’s smile takes on an electric edge that makes Benoit’s thumb slide to the gold wedding band on his ring finger. He’s a married man, he’s a married man…

“I can’t help but wonder, though,” Benoit says, matching Bruce’s smile for a knowing one of his own. “Don’t you get tired?”

His tone is off, he knows it is because Bruce’s expression doesn’t flicker, not even a jot. It’s just unnatural enough to be telling.

“Tired of what?” the younger man asks, just the right amount of cheerful confusion in his voice and an adorable title of his head like a puppy to make you miss the sharpness behind his eyes. The way his body is coiling tight. Ready for a fight.

“Of pretending,” Benoit says, lifting a cigar to his mouth, making a show of patting down his pockets for the lighter. “I know I surely do. It grates on a man, always being underestimated. Everyone thinking you’re not as sharp as you are. Not as clever, not as quick. It must be a relief, I think, to finally be seen…”

The hand that had been rummaging in his pocket shoots out, aiming for Bruce’s perfect face. Bruce deflects it, twisting Benoit’s hand in a viper-like move Benoit hasn’t seen since…

“Ra’s doesn’t train just anyone,” he says, acutely aware of how much Bruce’s expression has changed without so much of a flicker of muscle. How sharp and hard the angles of his face have become. How deadly. “I confess, I didn’t see it at first. You’re very good, Bruce. I never would have put two and two together if you hadn’t twisted Haggart’s elbow the way you did when he tried to grab Maxine.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Take that as a compliment from one detective to another… Batman.”

[tonycries]

My Oh My - R.S.

Synopsis. Trick or treat! The mean ínmate in Room 6/9 doesn’t want halloween candy - he wants something else much, much sweeter.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ínmate! Sukuna, slight foódplay, creampíes, bràt-taming, use of “góod girl”, MEAN softíe Sukuna, PÚSSYDRUNK Sukuna, oraI (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s piercings and tattoos, dry-húmping, squírting, spítting, bódy worshíp, exhíbitionism, slight Gojo x Reader, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 6.7k (sigh)

A/N. Yes, the seventh day of k!nktober had to be Sukuna even tho I’m a Gojo-gagger…

“Nanami chill.”

It’s twelve in the dead of Halloween, and Nanami Kento does, in fact, not chill - not when he’s five hours deep into overtime at the most high security prison in all of Japan, running on only three cups of caffeine and the promise of a day off sometime in the next year. 

“You know I can’t do that.” he rubs his throbbing temples, heaving out a sigh as he often does. Taking one long look around the glaringly empty surveillance office, “Especially not today of all days.”

You’re humming in flippant agreement, but that only makes the furrow in your partner’s brows deepen even more. “I know I know. But don’t you think the inmates deserve something a lil’ special today? I mean, he-” Pointing at the grainy CCTV footage on your computer screen - showing one, Ryomen Sukuna, in his padded cell. Watching. Waiting. “-didn’t get a single visitor all year.”

And before Nanami can even think to open his mouth, you’re already dusting down your uniform. Grabbing the bowl of candy propped between you two that you’d swiped from the break room. 

“Wait-”

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Now, you’ve always been told that you’re a little softer than most when it comes to your inmates - which perhaps wasn’t the best quality to have when your section was filled to the brim with the most infamous of yakuza and serial criminals. But they respected you. Hell, Nanami loved to roll his eyes at this one but - you think they almost liked you.

Especially Ryomen Sukuna.

You shiver at the long, long list of crimes of his that you had to memorize in your early days - distinctly remembering the way your laptop had crashed with just how far you had to scroll. 

Honestly, you weren’t surprised that the most wanted crime boss across the globe wouldn’t get anything other than public threats and a few snarling officers that laugh smugly in his face. Though, you have had to sift out a few perfumed fan mail from time to time. 

And even before you’d started this job, you knew of him - who didn’t? 

The King of Curses, they called him. And what a king he was.

Some say he was just a crook. Others say he was a beast that seemed like he had four arms and twice the power of any normal human being. 

Right before his arrest, the Curses owned half of Japan’s revenue - he was untouchable. With his deceivingly innocent signature pink hair, those circling tattoos all across his body, and the dark, dark bloodthirst to get whatever he wanted. Whenever. And fast. 

It’d made international news when he was finally caught - only after a long, agonizing syndicate war between himself and the Six Eyes. It was your first day working here, and you were there to spy it firsthand when he was brought in. Shackles clanking along the metallic prison floor, towering well above the eight officers by his side, being hauled into that specialized cell like some animal. 

And, yet, through it all Sukuna was smiling - smiling like he knew something that everyone in this building didn’t. 

It still burns into your memory the way he’d stopped right in his tracks for the first time on his way up here, stalling for just a second. Two. Before looking right into your widened eyes, devilish grin only growing at your trembling figure.

Ryomen Sukuna had his eyes on you from the moment those handcuffs locked him in here. 

And he still did.

“Hey there, Kuna-” you’re humming after the long, tedious task of unlocking all sixteen padlocks on his heavy metal door. It clamors to a shut behind you with a deafening clang! Locked from the inside. With him. Alone. “How are we doing today?”

Sukuna was sat on the padded floor of his cell, knees brought up to his broad chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he almost looked like a scolded child - had it not been for the custom-made metal cuffs that restrained him up to his very forearms. A matching leather muzzle drawn tight to cover half of his pretty face. 

He was the very epitome of all you should stay away from in this prison. 

And, yet, you find yourself walking towards him, carefully trying not to step on the hefty chains of his shackled ankles. 

It surrounds you like an iron serpent, clinking lightly when he’s raising his half-lidded eyes to look up at you. “Heh- will it reduce my sentence if I say s’better now that you’re here, brat?” 

Sukuna’s deep baritone was husky with disuse, hitching sharply at the end of his sweet little nickname for you. From what little you could make out behind the muzzle, you catch the slow, sultry curl of his plump lips. “Or should I say-” His gaze trickles down to your glinting golden badge, narrowing. “-officer.”

You’re rolling your eyes, “You and I both know we’re past all that, Sukuna.”

“Not past that enough, dontcha think?” he’s cracking his neck with a slight tilt side by side, as if he hadn’t even realized how long he’d been sitting here until you’d wandered your way inside. Cocking his head up slightly at the small glass bowl still clutched in your hands, “Somethin’ sweet from someone sweet f’me?”

“Oh-” you’re sputtering out. He knew exactly what buttons to push to tease and toy with you without even lifting a finger. “-yes, trick or treat! Since it’s Halloween I thought I might as well share the spirit.”

He’s bellowing out a husky laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest, and you have to tear your eyes away from the slight, sinful sliver of tan skin that peeks out at the jostle of his thin cotton t-shirt. 

You hated to admit it - but you almost understood exactly why Sukuna got so many fan letters that you had to throw out. A secret you’d whispered to Nanami over break and then never again after he fully ignored you for a week afterwards. 

Sukuna takes his languid time stretching out his limbs, and you get the distinctly hot feeling that he’s doing this on purpose. One eye cracked to watch your every jolt when the hem of his t-shirt raises just a bit too high, when his long, long legs nudging lightly against your feet. 

You huff, “Well, would ya like some or not? Because I can just give all of it to Mahito in the next cell-”

“Ah, you’re so damn hot when you’re mad.” he grins, and now you know he’s having fun with you. “Fuckin’ demanding, too.” 

He’s bringing up his two firmly restrained arms up to your line of vision. “And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, silly girl, but m’a little ah- preoccupied, here.”

Oh, right. 

Shit. 

It would’ve been so easy to just move your fingers over to the keys in your backpocket and unlock his handcuffs for the slightest second. So easy to shut his cocky mouth up by doing the very things he knows he won’t goad you into doing. 

But you sneak a glimpse up at the camera positioned at the very corner of the room - trained on the hunched over-figures of the two of you - as if to say, “Hey, see, Nanami?” 

“Nice try.” And you swear you hear the great Ryomen Sukuna gasp - gasp - a sharp, tiny inhale when you reach out towards the very back of his muzzle. Your fingers scratching up lightly against his silken tresses as you feel for the clasp, letting it fall to the ground in a sad pile. Soft - it’s the first thing on your mind, and the next was how unfairly attractive Sukuna looked without his muzzle. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

He just beams up at you, showing off his slightly sharpened canines. Facial tattoos almost as sinful as the darkened glint in his eyes, “Heh- as if I’d wanna go absolutely anywhere else right now.”

Before you can snap back - or more likely, make a fool out of yourself to his amusement - he cranes his neck desperately upwards. “So? Jus’ gonna stand there givin’ me a pretty view or what?”

Too soon, you’re realizing what he wants.

And too readily, you’re crouching down till you’re eye-level with his greedy gaze. Hastily unwrapping one of the candies, “Open wide.”

Sukuna only grins. “Get closer would ya? M’not a fuckin’ giraffe now, am I?”

Fuck. 

Wordlessly, you inch closer.

“Closer. These chains aren’t as long as they look y’know.”

And closer. 

“Just a bit more- I don’t bite. Promise.”

And- 

“Good girl.”

Before you know it - Sukuna has you exactly where he wants you. Losing your fragile balance to topple over into his awaiting lap, manspread, cushioning your fall. His biceps flex against his restraints, as if some second nature of his wanted to wrap those tattooed arms around your waist.

“I-” you’re gasping, palms gliding over his feeble uniform. Feeling every curve and divot along his hard front- fuck, he felt like a wall of bricks. So toned underneath that fabric, your chin rests softly on the valley between his plush pecs. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“S’perfect though, isn’t it?” he’s cutting you off, leaning in so close now that you could feel your cheeks heat with each of his feverish puffs of air. The very tip of his nose kissing yours. “Now you can reach me- honestly, why complain when life gives ya lemons, woman.”

Your breath hitches, “I…”

“So? Gonna gimme some of that sweetness?”

You’re still unsure of what’s happening. And all you can do is to wordlessly bring the sweet treat up to his lips, almost flinching when the warm softness of his lips brush up against your fingertips. 

And shit, you know what it must look like on the outside, you know that Nanami’s probably halfway through jumping out of his seat at the surveillance office already. 

But you really can’t bring yourself to think about that right now - not when Sukuna’s wrapping his rosy lips around your fingers. Eyes drooping shut slowly. Lazily. Lingering longer than necessary when his tongue swipes at the candy. 

It all but melts in your hand, and as soon as you’re about to pull back-

“Hold right there f’me now.”

You’re sure if Sukuna’s hands were freed then he’d have claimed a strong grip on your wrist already, because he was just nuzzling his face into your touch. Sighing out, “Can’t have my officer all dirty now, can I?”

His long, pink tongue comes up to just drag along your digits, making you keen at the slight scratch of his soft taste buds. One by one. Each of your fingers. Sucking, groaning. 

Smiling at you slyly, he’s dragging his tongue in between your index and your middle finger, slurping up all the sweetened candy from before. “What? Cat got yer tongue?”

“Y-you-”

“Y-y-y-you-” he mocks, baritone voice a few octaves dramatically higher than usual. Through his smirk, Sukuna bites down on the very tip of your index, making you wince at the sharp sting of his canines. “If ya got somethin’ to say then spit it out like the big girl you are.”

He’s so leeringly smug, watching back as you struggle to meet his intense gaze as if it was his favorite show. Oh, how he wants to tease you about that little good girl routine you put whenever you stop by his cell - always smiling, always in that snug uniform that made you look so irresistible, always talking to him so sweetly as if he wasn’t the king of curses himself.

Never in his life would he admit it, but it was so…cute.

And Sukuna half-expects you to jump back this very second, to throw another one of your pouts his way and scamper off back to the safety of your office. He expects you to-

“Kiss me.”

Oh. 

Fuck.

That was not what Sukuna expected - never in the hundreds of years he was sentenced to rot in this prison.

But, well, looking down at the way you were splayed out so prettily on his lap - your chin jutting forwards, hands steadied on his pecs, glossed-up lips all pursed for him - how could he ever say no?

In a split-second, he’s kissing you. 

And you’re kissing him back and fuck- is it intoxicating.

Sukuna meshes his lips against yours so slowly, savoring. Angling his head just enough to suckle on your honeyed lips, you’re feeling his hips gently buck upwards, drinking up your light groans. 

You mewl when he slides his soft tongue between your lips. And that’s when you learn that Sukuna has a tongue piercing, cold and metallic against your lips. He tastes so sweet - exactly like the artificial strawberry from the sweet earlier and-

“Hah-” you’re gasping at the soft clink! of something sweet, something hard being placed all prettily right in the middle of your tongue - the candy. Brows raising, “Isn’t that-”

“So what if it is?” he’s grunting, not letting you part too far away before sitting up even straight to surge his lips against yours. Mellow. Addicted. Sukuna just loved how sweet you were on him - even more so than that godforsaken candy. He’s craning upwards to nip lightly at your bottom lip, “Got a problem?”

You were so pliant on top of him, swiveling your hips down lazily at his question instead of answering. Over and over. And Sukuna almost finds it in himself to taunt you until you answer- before one manicured hand of yours grips his face, letting his sharp jaw slack open. 

Only giving the candy a few drippingly wet swirls inside your mouth before spitting - a thick wad of candied spit right onto Ryomen Sukuna’s tongue. Glistening against his piercing.

And he takes it. 

Surprisingly, hypnotically takes it. 

He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he mouths in that tiny piece of strawberry candy back. You hear the crunch! of it underneath his teeth, kissing you even deeper to show off how he’d swallowed every tiny shard.  

Curling his legs around your form, it’s all it takes for his gaze to drop half-lidded, chest panting - heaving - he smiles a dangerous curve of his lips against yours. 

Sharp teeth glinting against your own, he chuckles. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun, dontcha think, brat?”

You can only take it when he rolls his yearning hips up into yours. You feel so dizzy at the massive outline of his half-hardened cock underneath you - solid, thorough inches girthing upwards against your heated cunt. 

“But first-” His teeth bite down on your lower lip, and he pulls. “-think m’gonna hafta hah- teach ya to be a good girl f’me.”

Clang!

All of a sudden, the heavy ripping of metal rings across your dazed head - and Sukuna’s just tearing apart his durable metallic handcuffs as if they were made of nothing but paper.

“What-” you gasp rubs over where the tough restraints had rubbed his skin redly raw, oh he just basks in all your sputtering disbelief. “You could remove it- but- but that was special grade?”

“Ya really thought a pile of trash like that would keep me put? Of course, I could fuckin’ get out, don’t be silly, woman.” He quirks a slitted brow with genuine confusion - almost as if he was offended at the very thought. And before you know it, Sukuna’s throwing away the useless pieces of junk towards a nestled corner of the cell - hitting exactly on the bullseye of that damn CCTV he hated so much. Both of you watch when it topples brokenly to the ground. He hums, low and sultry, “I just hadn’t found a good ‘nough reason until now.”

Almost immediately, his hands are on you. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Coaxing such pretty whines out of you when Sukuna ravages along every inch of your body, large calloused palms kneading down your tits, your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Ohh- this s’the life.” he groans, all ten of his thick digits squeezing and teasing you. He’s leaning down to nip lightly at your ear lobe, “Almost makes me forget what a naughty girl ya actually are.”

“I’m not-” you answer immediately, but it comes out much more breathless than you intended and both of you know that. 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna jostles the two of you so that you’re fully laid out across his hulking body now, and you’re squirming already - desperately trying to wiggle your hips down to where he was throbbing. To glide the sopping wet place between your thighs down his rock-hard erection. For this, you’re gifted with a branding slap! on the curve of your ass, Sukuna holding you firmly in place. “Doesn’t explain why you’re already s’fuckin’ wet like a slut, my pretty baby.”

You lick up the tattoo on his chin, “But- but Kuna-”

Another needy grind - another smack.

“Now what did I jus’ fuckin’ say?” he hisses, and the primal rasp in his tone just makes you drenched. 

And Sukuna notices - of course, he notices. Drunken red eyes widening, oh, he could almost feel how fucking soaking you were through all those clothes. Too many clothes, in his opinion.

Which is why he has one hand fisting furiously at your smart uniform shirt, not a single word or apology uttered before he just shreds it right off your heaving chest.

“Oh my god-” you squeal, your hands coming up to clutch at the tatters of fabric and your badge. And your lips pout out in such a way that makes his cock just twitch, mumbling out stubbornly, “That was my new uniform-”

“S’what happens when ya get too greedy like this.” His knees raise up a bit more to rub your glissading cunt along the very curve of his fat tip. Just dragging your dripping cunt all along his bulging dick, reveling in the sticky schwf! schwf! schwf! of wet fabric. Sukuna gives an impatient tug on the fabric of your pants, “Now get rid of this before I tear that off, too.”

You couldn’t shuffle out of your belt and trousers fast enough. And oh, even that wasn’t enough for Sukuna - dazedly flinging off what remained of your shirt, your bra, before turning his eyes downwards and-

“Oh, good girl.” he whispers at the sight of you in nothing but your flimsy excuse of panties. So soaked -  translucent, even - your saturated juices making such a glossy mess at your inner thighs. He can’t help but flick at the tiny bow on your underwear, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

“K-Kuna-” you’re barely even thinking at this point, panting. “Wan’ to feel you–”

He’s tittering a breathy moan disguised as a laugh at this, bringing up a hand to cup your cheeks. “Awww, my pretty baby wants my cock?” he coos, squeezing in two of his thick fingers between your lips.

But if Sukuna was looking for an answer, then he doesn’t wait for it. 

A spit-glossed pout finds its way to his lips, mocking your own. And fuck, he was such a little tease. One hand giving your ass another slap! just to watch you whine and pretend that it didn’t make your pussy even more embarrassingly wet - shit, he was having fun. The other pulling out from inside your mouth, delicate strings of spit snap when he’s gliding his coated digits down, down, down-

“Oh-” you tuck your trembly head into the crook of his neck when Sukuna drags his thumb just across your puffed-up pussy lips. Slowly. Tantalizingly. 

“Oh?” he huffs out, licking his lips at just how steamingly wet you were inside. So ready for him. “‘Oh’ is all?” 

Sukuna plants another lingering smack on your ass, and by now you’re sure by now he’s left the bumpy imprint of all five fingers on your flesh. Tracing between your swollen folds gingerly with just the rounded tip of his finger up and down up and down. He gets greedy. 

“Damn brat-” And it’s all the warning you get before he just forces two of his fat fingers into your messily throbbing pussy. Rubbing all around your tightly quivering entrance, “S’what I get for spoiling you too much.”

There’s no hiding from the way he stretches you open so obscenely, having your sloppy hole just gaping around his digits. All wet and cozy inside.

“Oh- m-more-” you mewl. 

But he only continues rubbing saturated little circles around your teasing entrance, humming hotly against your lips. “Hmm, dunno. Think we hafta teach you some manners, silly girl.” And each of his fingers were so thick, stretching out the channel of your cunt until your mouth watered. Your body was limp, hips stuttering down softly into his hold - trying so uselessly to fuck yourself back down onto him, as if he wasn’t easily holding you still with just one beefy arm around your waist. “How about a ‘please’ first?”

You scramble to dig your nails into his bulky deltoids, tracing around his circular tattoos peeking out. “P-please!”

“Nuh uh-” he snickers. “No stutterin’”

“Please!”

Sukuna pretends to think for a few syrupy slow seconds. He nips down softly at the sensitive spots on your neck, having you trembling like a feather in his vice-like grasp. “How about a ‘pretty please’?”

And oh, he grins at the way you’re almost on the verge of tears at this point, your pouty lower lip wobbly with effort. Trying so desperately to comply with the demands of your inmate, you buck your hips so that the soft mountains on his palm graze against your clit. Whimpering, “Wh-what if I w-walked away right now, Kuna?”

“My my, resorting to threats?” he’s whispering filthily in your ear. “Now I know you’re bluffin’ woman. Because I hngh- also know-” So smug when he tugs down the soft cotton of his pants just enough to let his achy cock spring free. “That you’re gonna stay n’ beg f’me like the good girl you are.”

And you hated that he was right.

You hated that he was so big. 

Hefty girth slapping up onto his abs with a wet smack! Sukuna’s red, rounded tip was so thick that you could feel your thighs clench, swiping up a glossy glide of precum onto his t-shirt. Drip! Drip! dripping along the crevices of his veins and down to his eager balls, those tufts of pink at his base. All his solid inches winked up at you glisteningly in the harsh cell light. Just waiting. Throbbing. 

It made your mouth water. 

So you finally answer, voice strained and breaking at the very end. “I- I wan’ you really badly, Kuna.” He sucks in a breath when you bat your teary lashes up at him, “Pretty please?”

“My good girl.”

At this very moment, the only other response you get is a sensual, slow drag of his fingers out of your cunt. The exact opposite of what you wanted - because, of course, this was Ryomen Sukuna. You whine, clawing desperately at his wrist to try and reel him back.

But he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Almost hypnotized in the way he brings his drenched fingers up into his mouth without a second thought. Sukuna moans at the taste. A glossy trail of your messy slick forms down the corner of his slurping mouth, and he throws his head back with a guttural, “Oh fuck- s’sweeter than any of that hah- candy.”

Ah, that did it. 

Only milliseconds later, you’re being spread all flat on the floor with one swift shove of Sukuna’s big arms, panties sliding easily down your shivering thighs. It really doesn’t take much to have your dangling legs splayed out across his sculpted back, his own body shuffling down ravenously to come lips-to-lips with your puffy pussy.

And oh you can feel his smile against your dripping wet cunt, half-lidded eyes boring right up into yours. Long, pinkish tongue lolling out like he was utterly fucked - and if you angled your head just right you could see the way he was deftly spreading both of your swollen folds, the very tip of the hot muscle kissing wetly against your sloppy entrance.

“Shiiiit-” your fingers tangle themselves in his rusty pink hair. Hips jittery and bucking up drunkenly against the cool surface to chase his hot mouth. “Oh- ngh- Love havin’ your m-mouth on me- ngh-”

“Gettin’ all mouthy w’me, huh? Aren’t ya embarrassed to be absolutely ruined like this by a criminal like me?” he huffs out a bout of raspy laughter. “S’all because you decided to be a- fuck- a good- girl f’me, that’s- what.” Struggling to even get out coherent sentences because he didn’t want to part from your pretty pussy. Instead kissing all over again and again-

The bulbous metal stud of his tongue piercing thrashes up so filthily against your hot clit, coating the sensitive nub in all of his heady, swelteringly hot saliva.

And the only time you’re registering Sukuna break away just mere inches is to spit. Once. Twice. 

Thumbing across the stream of see-through spit he just grins up at you in a way you knew to be a pussydrunken expression. Glassy eyes almost drooping shut, tiny dimples cratering at the very ends of his lips, the entire lower half of his face covered in a shiny sheen of slick. Drip! Drip! Drip! right onto the middle of your shamefully spread cunt. 

“Ya got me thinkin’ I’d wanna live out my entire life sentences jus’ for a taste of this pretty pussy, woman.”

Roughly lapping with his tongue against your clit, each one pulling out crashing waves of white-hot pleasure that make you all but sob when Sukuna unabashedly adds in his fingers past your gummy hole.

“You can take it-” he hushes out uncharacteristically soothingly into your inner thighs, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along them. “Take ‘em f’me.”

Sukuna isn’t shy about immediately dragging his fingers along your sopping wet folds. Starting up a ruthless, simpering pace thrusting inside and out of your drooling entrance has you whining.  

“Oh.” your mouth slack-jaws open deliriously, and for the second time tonight you feel like you’re being absolutely split-apart on his thick fingers. Splaying out a hand to glide across your tummy, “You- hngh- you already feel s-so deep, Kuna.”

Your words were cracking with a whimper each time he’s delving into your gushing depths. Building you up, wringing you taut with pleasure whenever he picked up the pace. Alternating between harsh sucks on your cunt and the absolute meanest of swipes against the spongy placeholders of your sweet spots. 

“Already?” he has the audacity to cackle - cackle right in front of your teary face. “M’barely even f-fingering this pussy n’ you wanna talk about deep- lemme show ya-” He spares not even the tiniest ounce of mercy when hauling your boneless body even closer. Brows furrowing at the knocking of his chin at the very base of your cunt, the way his jaw grinded. Sukuna replaces the hand on your stomach with his own free one, guiding it up, up, up until your eyes widened and you could feel your breath tightening in your chest. 

“Here.” Drawing a burning, imaginary line about halfway through - “Here is where my cock s’gonna be so ya better get- better get ready for that, pretty baby.” Looking right in your eyes, Sukuna’s tone is laced with a vicious sort of snarl when he plows on, “Because my good girl s’gonna be able to take it.”

And you’d heard of the type or orgasms that leave you speechless, that leave you so blindsided that you don’t even realize you’re having them.

Because it takes only a few more expert tweaks of Sukuna’s lengthy fingers up against every nook and crevice of your. Scissoring, swirling - round and round until he was dredging up your dizzying orgasm. 

“Oh my god- I think I’m-” your words are garbling together pathetically, wet and as unsteady as each jolt of electricity running down your spine. “I’m-”

“Cumming.” he’s cutting through, tugging you by the thighs even closer to make out impossibly deeper with your convulsing pussy. Rolling his eyes, “I know I know, just shut up n’ cum all over my mouth would ya?”

It’s not like you could do anything else. 

And - as a little punishment - your grip tightens searingly on his scalp, just dragging your drooling pussy all over his pretty features. Letting yourself gush all down his tongue in a steady trickle while you ride him to your heart’s content. 

“Heh- getting so fuckin’- hngh- fucking greedy, aren’t ya?” he mutters out over wet slurps. Still hammering in the pads of his fingers to press up harshly into your bulging sensitive spots. “S’alright. Use me then, use me-” 

Your back arches almost painfully, vision tinging with slight black at the edges, and it’s as if you were out of control at this point. 

“Now now, what do you think you’re doin’ huh?” he feeds into each of your stuttering, slick glides down into his palm while you come down from your high. Eyes narrowing down at you, “And here I thought you were turnin’ into my- hah- g-good girl. Where are those hands going, huh?”

Shit, you didn’t even realize it at first.

Your hands are wandering so sluttily down to where his thickened base was just twitching in his lap. Aching to wrap your trembly fingers wrapping around him - struggling to even close. 

“Oh- oh my god.” your eyes widen after a few sloppy drags of your soft palm down his length. Curving it slightly to the side at the sight of another one of his signature ringed tattoos - right around his fat base. “You have another tattoo here?”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, hips rutting upwards at a sloppy staccato in synchronization with his hands and yours. “Yeah- n’ I already know you love it-” he shudders out, chest panting. “-because I can already feel just how much wetter ya got- shit-”

With all of his almost-inhuman strength, it’s almost too easy for Sukuna to drag your body downwards to his like some silly little ragdoll. 

“Kuna–” you’re dragging out in a breathy tone. Your hands shakily tugging on his t-shirt - your mind finally clear enough to realize that he was still fully clothed while you bare and fucked-out already underneath him. “Wan’ this off-”

Smack!

“Forgettin’ your place, aren’t ya, pretty baby?” he growls, but fuck did Sukuna think you looked so utterly gorgeous like this. All pouty and teary, letting out the cutest whines while you waited for him to do exactly what you said. 

And, well, he might be the notorious king of curses, the most wanted criminal in all of Japan - but that didn’t mean that Sukuna was any match for you. 

“M’only listenin’ because you were so f-fuckin’ good f’me hngh- earlier, brat.” he spits out. Hastily ridding himself of both that paper-thin t-shirt and pants - not tearing, you note with slight disgruntlement. Kissing your ass with another smack of his palm for good measure. You wince when he flicks your forehead, “So ya better not let it get to that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

But fuck, was it so difficult not to. 

Sukuna was so mouth-wateringly gorgeous, all sculpted muscle and what looked to be miles upon miles of tanned skin that you just wanted to bite into. And you realize - with a jolt - that when those other inmates rumored he had tattoos everywhere - they weren’t lying. Thick, circular rings that highlight his bulging biceps, those toned thighs as far as your eye could see. 

Now you really understood the fan mail.

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Those drippingly wet smacks this time didn’t come from Sukuna’s hands on your ass - instead, it was from calculated, purposeful little slaps of his thick cock onto your clit.

“Heh, as much as I love to have my- ngh! my cute lil’ officer ogling me-” His hand coming up to curl around your throat, forcing you to peer downwards. “-I’d rather you look where it r-really matters, silly girl.”

He sounded so proud - barely lucid already at the very sight of your tight, glistening hole kissing up against his fat tip. 

Dragging a thumb down your wet slit to grin at the size difference even further, he purrs, “Yeah…this pussy has been givin’ me a real treat tonight. Might as well give her one back, hm?”

And he’s so big, so full that you can’t even whine out anything coherent when Sukuna sinks into your sloppy cunt inch by fucking solid inch. Pushing past that ring of feeble resistance, your pussy was greedily swallowing up every bit of his massive girth. Letting out the cutest squelches that make him moan. 

“Oh- would ya look at that?” he bares his teeth in a devilish smile. Head thrown back at how you’re already clamping and trying to milk him with your velvety walls. “Takin’ me so well, ya really are such a good girl, huh?”

Each and every hoarse little praise is panted raggedly against your ear, and your pussy slides up and down his swollen shaft in a sultry back and forth. And Sukuna just can’t tear his eyes away from the way your cunt swallows him up so greedily - so frantically like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him.

“Kuna- hngh!” your thighs quiver up and down. Hips moving in slow gyrations against how he was rummaging all inside you. “Y-you’re stretching me out so good ah-”

He’s still trying to squeeze inside, still pushing and pushing. Pressing a hand down on your stomach, “Told you I’d be right-” Bottoming out. Hard. “-here.”

Each and every juttering ram into your gooey depths have you keening, and his eyes growing even wilder. Grin curling upwards at how every kiss of the very tip of his rotund cock has your spongy cervix bouncing into him, your walls pulsing where he swipes inside. Looking for-

“Fuck!”

That. 

“Heheh- hope ya can take it, brat. Because once I start-” he presses hot peck after peck down your jaw. “I can’t stop.”

You learn very quickly that that wasn’t a threat - it was a promise. 

Every plunge into your melty pussy has you almost bawling, because Sukuna wasn’t gentle - no, he doesn’t even ease you into it. The soft curve of his head presses in so harshly against your bulging g-spot, so thoroughly in rough, wet glides. Each single hammer upwards sinking against wherever drove out the prettiest moans from your pouty lips, having you such a shaky mess underneath of him. 

Exactly how he’s  been wanting you this past year in confinement.

“W-what-” you sputter out, dragging your nails across his neck to mash your lips onto his. Tasting the candy and you and the candy- “This past year?”

Oh. Shit. 

“Heheh- did I say that out loud?” Sukuna rumbles, struggling to catch his breath while he swallows back each keened-out whimper threatening to break out from his lips. He gives your tongue a slow, tasteful suck. “Whoops- hah fuuuuck- you see what this pussy does t’me?”

He brings one large hand down to your jittery hips, the other drawing a tender stripe across your still-sensitive clit. That heavenly feeling just makes you clench, and Sukuna to throw his head back with a withering groan. “S’fuckin’ dangerous- you’re more fuckin’ dangerous than me- hah-”

You giggle at the way he was running his mouth now, sentences slurring together like he couldn’t even find the words. 

“You see this-” he pants, so sensitive that Sukuna can’t help but tuck his face into the crook of your neck. And you feel the burning flush of his cheeks, the way he brings your hand up to pat his plush pec, thumping thunderously underneath his heated skin. “-got me fuckin’ crazy here- ngh! M’on my knees for you n’ you’re all here actin’ like such a good girl.”

As he babbles, Sukuna actually falls back onto his knees. 

Dragging you right along with him to spearhead his cock vertically into your snug channel, his powerful thighs are thrusting up, up, up-

“Oh-” You’re wrapping your arms tightly around his neck when faced with another stinging smack! And this time he takes the opportunity to roll his fat thumb even deeply against your clit. “S’so-”

Sukuna’s eyes were half-lidded now, grumbling out little profanities into your mouth. “What? Can’t even speak now?” He chuckles - but it sounds higher-pitched, breathless like he was fucking losing it. “Doesn’t- ngh- doesn’t matter- this cunt is speakin’ ‘nough for the both of ya. Why dontcha act like my good girl n’ ask what she’s sayin’?”

God, your face burned with such mortification - and it’s all you can do to dart a bleary look towards that smashed CCTV camera once more. Gulping out a breathy, “Wh-what is she ah- sayin’, Kuna?” over those deafening squelch! squelch! squelches. 

He positively beams, “She’s saying…” Nipping down on your lower lip, tasting that familiar strawberry on your tongue. “-that right about now she’s gonna cum.”

And sure enough, a particularly harsh clashing glide across your g-spot has you sobbing, has you twitching - it has you cumming. Over and over all over Sukuna’s relentless cock, and not just that-

“Shit, woman.” Sukuna stares, jaw-dropped in awe at the absolute mess your overwhelmed cunt was gushing out. Coating his erratic thighs in a wet gleam of all your juices, it seeps into his skin, dripping down the curve of his legs and onto the padded floors. “Fuckin’ squirted all over me, you’re fuckin’ ah- unreal- fuck–”

If he couldn’t maintain that gruff tone of it that’s because he was genuinely in heaven. Mouth watering, achy cock twitching up into the cushiony sides of your walls once. 

Before he’s shooting such a sloppy load into your already-messed-up pussy, dumping out thick volumes of seed again and again. It sloshes in all over your insides with every quivering wave of your own orgasm, seeping out from the edges of your sopping slit. Slobbering. Overspilling. 

Sukuna grunts, feeling you shift gingerly up and down to milk each of his stringy ribbons of cum, leaving sinful dredge after dredge that paints a creamy white ring around his base. 

“Fuckin’ wastin’ it-” he’s jeering, plugging in one of his indexes into your already fully-stuffed entrance. “Better keep that shit all inside- m’not gonna let my good girl waste it, m’kay?”

“Mhm.” you nod, your drowsy body leaning heavily into his. And Sukuna wraps both his strong arms around you to just pin you to his body. “Might jus’ be the best Halloween I’ve ever had-”

“It fuckin’ better be or so help me-”

SLAM!

“Yo, King of Curses~” both of you snap your heads over to the sudden intruder that’d just crashed the bolted cell door open. He was tall, enveloped by the harsh light from behind - but you could make out those features anywhere. Any guard in this prison could. Throwing over a heavy leather jacket Sukuna’s way, “I tried to wait until your pillowtalk was over but Nanamin can only hold off the bastards on morning shift for so long. So ah chop chop, Suguru’s already waiting for us.”

Gojo Satoru.

Leader of Six Eyes, foe of Ryomen Sukuna. 

Looking at you like he wanted to positively devour you, “Or, well, if your cute lil’ officer’s coming, too, then we could continue this when we get back to the hideout. Don’t you think, sweetheart~”

And Sukuna, oh Sukuna was scowling ever so slightly at the other’s words - but he only had eyes for you. “So, whaddaya say, brat?”

---

In the hazy haven of the surveillance room, Nanami lets out a deep shudder. Head thrown back against his leather chair, he takes a few bleary moments to collect his breath. 

“Fuck…” he groans, placing that small handheld camera monitor on the table. A secret one. One that no one working in this prison building - and least of all you - knew about. All of that had been an accident, really - an unintentional part of the plan. But the way that Nanami has to drag his boxers upwards, zipping his uniform pants back up wasn’t. 

Taking a steadying gulp, he throws away that soiled tissue. Fingers punching in a few numbers on his phone, all according to his rehearsed script. “Yes, hello?” watching the monitor unwavering. Unsurprised. “We might have a situation.”

A/N. *BAM* hits you with random plottwist.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[astonmartinii]

wherever the roots may lead you | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x antonelli!reader

when one takes an ancestry test they don’t usually expect to find out that their half brother is now racing in formula one…

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by yourbff, user1 and 1,578 others

yourusername: the whole office decided to do an ancestry test - WHY IS MY HALF BROTHER KIMI ANTONELLI???

view all comments

user1: girl i follow you for your pasta recipes why am i expected to know who this man is

user2: he’s a formula one driver?

user3: he’s A BABY

user4: the way this did not answer a single question

yourbff: bro you’re italian, there’s probably hundreds of kimi antonellis

yourusername: no one asked you to be logical about this

yourbff: let’s just not claim a random 18-year-old without verifying it

yourusername: well in the short five minutes i’ve known of his existence i have googled him and all the dates line up

youbff: not to support this delusion but you two do look freakishly similar

user5: i fear my kimi stanship has led me to dark places

user6: for real why is this girl yapping

user7: idk how i got here but they do look like they could be related …

user8: if they are it’s still probably not the weirdest thing to happen in f1 this week

user9: someone needs to study the sport and as to why it’s so fucking weird

olliebearman: who are you and why have you stolen kimi’s face

yourusername: excuse me?

olliebearman: you are excused

yourusername: what?

olliebearman: you are claiming to be related to kimi but i happen to know everything ever about him sooooooooo where have you been all this time?

yourusername: well i kind of just found out about this so i don’t have an answer for you right now?

olliebearman: i’ve got my eye on you weirdo

yourusername: okay?

kimiantonelli: wait!!! ollie how did you even find this post it’s got like 2k likes?

yourusername: omg read?

olliebearman: well it just came up on my explore page?

yourusername: no the fuck it didn’t

olliebearman: EXCUSE ME MISS, KEEP YOUR BEAK OUT OF BEARNELLI BUSINESS

yourusername: you’re doing your business in my comment section?

user10: i swear these fools are meant to be at media day

user11: nothing stops for bearnelli chaos clearly

estebanocon: @olliebearman yo? we were meant to be filming like 20 minutes ago?

olliebearman: oh? i was busy

yourusername: busy getting on my nerves

olliebearman: WHO ARE YOU?

yourusername: you’re on MY INSTAGRAM PAGE

olliebearman: i am a child WATCH HOW YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT A CHILD

olliebearman: @charles_leclerc dad stop her now

charles_leclerc: why are you pinging me during the press conference

olliebearman: this is important !!!!

charles_leclerc: @yourusername oh hi

yourusername: hello ???

kimiantonelli

liked by olliebearman, charles_leclerc and 590,300 others

tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: i thought getting points on my debut would be the craziest part of my week but turns out i have a half sister i never knew about ??? watch your back paddock i don’t think you can handle TWO antonellis

view all comments

user12: wait so that trainwreck the other day was REAL?

user13: smile and wave girl i have no clue what’s going on

user14: we need a weekly episode of drive to survive at this point omg

yourusername: we haven’t even met yet

yourusername: i am very excited to

kimiantonelli: OF COURSE WE SHOULD BE EXCITED

kimiantonelli: i knew you were out there i could feel you in my waters

yourusername: i’m not sure you have waters? like anatomically?

kimiantonelli: well i knew you existed before your post so explain that atheist

yourusername: i’m just going to let you have this one i think…

kimiantonelli: that is VERY wise

user15: i am losing my mind over the fact that these kids are talking for the first time in instagram comments

user16: i honestly wouldn’t expect anything less from this crop of rookies

jackdoohan: please do not lump me in with this nonsense

kimiantonelli: so our family love is nonsense to you

yourusername: jack!!!! after everything …. i can’t believe this!

jackdoohan: we’ve never spoken before?

yourusername: well in my familial research i watched the rookie round table and you ranked highly to me… but i see

jackdoohan: wOAH PAUSE

jackdoohan: my apologies

kimiantonelli: they all come crawling back …

user17: what is actually happening?

user18: so like has anyone stalked this girl? who even is she?

olliebearman: y/n y/ln is a 26-year-old marketing manager who lives in london. she runs a pasta-themed instagram account to apparently page homage to her ‘italian heritage’. she has no kids and no boyfriend or girlfriend. by most accounts she doesn’t have many friends or hobbies or money?

kimiantonelli: that’s like… kinda hot?

yourusername: you do you i guess

yourusername: also like that’s such a rude write up on me ???

olliebearman: so you don’t think i’m hot

kimiantonelli: that’s SO rude y/n

yourusername: you’re EIGHTEEN??? and also have this weird tension with my brother… idk i’m not a therapist?

olliebearman: i’ll call my dad again

yourusername: oh the one from the other post? please! i think he’s the best thing i found on my f1 stalkfest

charles_leclerc: well well well, i’m charles

olliebearman: NO?

kimiantonelli: ollie you gotta let her have something!

olliebearman: but if she falls for his dorky charms that might make us incestuous ???

kimiantonelli: i don’t know what that word means

olliebearman: my dad, dating your sister?

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc you have to disown ollie now

charles_leclerc: okay, if i do that does that mean i can take y/n on a date

yourusername: DO IT NOW PLEASE

yourusername: woah! i mean, i’ll have to check my calendar

yourbff: she’s free, the lanky one was right, she doesn’t have many friends.

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,209,457 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: lost a son and won a date. congrats on the promotion oscar!

view all comments

user19: we are moving so fucking fast

user20: well it’s on theme…

user21: well we need to go from rb19 to that fucking aston martin

yourusername: as far as first dates go … well i didn’t think we’d be babysitting a 23-year-old

charles_leclerc: he’s fragile right now

yourusername: and he needed his emotional support not-boyfriend there as well?

yourusername: and that emotional support not-boyfriend needed to bring his friend who brought his maybe-boyfriend who brought his ‘surrogate brother’ which is MY BROTHER?

charles_leclerc: i’m sorry?

yourusername: i’m starting to think attachment issues and homosexual tension is just part of the job description to work in formula one

alexalbon: i don’t think you’re wrong on that

charles_leclerc: honestly i did plan for just a romantic dinner but things came up!

oscarpiastri: well i’m kind of sorry for crashing your date but as previously stated i was in a crisis…

yourusername: you did cry… but i thought that was just to get charles to get you dessert?

oscarpiastri: you can’t prove that…

oscarpiastri: ALSO why are you just coming for me when the others crashed and without a good reason like me?

yourusername: true ….

landonorris: i was taken by oscar !!!!! not my fault

yourusername: you made me move from my seat across from charles because you didn’t ‘like the lighting’?

landonorris: well that was very kind of you

charles_leclerc: you basically sat on her until she moved

landonorris: well maybe you should have stood up for your date!

georgerussell63: considering how badly lando is digging his grave, i’ll just say sorry and that i wasn’t completely aware it was a date

yourusername: how was it not very obvious? we were at a CANDLE LIT DINNER WITH A TWO PERSON TABLE YOU DRAGGED OVER A TABLE TO SIT WITH US

alexalbon: in our defence we were only going to escort kimi there but the curiosity got too much…

yourusername: are you just attaching to kimi because i’m not going to get annoyed at him

alexalbon: …….. um no?

kimiantonelli: y/n he brought me dessert and a funky little drink - MARRY HIM

yourusername: that’s a little fast buddy

charles_leclerc: so you wouldn’t marry me?

yourusername: take me on another date, just me, and we’ll see

user22: she’s stronger than me i would’ve proposed right here right now

user23: nothing more 2025 than an instagram comment proposal

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 23,091 others

tagged: kimiantonelli & charles_leclerc

yourusername: so who was going to tell me this f1 shit was this crazy?

view all comments

user24: actually thinking about it, this girl must be having such intense emotional whiplash

user25: legit because what do you mean like last week she didn’t know what f1 was but now she’s related to the best rated rookie and dating (?) charles leclerc

user26: when will these situations happen upon me

charles_leclerc: did i win you over this weekend?

yourusername: maybe?

charles_leclerc: maybe?

yourusername: okay, yeah

yourusername: but you could’ve let kimi through :/

charles_leclerc: that’s kinda not the game of the game

yourusername: but he’s my brother ?

charles_leclerc: you make a compelling point…

charles_leclerc: but, amor, i wouldn’t let my own brother overtake me

yourusername: i see…

yourusername: it was worth a try sorry kimi

kimiantonelli: fear not we can try again when he’s more in love with you

yourusername: for everyone’s information: i do genuinely like charles, this ^^ is a joke !!!!!!! i understand the sanctity of formula one and that no one would genuinely let another through based on such a situation

kimiantonelli: okay miss PR AND MARKETING

yourusername: oh buddy you should see my DMs, that was necessary

charles_leclerc: what ???

yourusername: babe your fans are great but like a good 5% of them are like genuinely insane, like 51/50 level

charles_leclerc: oh yeah… i’m sorry

yourusername: oh no worries i’d be just that crazy for you

charles_leclerc: you aren’t?

yourusername: i don’t need to be, i have you don’t i?

charles_leclerc: oh hehehehhehehehe, you do

user27: WRITE THAT DOWN WRITE THAT DOWN

user28: i’m scared of her, but i need to be her

user29: you can’t be that good at making pasta and have rizz and date charles leclerc

user30: i fear y/n might actually be sniped, she’s a triple threat

oscarpiastri: do you see why i needed emotional support?

yourusername: well yes i get that now

yourusername: but please refrain from crashing dates in the future unless you have let us know promptly

oscarpiastri: i knew i’d get you on side, the leclerc family love me

oscarpiastri: @kimiantonelli watch out, i might overtake you next

kimiantonelli: i will slash your tyres, y/n will bail me out

yourusername: will i?

kimiantonelli: so you don’t love me?

olliebearman: I TOLD YOU SHE WAS NO GOOD

yourusername: first of all, ollie - i thought i’d managed to get you on side with my offering of pasta. second, i love you the most on the grid kimi, i just do not have the disposable cash of a formula one driver

kimiantonelli: fine, you make a point

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc looks like it’s down to you now.

kimiantonelli: and you’d do anything for my sister, right?

charles_leclerc: ugh why are the rookies so crafty these days

yourusername: hmmmm?

charles_leclerc: YES I WOULD, FOR YOU

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,894,500 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: follow wherever the roots may take you, because sometimes it might lead you to the best thing ever

view all comments

user31: i mean meeting your girlfriend through her doing an ancestry test to find out she’s related to your coworker is one hell of a meet cute i’ll give them that

user32: ‘wherever the roots may take you’ okay mr leclerc when did we become a poet

user33: let’s add it to the words of wisdom

user34: the ferrari garage WISHES they could be him

kimiantonelli: well, i am pleasantly surprised with how this all unfolded, you’re definitely the best choice on the grid

yourusername: awwwww kimi thanks !!!

charles_leclerc: thanks?

olliebearman: CHARLES IS THE BEST CHOICE ON THE GRID ????

kimiantonelli: you want to date my sister? i thought you liked another antonelli?

olliebearman: oh!

olliebearman: yes!

olliebearman: … another antonelli for sure

charles_leclerc: @yourusername do i say anything

yourusername: no i want to watch ollie suffer after he’s done nothing but come for me

charles_leclerc: okay, amor

user35: this is how all men should be

user36: AGREE WITH EVERYTHING I SAY

user37: so like… where do we find them because i fear there’s only two ferrari drivers and many of us

yourusername: well i am certainly glad i followed mine

charles_leclerc: led you right to me

yourusername: wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

charles_leclerc: hehehehehehe i guess i have that effect on people

yourusername: PEOPLE?

charles_leclerc: just you xxxxx

yourusername: that’s what i thought

charles_leclerc: speaking of you… when can you come to another race?

yourusername: i’m very sorry to say babe but i do have a job

charles_leclerc: NOOOOOOOOOOO

yourusername: i know :( i don’t dream of labour

charles_leclerc: what do you dream of?

yourusername: there’s this really sexy monegasque formula one driver who has an amazing accent and the cutest little dog. he’s super determined and sounds even sexier when he’s angry on the radio or celebrating a win. you might know him?

charles_leclerc: i might…

yourusername: well you should BACK OFF because he’s MINE

charles_leclerc: yes, yes he is

user38: so like … how do we get her on drive to survive

yourusername: oh you know netflix have been calling my phone

user39: LETS GOOOOOOO

yourusername: don’t celebrate too soon, because you won’t like me when i delete all the cute footage of charles, that’s for my eyes only

user40: i would want you dead, but also real

lewishamilton: ummmmm so when can you come back @yourusername he’s being pathetic again

yourusername: he’s always pathetic that’s what i love about him

lewishamilton: but it’s particularly bad now, he’s carrying a picture of you and leo (it’s VERY badly photoshopped)

charles_leclerc: hey! joris was busy i had to make it myself

yourusername: that’s cute bby don’t listen to him

charles_leclerc: yeah leave me alone lewis

lewishamilton: what the hell, sure

fin.

note: if you couldn't tell i'm a big kimi stan LMAO

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, price x scam caller!reader, cyber stalking - unedited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Can you imagine being in a rough place when a friend of a friend of a friend manages to rope you into scam calling?

And when your first target ever is John Price?

He knows something is up instantly. He knows you don’t work for a bank, not with the way your voice shakes and tumbles over your script- but he lets you think he believes you, lets you give him the runaround, even throws you one of the gift cards you’ve been told to ask for. It’s not too bad when he gets to listen to your cute voice for the duration of the call, guiding him through the steps.

Slowly and without your knowledge, he gathers information on you and the office you’re calling from- taps into your camera too. He watches you fuss and frown as he begins to mess up small tasks, then when you’re trying to get him back on track, he drops your full legal name.

The line falls silent.

“That’s you, isn’t it love?”

There’s a smile audible in his voice as you sputter with wide eyes, processing what’s happening.

“Don’t hang up-“ he orders and you comply, you can tell it wouldn’t end well if you did. “Not nice to scam old men, you hard on cash?”

You lower your voice so no one else in the room can hear. “Yes, sir.”

He’s grateful for your honesty, but he’d much rather hear a phrase like that while you’re bouncing on his lap.

“I don’t like being taken for a fool, but I’m a nice man.” His tone is self important. “Tell me- do you like this job? Do you feel good when you successfully scam other old folk?”

Through the webcam, you look about ready to cry as your head bows down into the cheap office cubicle. “S-sir, you- th-this was my first day.”

“-Shh, it’s okay love.” He coos “you’re not in trouble.”

You sniffle quietly.

“-But you do owe me back what you’ve taken. I’m not a man you steal from.”

You pale, he had sent you a pretty hefty amount- but it had already gone to the person running the operation. “I-I don’t- I can’t-“

“We can work something out.” He hums as his eyes flit over your home address on the screen in front of him, readjusting in his seat. “-Like I said, I’m a nice man. Now, go home and be good for me, have to send in some reports on your esteemed employer. I have your personal number, love. I’ll be in touch.”