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honeyhae-svt · 2 days ago

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Hello i saw your wonwoo's headcanon when he falls for someone, can u do the same but for Shua pls? Thanks 🫶🏼

joshua's headcanon when he falls for someone (you)

joshua hong x gn!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tags / genre: joshua x reader, seventeen fanfiction, slow burn romance, heartfelt confession, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, soft romance, emotional connection, tender moments, reader insert ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: n/a (just lots of sweetness, soft feelings, and a lot of kisses. mwuahhh) ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 3124 (124-ilyyy) ੈ♡ a/n: 2/13 ! like i said, i will be making one for every member, but if you request it, i'll start on it asap. thankyou anon for requesting ! also maximize that volume of yours and play pretty u rn ! a pretty song for a pretty man whose name is joshua. he's honestly such a darling, i'd melt for him. ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Pretty U (Seventeen) ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

ੈ♡˚ ༘ joshua's headcanon when he falls for someone

when joshua falls for someone, it’s like the warmth of sunlight gently breaking through a cloudy day—subtle but undeniable. he’s the kind of person whose love manifests through his kindness and thoughtfulness, making you feel special without overwhelming you.

joshua has a knack for noticing what makes you happy, and he’s quick to incorporate those little things into his actions. whether it’s remembering how you like your coffee, recommending a song he thinks you’ll love, or bringing you something that reminded him of you, his affection is all about showing how much he pays attention. he’s naturally charming, but when it comes to you, his charm has an extra layer of softness, like he’s trying to make sure you always feel comfortable around him.

in group settings, he’ll make an effort to ensure you feel included, casually steering conversations to your interests or gently teasing you in a way that draws you closer. he doesn’t overdo it; it’s all in the way he lingers just a little longer when you speak, or how his laugh sounds a bit more genuine when it’s you making the joke.

when joshua is in love, he has a way of balancing sweetness with calm confidence. he won’t rush things; instead, he lets his feelings unfold naturally. he’s patient, preferring to let the connection build over time, but that doesn’t mean he’s passive. you’ll find him initiating small, meaningful moments—asking to walk you home, offering to help with something even when he doesn’t have to, or just sitting with you in silence when words aren’t needed.

joshua is a firm believer in communication, but he might hold back on fully confessing until he’s sure the timing is right. he’s a romantic at heart, so when he does tell you how he feels, it’s with thought and intention. maybe it’s under the stars, or during a quiet moment when it’s just the two of you, and he says something like, “i wasn’t sure how to say this, but you’ve been on my mind more than you realize.”

when joshua is jealous, it’s quiet and understated—he’s not one to get possessive, but he can’t help the subtle furrow of his brows or the way he stands a little closer to you. he’s protective in a gentle, non-obtrusive way, always making sure you know he’s there for you without needing to draw attention to it.

with joshua, falling in love feels safe and warm, like coming home after a long day. he’s the type to remind you that love doesn’t have to be loud to be real—it’s in the small, consistent moments, the quiet support, and the way he makes you feel cherished without even trying. when he loves you, it’s steady and sincere, like he’s found something in you he’s never going to let go of.

it was late. joshua sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea that he’d barely touched. the light above cast a soft golden glow, and though the room was calm, his heart wasn’t.

you were sitting across from him, cross-legged on the chair, scrolling through your phone with an occasional laugh escaping your lips. joshua glanced at you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a fond smile before he quickly looked away, hoping you wouldn’t catch him. it was becoming a habit lately—watching you when you weren’t looking, soaking in the way your presence made the world feel a little brighter.

“josh,” you called, pulling him from his thoughts. “what’s with that smile? did i miss something funny?”

he blinked, startled, and laughed softly, shaking his head. “nothing. just thinking.”

“thinking about what?” you pressed, leaning forward, your curious eyes meeting his.

he hesitated, swirling the tea in his mug as if the answer lay at the bottom. how was he supposed to explain what he was thinking? that the way your nose crinkled when you laughed made his chest feel too tight? or that the way you casually said his name felt like the softest melody?

“just stuff,” he finally replied, his voice gentle but evasive.

you narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “that’s vague, even for you.”

joshua chuckled, setting the mug down. he loved how you weren’t afraid to call him out, how you always pushed for more when you knew he wasn’t being entirely honest. “alright, you caught me,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “i was thinking about you.”

the way your eyes widened and a faint blush dusted your cheeks made his stomach flip. it was a bold thing to say, and he wasn’t even sure where he’d found the courage. but once the words were out, he didn’t regret them.

“me?” you asked, your voice softer now.

he nodded, his gaze steady but warm. “yeah. you’ve been on my mind a lot lately.” he paused, watching the way you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, the way you looked down as if trying to hide your own smile. “i don’t know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but… i think i like you. a lot more than i should.”

your head shot up at his words, eyes wide with surprise. for a moment, joshua worried he’d misread things, that maybe the connection he felt wasn’t mutual. but then, slowly, you smiled—a soft, shy smile that made his heart race.

“you’re not the only one who’s been thinking about someone,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his breath caught. “really?”

you nodded, your fingers nervously tapping the table. “i didn’t know how to bring it up, but… i like you too, joshua. probably more than i should.”

the tension in his chest eased, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness. he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. “well, that’s a relief,” he said with a small laugh. “i was starting to think i’d have to spend another hour working up the courage to say something.”

you laughed too, your fingers curling around his. “guess i saved you the trouble.”

the two of you sat there, hands intertwined, a quiet warmth settling between you. for joshua, it wasn’t the moment he confessed that stood out the most—it was this. the way you looked at him, the way your hand fit perfectly in his, and the way the silence felt full instead of empty.

in that moment, he realized love wasn’t something that needed to be rushed or dramatized. sometimes, it was as simple as sitting across from someone who made your world feel a little less lonely, and knowing they felt the same way.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ kisses and cuddles with joshua

joshua is naturally gentle and thoughtful when it comes to physical affection. he’s the type to wait until the moment feels just right, never rushing or forcing anything. he thrives in the little things—the brush of your fingers, the way your shoulder leans against his, or the quiet moments when your laughter makes him smile without meaning to.

one evening, you’re both sitting on the floor in his apartment, surrounded by half-empty mugs of tea and a mess of polaroids and postcards spread out in front of you. the soft hum of a playlist fills the space, his voice occasionally cutting through as he shares stories behind each photo.

you catch him watching you as you laugh at a particularly ridiculous story, his gaze lingering longer than usual. joshua isn’t one to overthink, but there’s something about the way you look so at ease—like you belong in every corner of his life—that makes his chest ache in the best way.

he doesn’t realize how close you’ve shifted until your knee brushes against his, and even then, he doesn’t move away. instead, his hand moves almost instinctively, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of one of the photos near your leg. it’s subtle, but you feel it: the shift in the air, the quiet closeness that doesn’t need words.

"what?" you ask, raising a brow when you notice his silence.

"nothing," he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. but the way he says it—the soft timbre of his voice—makes you feel like it’s everything.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ the first kiss the first kiss happens when neither of you expects it, but it feels so natural that it doesn’t catch you off guard.

you’re walking together late at night, bundled up against the chill. the city is quiet, with only the occasional glow of streetlights and the crunch of snow under your feet. he’s telling you about something—his words soft and warm like the scarf wrapped around your neck.

when you stop to admire the way the snow glitters under the lamplight, he pauses too, standing just behind you. joshua doesn’t rush to fill the silence. instead, he watches as your breath fogs in the air, your head tilted slightly upward.

he doesn’t think about it too much—he’s not the type to overanalyze. he simply steps closer, his fingers brushing yours before he turns you gently toward him. the way he looks at you is enough to make your heart stutter, his eyes carrying that quiet, unspoken affection he’s always held just below the surface.

when he leans in, it’s slow, as if he’s giving you every chance to stop him. but you don’t. his lips meet yours softly, a tentative but deliberate press, warm against the cold of the night. it’s the kind of kiss that lingers long after it ends, the kind that makes you forget about the cold entirely.

when he pulls back, there’s a faint pink dusting his cheeks, though whether it’s from the cold or the moment, you’re not sure. “sorry,” he murmurs, though the smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him.

"don’t be," you reply, and he laughs softly, his breath visible in the winter air.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ cuddles with joshua cuddling with joshua feels like wrapping yourself in a blanket of warmth and quiet reassurance. he’s not overly clingy, but he has this way of making every touch feel intentional and meaningful.

it starts small—like when you’re sitting together on the couch, his arm draped casually along the back. as time goes on, he’ll pull you closer, until you’re tucked against his side, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm. he’s the type to hum quietly or ask about your day, his voice low and soothing.

on lazy mornings, you’ll find him lying on his back, one arm stretched out as if waiting for you to crawl into the space beside him. when you do, he’ll pull you closer, his hand resting against the small of your back. his touch is gentle, never hurried, as if he has all the time in the world to savor the moment.

sometimes, when he’s particularly tired or in need of comfort himself, he’ll rest his head on your shoulder, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. he doesn’t say much during these moments, but the way he holds you speaks volumes.

his favorite way to cuddle, though, is lying side by side, your head resting on his chest. he’ll absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair or along your back, his breathing steady and calming. every now and then, he’ll press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring something sweet that makes your heart flutter.

with joshua, cuddling isn’t just about the physical closeness—it’s about the quiet, unspoken connection you share. it’s in the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in his world, and in the way his presence alone makes you feel at home.

┊ ➶ ｡✩‧₊˚ bonus joshua kisses with intention. everything he does has this thoughtful, deliberate quality to it, like he's not just kissing you—he’s showing you how much he cherishes you. his kisses are gentle yet firm, the kind that leave you feeling warm and safe, like you’re the only person in his world.

the first time he kisses you, it’s under the soft glow of the streetlights. you’re walking home together after a late-night outing, your laughter fading into the quiet hum of the night. joshua’s been stealing glances at you all evening, his usual soft smile lingering just a little longer than usual.

as you stop to admire the night sky, he hesitates for a moment, his hands tucked into his pockets. he stands a little closer to you than necessary, and when you turn to face him, there’s a flicker of nervousness in his gaze.

“you know…” he begins, his voice softer than usual, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

before you can even ask what he means, he steps closer, one hand gently brushing your cheek. his touch is featherlight, and the way his fingers curl around your jaw feels so tender that your heart skips a beat.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s like the whole world quiets. the kiss is soft and slow, his lips moving against yours with the kind of care that feels almost reverent. it’s not about passion or urgency—it’s about the unspoken feelings he’s been carrying for so long.

as the kiss deepens, his other hand moves to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. his touch is steady, grounding you, as if he’s afraid to let go. you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his lips linger just long enough to leave you breathless.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting gently against yours. his eyes are soft, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, but there’s a hint of mischief in his smile. “and now that i have… i don’t think i’ll ever stop.”

from then on, joshua’s kisses become a quiet yet powerful expression of his affection.

on lazy afternoons, he’ll tilt your chin up with a finger, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. when you’re feeling down, he kisses your forehead first, his lips lingering there before pulling you into a soft, lingering kiss that somehow makes everything feel okay again.

but when the moment calls for it—when it’s just the two of you, tucked away from the world—his kisses take on a new intensity.

one evening, you’re curled up together on the couch, a movie playing in the background that neither of you are paying attention to. joshua’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair. you’re mid-sentence when he leans in, cutting you off with a kiss that catches you completely off guard.

this kiss is deeper, hungrier, but still carries that same sense of care that only joshua can give. his lips move against yours with an unspoken urgency, his hands gently cupping your face as if to keep you close. his thumb brushes against your cheek, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he’s savoring every second.

when he pulls back, his breathing is a little uneven, his cheeks flushed. his lips curve into a small, bashful smile as he gazes at you, his eyes filled with nothing but love.

“sorry,” he says softly, though there’s no regret in his tone. “i just… couldn’t help myself.”

and you can’t help but smile back, because with joshua, every kiss feels like a quiet confession of how deeply he cares for you.

⊹˚. what exactly are you to joshua?

to joshua, you’re not just a person—you're the person. the one who brightens his world effortlessly with your presence. you’re his muse, his source of quiet inspiration, and the reason he finds himself smiling even on the toughest days. to him, you’re someone who feels like home—comforting, warm, and safe, yet exciting in all the ways he didn’t realize he needed.

⊹˚. how joshua falls for you

joshua’s feelings for you come like a melody—soft, sweet, and so natural that he almost doesn’t notice it at first. it starts with the way you make him laugh, the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about something you love, and the way you get him without him needing to explain.

for joshua, falling for you isn’t an “aha” moment. it’s a collection of little things: the way you remember his favorite coffee order, the way you unconsciously hum while doing something, or the way you’re always genuinely kind to others.

he’s the kind of person who falls in love through shared moments—a late-night conversation under the stars, a quiet coffee date on a rainy day, or even just a random moment when he looks at you and thinks, "how did I get so lucky?"

example: one evening, as the two of you are walking home together after an impromptu late-night dessert run, you laugh at something he says, your voice echoing in the quiet night. joshua glances at you, the way your hair catches the moonlight, the crinkle of your eyes when you smile. that’s the moment he realizes: this is it. this is where I want to be—by your side.

when joshua confesses, it’ll be thoughtful and heartfelt, but never overwhelming. he doesn’t want to pressure you; he just wants you to know. maybe it’s after a casual hangout, when he walks you to your door and lingers a little longer than usual.

"i’ve been meaning to tell you something," he starts, his voice soft but steady. "i don’t know when it happened, but… you’ve become really important to me. like, more than just a friend. and i just thought you should know."

(ㅅ´ ˘ )♡ when joshua loves, it’s like a warm embrace—a constant presence that makes you feel cherished and appreciated. he’s attentive, always noticing the little things about you, and finding ways to make your life easier or happier.

he’s the kind of person who’ll send you random texts throughout the day, just to check in or make you smile. "hey, i heard this song, and it made me think of you. listen to it when you have a minute." or "don’t forget to eat something today, okay?"

he loves in ways that feel thoughtful and intentional—remembering your favorite flower and surprising you with it, or noticing when you’re stressed and planning a relaxing day for the two of you.

like when you’ve had a rough day, and you find him waiting at your doorstep with your favorite snacks and a playlist he made just for you.

and when you’re with him, you feel it in the way he looks at you—soft, tender, like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment. his love is steady and unwavering, a kind of comfort that feels like it was meant just for you.

his hand always seems to find yours, even in the smallest moments, as if it’s a silent promise that he’s there for you, no matter what. and when he kisses you, it’s soft but full of meaning, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into that one moment.

joshua’s love feels like coming home, every single time.

ੈ♡ a/n: do check out the wonwoo version over here ! the next few updates will happen if there's a request on it ^^ if you want to know whether there would be any updates, just check out my seventeen masterlist and go to the headcanon section and there you will see which members has this "headcanon when he falls for someone (you)". thankyou and ilysm <3

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jellxzy · 2 days ago

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I was wondering if you could do a hyunju x fem!reader where the reader is pregnant and reader sees that Hyunju is alone in the second game so reader approaches her and they start a friendship and as time goes by they both fall in love ^^

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐁𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧! -𝐇𝐜

|| 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

|| 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!: 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

|| 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

|| 𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬! 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐛��𝐬𝐲! Thank 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

Here you were, competing in deadly children games for the sake of your own child. You never excepted your life to go down this path, you were a heir to a wealthy company. Going to collage abroad, studying medicine.

And yet, you're stuck here. Fearing your life every second of the day. Luckily, you were only two months pregnant unlike Junhee, so you didn't show like she did. So, you acted just like another normal girl competing at the games.

Though you were eating for two, so the food definitely didn't keep you calm and the one thing you waited for the whole day. Instead you laid in the uncomfortable bed, staring up. You laid there with a hand on your stomach, thinking of what to do with the money you received.

You'll get a little house in the provinces, probably build a farm, and take care of your baby. Even if it's only you taking care of her/him. Then a soft yet deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Hi, uhm. We were teammates during the game earlier, remember?"

She was your teammate during the game, and you remember it so vividly, she was brave and strong, had good leadership skills, moving back to the 'strong' she is very strong, you had accidentally slipped on blood whilst moving, but with ease she lifted you up to continue on walking forward.

"Yeah." You nod your head with a smile as you sat up. "Well, we're all gathering there if you'd like to be with us. Just so nobody's alone. " She smiled while explaining. "Oh, yeah sure." You reluctantly agree standing up and walking with her towards the group.

You couldn't help but notice her lingering hand on your shoulder, a small smile on her lips as her eyes glance at you. A soft pink hue appearing on your cheeks as you notice that.

Upon reaching the group, the hand on your shoulder gets removed while she goes up the stairs. The group welcomes you in, the atmosphere easy and has no awkwardness whatsoever. But when the topic changes to you, the topic asking on why they entered the games.

"I-uhm." You shudder before saying in a quiet and soft tone; "I'm pregnant." The weight on your shoulder finally gets lifted as the secret finally comes out. "How many months are you in?" Geum-ja asks, her eyes filled with worry.

"I'm only two months in, so me being pregnant won't bring us down." You tell them with a smile. "Hopefully." You mutter under your breath. During the whole conversation, you could feel Hyun-ju's eyes watching your every move.

So, when the a voice announced that it was gonna be lights out in thirty minutes, the conversations was forced to stop. "Hey." Hyun-ju's voice called out to you from behind. "I think it's best if you sleep in my bed tonight. Don't worry I don't sleep."

She left no other options as her hand gripped your wrist in a firm yet soft grip, stopping you from moving. "Okay." You accepted nonetheless, walking with her towards her bed. "You don't have to do this, y'know."

"I know. But I have too. No one knows what they could do. Especially to you." You turn around in your bed, now facing her while she sits on the floor next to the bed. "You can lay down here..." You trail off, feeling a bit shy.

"With me." Her eyes slightly widen at that before glancing at your blushing state. "Are you sure?" She asks turning to look at you. "Mhm." You hum with a soft nod, moving your body so she can have space, patting the space in front of you.

She slowly moved to lay down next to you, carefully as to not accidentally hurt you or cause you discomfort. "Am I hurting you? Are you okay?" She asked with a worried tone, which only caused you to laugh.

"You're only laying you're head on my arm, I'll be fine." You lightly chuckle to ease the atmosphere between you. Instead of sleeping you could only admire how beautiful she looked underneath the dim lights, and how she still had a protective hold over you by her arm draped over your waist. Even if it's a small thing, you somehow still felt more protected than you did on the outside world.

And when you were already sleeping that's when she woke up, due to her military training she's gotten used to waking up very early in the morning. She didn't notice at first, how your hand lightly gripped her bicep, scared that she'll leave you. And that how her arm was still draped on your waist that you didn't bother to move or brush off. She only continued to look at you, not wanting to move at all, brushing a hair off your face to pulling up the blanket to cover you.

And that's how she fell for you, as for you? You knew the moment you first saw her. You knew she was the one, the one who will help you raise your child. And that's what the both of you are doing right know, you carried your baby in your arms while she prepared her milk.

Yes, it's a girl.

The both of you won, alongside with your close friends. And luckily Junhee gave birth successfully, it scared you a little that you're gonna be next to go through that but, after was amazing. Spending months miserable to birth something so beautiful, it was poetic.

three months in, and a little baby bump was finally showing. Though, you couldn't be more confused, is it because you just ate or is it because of the baby.

and that's the month she demanded you to stop working. Now, she was the one working outside your shared apartment. Yet, she was still the same sweet and gentle person you know. Four months in, your baby bump got a little bigger. So, now she holds it in her hands every chance she gets. Hugging you from behind whilst you cook, cuddling with you in bed, and sitting on the sofa, all of those moments, she had her hand on your baby bump, that's also the month you told everyone else that you were pregnant, so now you get free kimchi every week from Geum-ja.

Five months in, and that's when your baby starts to kick. And every time, she does, you call Hyun-ju. And yes, it's a baby girl. And when the first time she feels her kicking, she sobbed into you shoulder for a straight hour, like she's the pregnant one. Geum-ja and Junhee decoded it was best to spend their mornings and evenings with you, so they'll be there if you need anything. Considering they've gone through it already, Junhee more recently.

Six months in, the baby's kicks become more frequent, and you start to crave more weirder foods. You suggested for Hyun-ju to just stay with you all day and quit her job, but she said she's saving up for her collage. That's when you sobbed into her shoulder, whispering-yelling thank you's and words of praise to her.

Seven months in, that's when your emotions took a sharp turn, your hormones kicking in every minute. She gets tired of it sure, but she loves you more than anything. And that includes waking up in the midnight just to go out and buy your craving. Only to return to you, already fast asleep.

Eight months passed by like a breeze, your baby bump was definitely showing more than ever, and you looked so cute, despite your hair and clothes being disheveled most of the time. She starts talking to the baby bump, while your fast asleep, talking about how beautiful her mother is, and how great she is.

Nine months in, and that's the month you waited for, the whole time. It was near your due-date, and she's already got everything packed, baby blanket, yours and her clothes, baby clothes that were sent by Junhee, and most importantly her strength.

the due-date day, was the hardest fight Hyun-ju ever fought, hands were gripped tightly, curses spilled from your mouth, and a birth was witnessed. So, when it was your turn to give birth, everyone who survived came to support you and Hyun-ju, so, now you're living in Thailand, peacefully with your soon-to-be wife. And a four-year old daughter. You're life was complete.

#cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyunju x reader #player 120 x reader #squid game x reader #squid game #hyun ju x reader #player 120

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theamazingmaddyas · 3 days ago

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AU where Michael survives the fall off the Williamsburg Bridge, but is badly injured, so Apollo brings him over to Asclepius to heal back up, and get physical therapy and occupational therapy, but Apollo and Asclepius (and Epione and hers and Asclepius' children) are all gods and have no sense of time, so they accidently keep Michael away from the rest of the half-bloods for eleven months until Jason, Leo, and Piper go to get the Physicians Cure, and to their surprise a demigod is there.

Now, since Asclepius has been focusing on healing Michael and also barely leaves Epidaurus, he also forgot to tell Michael about the whole war thing, so he's honestly really confused.

And then Leo recognizes him because Will has a picture of Michael on his quiver (and while giving the tour to Leo, the picture caught his eye and stuck, because adhd really makes you remember the randomest stuff) and tells him everything.

Michael is stubborn so when he hears about said war, he's ready to go, bows blazing, he wants to help. Asclepius thinks this is actually a terrible idea because you've barely been able to walk for a few months without crutches, and are still not at full strength, and Dad'll be disappointed if I let you go, but Michael's going.

So, along with the physicians cure, Jason, Leo, and Piper bring one feral Apollo kid back to the Argo II.

Percy thinks he's hallucinating because the guy he accidently killed is right there and maybe Tartarus messed him up more than he thought, and Annabeth is gaping at him.

Hazel and Frank have never been more confused in their life, which is saying a lot because both of them have the tendency to get confused over tiny things.

So, Michael becomes a temp member of the Argo II. Him and Frank get along amazing, and are always taking about archery and comparing bows (Frank's nearly two feet taller than Michael so his bow is actually twice Michael's bows size). And him and Percy have a much needed talk about the battle.

Sad part is Michael has to watch his father be banished and not heard from in six months (not fun), but good news is when Apollo does show up, we can get some quality Michael and Meg friendship! Apollo wishes they'd never met, but Meg adores Michael so much.

Meg jabbed Apollo with her elbow. "Your son is so cool."

Apollo glanced at where his eldest son at camp was currently chasing Sherman Yang with a broken arrow shaft, cursing with a variety of colorful language that, if he hadn't heard Meg say worse, he would be tempted to cover her ears. "I agree."

Meg clicked her tongue. "Must have got it from his mother, because you're lame."

Apollo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Meg, you wound me!"

Meg chuckled softly. "Sucks to face the truth."

Another awesome scene could be Will, Kayla, and Austin reuniting with him, or Michael getting to curse out Octavian! (Would pay money to see).

Will I do anything with this AU? Maybe. I have too many WIP right now to dedicate time to it, but maybe it'll come sooner or later. I definitely want to write a Michael survives story (all the ones I've read are actually some of my favorite things ever), but whether I choose to do this one is up in the air.

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iiluvtaylorrussell · 14 hours ago

Text

𝒮𝓌ℯℯ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇 𝓍 𝒮𝒽𝓎 𝒩ℯ𝓇𝒹𝓎 𝒟𝓇ℯ𝓌

Drew was the quiet boy in your literature class the one who always sat toward the back his glasses perched on his nose, and an old notebook filled with scribbles on his desk. He was new to campus, having transferred halfway through the semester, and you couldn’t help but notice how lost he looked most of the time.

It wasn’t until your professor paired you up for an assignment that you really spoke to him. You offered to show him around after class, and though he seemed a bit hesitant at first, he eventually nodded, his shy smile making your heart flutter.

From that day on, you saw each other more and more. Drew turned out to be not just intelligent but thoughtful and kind, the type of person who listened intently and chose his words carefully. You found yourselves in a little routine walking to and from class together, studying at your place or his, and spending hours sitting on the fluffy rug of your room, old records spinning on your pink turntable as you worked through assignments or shared little quiet conversation.

Drew was very observant, always noticing little things about you how you tucked your curls behind your ear when you were focused, or how your pretty lips twitched when you were trying not to laugh. What he wouldn’t admit, though, was how much he adored the way you dressed.The soft, pastel pinks of your wardrobe, the little frilly dresses, and the delicate lace details of your dresses.or how he loved the faint, sweet scent of vanilla that always lingered around you.

He’d catch glimpses of you walking into class, your dress moving lightly as you walked. His heart would beat faster your soft curves and charm, and it left him completely tongue-tied. He wanted to tell you, he wanted to say how much he loved the way your style reflected your sweet personality but every time he would try to convey his words his lips failed him , and he’d end up stuttering then biting his lip and looking away.

The first time you held hands was when he offered to walk you home one evening after a late study session. The cold breeze made you shiver, As the wind picked up, you rubbed your arms for warmth, shivering a little, and without a word, Drew slipped off his jacket, gently draping it over your shoulders. “Here,” he said quietly , avoiding your gaze, his cheeks flushed. “You can wear it until we get to your place.”Drew reached out, his warm hand brushing yours before gently lacing his fingers through yours. You glanced at him, your cheeks burning, but he was looking straight ahead, his own face flushed.

It took months of stolen glances and little moments for things to progress into something more. One evening, you were lying by his side on your bed with Drew in your silky pink night gown. Papers all over the floor as you laughed about some book you two were reading . The lamp cast a soft glow over his face, and before you could stop yourself, you said , “Can I… hold your arm?”

Drew blinked at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “My arm?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I know it’s weird. Forget I said anything.”

But Drew only smiled, his shyness melting into something softer as he gently tugged your hands away from your face. “It’s not weird,” he murmured, his cheeks pink. “Here.”

He offered his arm, and you hesitantly wrapped your hand around his bicep, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his sweater. His skin was warm beneath, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“This okay?” he asked whispering

You nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder, your heart racing as you felt him relax beside you.

Drew was the sweetest boyfriend you could have asked for. Though he was shy, he was always attentive remembering little details about your day, bringing you your favorite tea to study sessions, and surprising you with the books you’d mention. He was tall and very handsome , with his glasses that framed his pretty blue eyes, he was so sweet and softspoken, which only made you fall in love with him even more.

Neither of you had many friends, but that didn’t matter. You both loved the little bubble you’d created together, filled with late-night reading sessions, quiet walks to class, and the soft sound of Sade playing from your pink record player. It was a world that felt entirely your own, where nothing else seemed to matter except each other.

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drdawnbreaker · 3 days ago

Text

ﾟ°☆𝐃𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐭.𝟏☆° ﾟ

Heya!! This is my first recommendation list. I read too much and from multiple different fandoms, hehe. I did think about splitting the fandoms up into separate posts, and maybe I'll do that in the future, but for now, these are all just amazing fanfics that I need to share and show off to the world. If you have any fics you really love, whether they are your own or others you love. Send them my way!! Im always looking for new content to read, hehe.

ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ

✦ Unleashed — @veltana

Genre: Smut. Sex Pollen Au.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: During a mission, Bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions, and all he wants is you.

✦ Last Minute — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Summary: When Frank won't give you attention, you have to convince him not to leave somehow...

✦ Everybody Talks — @nickfowlerrr

Genre: Smut. Halloween Au

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Reader

✦ What If...? — @vunblr

Genre: Smut. Angst. Neighbours Au

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Reader

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbour, a nurse.

✦ Who’s She? — @sacredsorceress

Genre: Fluff. Secret double life au.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: when sam gets injured during a mission and isn’t able to go to a hospital, bucky brings him and natasha to his own home to get cared for by his girlfriend, y/n, who he’s been keeping a secret.

✦ Dr. Bee — @malum-forev

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation, but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

✦ In losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) — @mellowsaturns

Genre: Heavy Angst. Onesided-enemies-to-lovers-ish

Pairing: Soldat!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

Summary: When the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy, but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

✦ Blurred Lines — @ellemj

Genre: Time Travel. Angst. Smut. Fluff. Enemies To Lovers

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Reader. 40s!Bucky x Reader

Summary: When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

✦ Out of My Head — @navybrat817

Genre: A/B/O. Smut. Angst. Fluff.

Paring: Chubby!Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: Bucky feels a bit insecure during a romantic evening, and you do your best to get him out of his head.

✦ The Memory Remains — @vunblr

Genre: Smut. Angst. Winter Soldier Vibes

Pairing: Bucky x Curvy!Reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

✦ Toy Soldier (part 1) — @vunblr

Genre: Dark. Gore. Angst. Fuff. Big feels

Paring: Winter Soldier!Bucky x mutant!Reader

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠɪʟ

✦ Strawberry Scented — @cakelitter

Genre: Smut. Hybrid au.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Bunny!Reader

Summary: You remain still blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him. Does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

✦ Dolled Up — @coqvttes

Genre: Smut.

Pairing: Carlos Oliveira x Virgin!Reader

Summary: After making you wait nearly two months to lose your virginity, you surprise him in lingerie that you know he can't resist corrupting you in.

✦ Sweetheart Club — @cakelitter

Genre: Smut. Angst. Collage au.

Pairing: Professor!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: “You wanted to talk, professor?” he turns around and faces you, placing down the papers he’s holding on his desk and taking his glasses off. “Yeah, mind explaining the absences?”

✦ Light of the Full Moon — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Dub-con. Werewolf au. Smut. Angst

Pairing: Husband!Wolf!Chris x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your husband hasn't been the same since coming back from his latest mission. you struggle to understand the cause, not wanting to believe the worst. on the night of a full moon, tensions peak, and you're determined to find out the truth.

✦ LIKE RABBITS ♡ — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Pure Smut. Hybrid au

Pairing: carlos oliveira x bunny-hybrid!fem!reader

ᴅᴄ

✦ Werewolf!Jason Todd Imagine — @redr0sewrites

Genre: Smut. Werewolf au. Heat/Knotting

Pairing: Jason Todd x Human!Reader

✦ Virgin Jason Todd — @devotedlyandrogynousyouth

Genre: Pure Smut. Drabble. P/W/P

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

sᴘɴ

✦ Tentacles — @sweetcocopowder

Genre: Smut. Monster fucking. Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel ft. Alien being?

Summary: Dean has to perform a ritual to continue further in his hunt. Said ritual, is fucking an ancient being that only wants to pleasure. And Cas is here as moral support.

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16wheelerhorse · 2 days ago

Note

Please please do a lando x ex!reader. Angst because hey’d broken up when she fell pregnant but he wasn’t ready. And now seeing her pregnant in the paddock is doing stuff to him. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and he fucks her…hard.

Burning By Design

pairing: Lando Norris x ex girlfriend reader (m/f)

rating: explicit

word count: 4,7 k

tags/warnings: smut, angst with a happy ending (maybe, maybe), toxicity, 3rd trimester pregnancy, unprotected sex (not recommended by author!!), rough sex (p.i.v.), pregnancy fetish (if you squint), 2nd person POV, past tense, no "y/n" or OC names used

a/n (header): title by shame. apologies for the wait. i have study related work. this might be as fast as i get. anyway, i really enjoyed writing this and am hoping for more requests - head to my pinned post :)

At first, he could not believe what he was seeing.

It was almost too stupid to process.

Perhaps, the A plot of a sitcom he had not consented to be part of. Perhaps, a form of divine intervention punishing him for blasphemy and pride, firmly guided by its own self-importance. More likely, a parasitic thought coming up from the basement of his mind to taunt him before the sprint. They like to wake up when there is light upstairs, when he is finally doing well again.

It immediately became clear that it wasn’t a dark daydream playing tricks on him, however. Nightmares are bold and unsparing, certainly not afraid of little Lando Norris. Certainly wouldn’t hide their face at their eyes meeting, wouldn’t try to scurry away.

As much as it irritated him, made him lose track of what he had planned before the race, he couldn’t let you run. Couldn’t let you get away with showing your face around the paddock again, putting yourself at risk of getting caught by the cameras before he could give you a warning.

Lando didn’t have time to think about the consequences of the gossip that would ensue thanks to your caprice. He almost sprinted to you, capturing your arm in a firm grip.

“Hello?”

It rang loud in the heat of the moment, prompting the closest heads to turn to face the two of you.

“Lando,” you replied, volume low and tone as calm as you could muster, avoiding catching another glimpse in his direction.

You heard him exhale sharply behind you, hand travelling to the back of your neck, pressing on first vertebra he could feel beneath your skin. Continuing to walk, Lando led you to a quiet corner near the public bathrooms. He leaned in, breath ghosting past the shell of your ear. “May I ask exactly what brings you here of all places?”

His bratty tone triggered you even more than you had anticipated. You swallowed, keeping your expression stone cold. “I’m here to watch some racing. You know, one of the most normal things a person could be doing around here.”

He clicked his tongue, and you could sense him examining every detail of your appearance. Your parted lips letting a jagged breath escape. The oversized crewneck attempting to hide your enlarged belly, reminding him of the times when you used to borrow his clothes. Sunglasses to prevent you from being recognized, playing the same role as the unseen tint to your hair, arranged carefully with the intent to cover up the tattoo behind your ear - “I♡”, a Roman numeral. Lando couldn’t decide which detail hurt him the most.

“I see. Right after I lost the championship, which makes it all the more interesting, of course,” His words were laced with passive aggression, hand squeezing the skin around your spine. “So interesting you couldn’t, like, be satisfied with a screen… I mean, are you even allowed to travel, for fucks sake?!” He pressed a finger into the firmness of your belly.

You jerked away, finally turning to glare at him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you mumbled, pulling down the hem of your sweatshirt. “Yes, I should be able to do so until week thirty-six. I’m healthy.”

Lando gave you a slow nod as he examined you, chewing on his lip. He seemed tense and somewhat worn out, the end of the year fast approaching, but it was the same man you had had on your mind for months. His eyes were soft and lively, with him sporting some light stubble on his face, same as when you had your last proper conversation; thick hair and eyebrows, a wild mess of curls you wished you could grab a handful of, even at that moment.

“Good,” he replied softly. “That’s a relief, then.”

You let out a cold laugh. “As of you give a fuck, suddenly.”

He straightened his back, drawing closer to you again. “It is still my baby,” he retaliated with a muted whine.

“In theory only. Which should be a relief to you. Now you have all the time in the world to be second.”

Disregarding your protest, Lando pulled you against himself, snatching away your sunglasses so that nothing was shielding you from his stare. “You bitch…!” He shook his head, almost as a warning. “Unlike you, I can be proud of myself.”

“Yeah...? Well. I ain't one to be controlling somebody's opinions. Good for you, Lando.”

No matter how well-intended your statement was - or wasn't -, it didn't fly with the boy in question. “I think you’ve said enough for today,” he gripped your arms tighter. His reply was full of contempt, with Lando making it clear his will to listen was much the same as his remaining respect for you. “I know why you’re here. You think you’re about to witness my downfall or something, that I’m getting weak. That you have a chance to embarrass me by any means possible.”

There was growing intensity to his voice, persistence. Lando didn’t process arguments like others would. He liked having an equal opponent to bounce off of, someone who could take his jabs and bite back. All because a part of him loved being bitten, torn down and mocked, so he would have a chance to see the vehemence in your eyes, hear the words picking him apart - so obsessed, so captured by the dance between you.

And sometimes, it hit just right, the soft spot on his underside that made him lie back and revel in the pain. It was the easiest thing to do. Give up the fight.

This didn’t seem like one of those days, however. Lando really did appear to be standing stronger after Vegas. There were urgent flames starting to appear in his gaze, accented by the orange color of his suit. He was hell bent on proving you wrong. Judging by the way his hands lingered on the sides of your belly, they would have been all over you had you two been in private.

You kept your cool, raising an eyebrow at him. “That sounds like a lot of work. You must be mistaken. I’m minding my own business; you are the one trying to insert yourself back into it.”

“Your business? Like you are going anything except fuck all.”

“Yes, very serious business. I need to find a good man to support me and my baby. There should be plenty around here." Pause. "Still, I can’t be picking just anybody.”

Lando was cut off mid inhale. He looked over you with near disgust, his grip tightening as thoughts of someone else possessing you clouded his mind. It was always too easy to rile him up that way. Make him reveal many of his least sufferable qualities, intensify the competition he was always part of, with both others and himself.

“Ah-hah. Who do you have eyes on, then?” he kept presssing, tongue running over his lips. “Tell me.”

You ran over some names for a second. “Lewis.”

He let out a laugh with a note of played up cruelty in it, flashing his teeth. “Shut up. That’s way out of your league.”

“Okay. Then, hm. Why don’t you tell me who would piss you off the most?” you mocked. “Always beefing with men with way more integrity than you. Like a spoiled little chihuahua.”

You pulled at his waist, which was molded perfectly for your palms, until your stomach was pressed against the solid muscles under his suit. As you looked up, his eyes were already on yours.

What a waste of a pretty face he was.

“Well, who? Oscar? Max?”

His cheeks grew redder at a rapid rate. “Don’t drag them into this. They’re both happily taken.”

“Yeah? And did that stop you from leaving?” You smirked, keeping your ground. “No. As I said, being a real man isn’t for everyone.”

Lando's eyes darkened. “All that talk, it’s funny, you know that. I’m sure you do, yet you’re quite shit at admitting you’ve messed up. Don’t look at me like that…” he snapped at the face you made.

“All this anger can’t be good for your body.” His fingers were back on the side of your belly, stroking gently. “All that… freaking idiocy. You chose to bang a guy at the highest point of his career – so far. A guy who wasn’t even twenty-five then, a guy who’d just won his first race. And for what? For me to leave everyone behind? You had a fucking chance; you had a chance to abort-”

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to push your money into my face. Crying about how I was trying to trap you? Seriously?”

“Okay, whatever excuse you had,” he scoffs, laying his hand on one of the arms holding his waist. “But don’t come to me pretending like I fucked everything up. When you let yourself get pounded by guy who isn’t even a real man…”

“Lando…”

“And you loved it.” His voice had gotten close to a whisper, gaze softly studying your wide-eyed expression. “You were obsessed… I shouldn’t be surprised you kept the baby, you always wanted a piece of me, right?”

He smirked. “You still are, are you not? You missed me, it’s why you came. Just say it.”

Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. A fuck-up. Even a fool like him could see right through you.

His words were dirty, and they cut you deep. You could never forget those days, the pinnacle of your love him for him. How he had held you as they were snapping him with white light, bleaching the red flags in the distance into a warm pink that took over your eyes.

You had made love that same night, and you had been careless. You had said too much, things too strong to ever take back. He hadn’t understood, but you were sure he could remember everything.

It was all your fault, falling too deep, too soon.

“No,” you denied his claim, voice cracking.

“Yeeaah. Still obsessed with little old me…” he reached forward to pinch your cheek, grinning as if the battle had already been won. There was hunger in his eyes that made you flinch. “You want me the way I used to be. When nothing mattered as much as you.”

He could read what was on your mind through your eyes. The mirror of the soul.

Stupid fucking idiot. If only he were as dumb as people liked to think.

“Yes…”

It was almost inaudible. “Say what?”

“Forget it, Lando. Just… forget about me. I’m sorry, I made a m-”

There was the soft pad of his finger pressing on your lips.

“Shhh…”

Lando smiled at you like a wild animal he’s managed to tame, a beauty he could take all to himself now.

You closed your eyes, expecting what was coming.

He replaced his finger with his lips when he was an inch away and pressed hard. His exhale was absorbed by your skin as he pushed you closer to himself with his palm on the back of your neck, not letting you escape. He didn’t hesitate to wet your lips with his tongue, try to part them while you held on, freezing at the sensation of a hand having reached for your breast.

You let out a sob and felt him grinning against you. His teeth nipped at your lip, impatient and commanding, bruising the delicate skin. You refused to open up.

Lando pulled away just far enough to inhale, clawing at the bra under your clothes that was preventing him from feeling your skin.

“What? You literally just showed me that I was right. You pathetic fucking girl.”

This mockery was delivered the form of a quiet purr, teasing but insisting you to stay. At that point, nothing could hide you from Lando’s obvious arousal, the struggle that was your haughty, self-defeating mind making adrenaline flow through his body, much like rivalry between drivers. But you were more gorgeous than any shining trophy or livery, so enticingly vulnerable, a canvas he could see his own work displayed on.

His eyes were impossible to meet. If it were feasible, you would have had him kiss you with them. Burn your skin with the intensity of his gaze, then sooth you with the dreams he held in them, the coolness of light and his beautiful shade of green. Scar you with the batting of his lashes until you lost the ability to bleed for anybody else.

“Lan, we can’t.”

“You’re fucking crying…” he pointed out, his chuckle low and deep, wiping any sincerity from your words. “Yeah, we can. We will.”

You swallowed. You had never felt so feeble yet so willing to be. “Take me somewhere. Touch me, please, I need you--”

A dirty smirk formed on his face, despite which you let him tug you to one of the toilets, refusing to acknowledge the setting and directing all of your attention to his lips. After he locked the door, you were pressed against the wall in an instant, one of his hands moving up to your face and the other struggling to pull up the layers covering your stomach.

Lando’s look was utterly lewd as your swelling lips wrapped around his index and middle finger, sucking all the way up to his metacarpals as you squeezed his wrist with desperation. Your pupils, wide and glimmering in the low light of the room, were firmly focused on the veins on the back of his large hand, with Lando helping you roll up his sleeve to reveal them running further down his forearm.

You did not have the guts to face his insufferable grin. “Crazy, it’s all yours,” Lando laughed, conceited and mocking, reveling in the shameful thirst in your eyes. He looked down at his fingertips exploring the curve of your exposed belly, following their path with filth written all over his face. It was as if he’d discovered a muse, unexplored fertile land to roam and sow full of sin.

“Fuck,” he cursed, reaching lower to undo your jeans. You let Lando’s soaked fingers slip out of your mouth as your breath hitched, whimpering when his hand pushed aside your panties for a more enticing view.

He ogled at your clit peeking through an unshaved bush, flushed warm pink and begging for his touch. His finger went to brush past it, making you gasp and bend, and disappeared between the soaked lips of your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, glancing up with a bright, teasing flame in his green eyes, a look that understood the obscenity you were about to fall in the arms of. “For me.”

The word was accented in a manner that made your cheeks burn red in shame. You didn’t think you could admit to the disgraceful act of falling for him again, accept the way your body was reacting to his voice, his touch, his presence. He had you in full control, all but on your knees begging to be taken.

“How does that make you feel, huh?” Lando was grinning, his hand leaving your heat to undo his collar and pull down the zipper of his racing suit.

Your teeth were gnawing at your bottom lip unconsciously, heart about to leap out of your chest in a plea it was unable to scream.“Uhm… I-I missed this…”

“Missed what?” Lando asked with feigned innocence. “This?” He guided your arm to the bulge nestled in his uniform, pressing it into your open palm. A laugh escaped him as he batted his eyelashes at you with a pleased smirk plastered all over his face. “To think it made you into this,” he drawled as his other hand trailed from your baby bump up to your chest, cupping one of your tits and squeezing hard. “Am I being stupid or have they gotten bigger?”

“Yes to both,” you sighed as he began removing your top and sweatshirt, sliding them over your head. Your clothes and bra were tossed on the floor without care as Lando’s pupils grew wider at the sight of your enlarged breasts and areolas. There were darker stripes forming on your tummy and visible veins painted your chest, which made you flush under his gaze as you looked down. “You fucking ass.”

Lando did not let that fly. His hand wrapped around your neck, with a finger supporting the chin lifting it up to face him. “Was that one of your wishes right there?”

“No,” you gulped, raging need taking over your brain and making you unable to consider your own words. Your clit was silently throbbing and walls crying out in pain, begging for a hard dick taking you and stretching them out. “P-please… I need it in my pussy, Lando.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, with a low sound resembling a moan escaping his throat. “Ohhh. You’re begging, and I didn’t even have to ask. Fucking begging for my cock…”

Lando said these kinds of things not only to rile you up further, but also to help convince himself that they were somehow – miraculously – real. Earlier that day, he could never have guessed what he, what you would come to – and he would have done anything to make it happen. Your words and the sight of you were raw power, adrenaline flooding his veins, a vain delicacy for his horny and famished body.

His hands were trembling in anticipation as he wrestled out of the top half of his suit, letting it hang limp around his legs, and pushing his bottoms just low enough to free his aching dick. You stared at it with all thoughts but one wiped from your head while he rushed to peel off his skin-tight shirt, letting it fall from his fingers as he looked over you with a smirk.

This was between you, him, and whatever devil had gotten the better of you. It had really come to that. Throwing away everything you had convinced yourself of to feel his flesh against yours, to taste the rush of blood you had been missing for oh so long.

He leaned in to kiss you again, every bit of his body buzzing drunk with lust, his tongue warm and sticky against your lips when he moaned inside your mouth. “I hope he or she is asleep. I wouldn’t want mini me to witness the shit I’m about to do to you.”

Pulling down your undone jeans with your underwear and guiding himself in with the other hand, Lando entered your weeping pussy, curse words and groans erupting from his throat as soon as he’d felt the heat inside you.

“Oh my fucking God,” he exclaimed in a choked cry, “you – oh my dear, my God, you…”

You two were complete and unsalvageable wrecks. The only thing you could do was hold onto your belly for dear life as he began thrusting in and out of your oversensitive cunt, nails digging into one of your ass cheeks and pulling to spread you open wider. In return, your hand flew to squeeze one of his pecs, capturing his nipple between your fingers.

Lando was unceremoniously loud, with your own moans ringing out almost inaudible among his sounds and the wet noises filling the small space. “Ah, shit. Fuck. You’re, like… hotter inside. So, so fucking tight…”

Your hormones were rushing through your blood in silent triumph as he pounded you, each of his veins and the head of his dick bringing a distinct detail of the sensation. It didn’t take long before you were sore, so incredibly sensitive and weak against his raging body that you were trapped in a tight embrace with. You yelped and clawed as he hit your cervix, causing him to crush your shoulder in a death grip, startled.

“Fuck, are you alright?” Lando blurted out as he stopped, appearing dazed from the lack of air.

“Just spare my uterus, okay? The baby adds pressure from the inside,” you panted, leaning your head against his flushed, sweaty chest. “I feel like you’re crushing him, we’re too close into each other. Is there a…”

“You want me to take you from the back?” Lando breathed, running his fingers down your back with a dirty grin. “Oh, hell yes.”

You were bent over the bathroom sink, your arms folded to prevent you from slipping off the tiny surface, with Lando behind you with your hair wrapped tightly around his right hand as he groped one of your heavy hanging breasts with the other. He was obsessed with the sight, muttering such filth that it made you unable to open your eyes, to face the mirror mere inches ahead of you.

“Look at me.” His tone was derisive as he managed to stammer in between moans, tugging ruthlessly on your hair. You swallowed, turning your head to the side. “In front of you.”

Lando had, quite frankly and unfortunately, never looked as sexy before. His sweat soaked skin glimmered in the low light casting shadows that brought out his defined muscles and the cartilage in his throat accented with each gulp. His mullet had been turned into a wet, untamable mop of curls resting on the top of his head. Slick with tears, the almost girlish lashes framing his eyes appeared longer and thicker, unmistakably enviable.

Best and worst of all, despite of what had happened, despite the time that had passed, he was still yours. He fucked you like it meant something, cried out like it was the only thing that felt right, painted scars and bruises on your back as a reminder of your helplessness for him. One you will never cease to feel.

“Pathetic,” Lando mocked right in your ear, having laid the upper half of his body on top of yours, face buried in a heap of hair. “You’ve always been so fucking miserable for me.”

You responded with the loudest cry you could ever wish to let out, muted by his large hand covering your mouth, so overtaken by him that not a single cell of your body would have fought back. He expressed his approval with a deep thrust, showing you gratitude by moving his fingers to your swollen clit, swiping up and down with tiny, rapid movements.

“I love you. Fuck, I-… I need you so God damn bad. …I’m going to cum, I’m not stopping—"

He parted his fingers, letting you respond with a moan. “Yeah… Please, please just fill me, fill this pregnant fucking pussy…”

Your breath hitched as you cried out obscenities to your man, much like the filth that resulted in him getting you pregnant in Miami some months ago. Filth you could never abstain from, filth you could chant for hours as long as you were with Lando, merging your bodies as you were once again proving nothing on Earth was stronger than the material tying you together. You felt yourself growing weaker, unable to contain the pool of sensitivity having overtaken your intimates.

“I’m coming… Oh, Lando, holy fuck…”

Lando could feel your pulse through your cramping walls as you came, tightening around him again and again, milking his cock right inside you. He unloaded with a deep, tortured groan, whimpering as each wave of his orgasm punched him in the heart. It was everything he could ever have wanted and more. Your pregnant body warm and snug against his, crying out his name in love, so dependent on him it could be broken with one touch.

“Oh, my…. You’re just perfect,” Lando heaved, straightening his back, all shaky and weakened by the amazing finish you had gifted him. You watched his reflection he pulled out, slowly and with care, watching his cum trickle down between your folds all the way to your abused clit. He cleaned his softening cock by wiping the leftover filth off against your bush, praising you with a worshipful caress of your curves as he stuffed himself back inside his suit.

A yellowish liquid was leaking from the breast he had taken in his hand. Lando stopped you in your tracks, leaning down to bury his face in between your tender boobs, his warm lips and tongue not shying away from making you clean.

You gasped. Lando was purring, holding you tight in his powerful arms. Looking.

He had wrecked and built you back up, all just to blow everything you were into bits again. Made you a mess. A goddess. A hopeless starving animal. All to himself, in his own eyes.

In that moment, he had all of you to worship and adore. And he wanted to believe he wasn't stupid enough to let you slip away anymore.

“You may feel free to call me any names you want for leaving." He began after a long, soothing pause. "I am, admittedly, a huge fucking idiot.”

Still panting , you looked into his eyes in the mirror, your spine crying out in pain as you attempted to stand up straight. His words had you wanting to laugh. “Really, Lando?”

“…Is there a problem?”

Hugging your belly, you suddenly registered feeling cold. He rushed to pick your discarded clothes off the floor, offering them to you. You stared. “I dunno. Isn’t it funny how it took one good fuck for you to want to repent?”

“I-”

“I know you missed me. But I’m more than what I used to be, much more, and I don’t think you’ll be able handle it. It’s as you said.”

Lando gripped your garments in his fist as his jaw muscles tensed. For a moment, he considered saying something he’d regret. “I know. I need some time to think. A lot, maybe."

"But I’ll be keeping you close in the meantime, yeah?”

He stopped you from grabbing your underwear yourself, instead motioning you to stretch out your arms so he could dress his woman with his own hands. This Lando was more gentle than any version of him you could remember.

His palm was warm and protective against your abdomen, rubbing soothing circles as he helped you pull your pants up again. ““He”, you said?”

How hard he was trying. Not a winner amongst men, but it was him. One you wished you would never have to move on from.

For a vulnerable girl, it was easy to fall again.

You sighed. “Yes. For the record, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”

Lando’s eyes lit up as he grinned. “I kind of wish he was here already. He would really… love… watching me drive.”

His smile slowly disappeared as panic set in. “Oh god. I’m such an idiot.”

“Oh really? Haven’t we discussed?” you smirked, watching as Lando hurriedly put his racing suit back into shape. “In any case, don’t use this information to rear-end a Williams or a VCARB before the end of the season. This stays between us for now.”

“Okay, damn,” Lando pushed your shoulder playfully, adjusting his collar in the mirror and making sure his mullet wasn’t looking too shabby. You snuck your hand inside his hairdo, messing it up again. You had to. “Fuck you. This is all your fault. That pussy was so good I lost track of time.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Weak.”

Lando turned to you one last time before unlocking the door, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. You didn’t have to wait for each other to lean in. It felt longer than a lifetime while you were kissing and shorter than a moment after he pulled away, your fingers still lost somewhere between his curls. His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as he gave a look to the brightest, smallest facet of his family.

“I gotta sprint, dear.” He gave you puppy-dog eyes. “You’re staying, I hope.”

You nodded. Lando reached for the hand in his hair, squeezing it in one of his. “Come watch with my mum! She can't stop asking me questions. Please.”

“But-”

“I want her to know. Don’t hide it. I ought to be a man.” He grinned, lifting your interlocked fingers up to his lips.

Perhaps a ring was too early. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps it would never happen.

But in that moment, a kiss was more than enough.

For that weekend, he would stay.

“I’ll do you proud, okay? Let’s go.”

That weekend, you felt like you were doing to be alright.

🧡 a/n (footnote): as you may know, in the sprint following the events of this fic, he returned the favor to oscar by letting him pass, which made many people warm up to him again. he would have made me very proud :) i hope this was at the very least not terrible, as i haven't finished a proper chapter or oneshot in quite a while. i literally never like my own works after finishing, so please let me know what you think! any corrections are welcome! i strive for accuracy and studied lando's speech quite a bit while writing. thank you for reading and have a good one loves!

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris smut #lando norris angst #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #idk whether i should laugh or kill myself #anon request

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theharrowing · 2 days ago

Text

MY CHELL!!!!!!!

i read this review back when you posted it but life has been so hectic that i haven't had a chance to respond 😭😭😭 but i am here now and so excited to see (once again) what you have to say.

that ursula gif tho 💀💀💀

how i picture you wiggling in your seat:

you know, i hadn't fully considered the image of Taehyung in a balaclava, but now that you mention it..........................yes.

Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

lolol idk why this is so funny to me.

definitely manipulative to bring Jimin along. i did my best to paint it as him bringing the whole crew as man power but those of you who've been paying attention know that Jimin is not a fighter, and that at the end of the day, he is absolutely a bargaining chip.

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. sigh lmao. this is something i have been anticipating showing for a long time and i am glad you had thoughts.

i actually had other plans for Ateez, but i scrapped some chunks of my outline that i didn't think suited the story anymore and lost those characters in the process. now they are heeerrrreeeee haha. i also think they fit the vibe, honestly.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction.

that's what i do hehehe.

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot.

....................we'll see how this thought has aged in chapter 24 lmao. i know you will have WORDS.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive.

you are so observant 🥰🥰🥰

your observations re: ryujin & yoongi (and ryujin & mc) are on point. definitely nothing is black and white but where are the lines drawn, and where are they grey???

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself!

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! you will get answers soon but i wonder if you will also have more questions. my hope is that from chapter 24 on, all we are doing is answering questions and letting all of the pieces finally fall into place. it's.................going to be a mess haha. SEE YOU SOOONNNN!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😍🥰💜😍🥰💜

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach.

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad.

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir.

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout.

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon.

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips.

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter.

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks.

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away.

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath.

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall.

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts.

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips.

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi.

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood.

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint.

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling.

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is.

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling.

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering.

He mutters, "Fine."

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up.

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent.

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—"

"Go home," you interrupt.

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be.

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them.

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying.

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says.

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word.

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile.

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask.

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow."

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek.

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls.

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront.

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort.

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below.

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside.

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure.

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed.

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex.

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder.

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip.

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct.

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep.

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once.

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore.

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria.

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes.

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here.

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all.

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago.

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here.

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you.

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men.

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look.

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose.

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste.

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much.

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well.

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like.

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away.

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin.

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by.

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep.

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall.

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you.

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs.

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back.

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come.

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart.

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself.

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong.

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table.

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking.

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well.

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to.

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi.

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks.

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying.

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men.

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end.

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat.

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin.

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power.

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice.

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained.

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair.

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues.

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects.

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright.

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation.

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown.

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused.

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing.

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm.

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon.

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you.

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you.

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes.

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you.

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long.

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad.

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth.

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin.

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not.

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands.

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee.

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times.

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers.

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish.

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod.

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass.

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed.

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth.

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry.

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table.

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake.

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake.

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart.

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second.

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath.

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek.

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention.

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver.

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his.

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night.

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek.

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan.

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home.

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet.

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill.

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful.

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men.

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands.

"Coke?" she asks.

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table.

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer.

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him.

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer.

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell.

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne.

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you.

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information.

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear.

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated.

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing.

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne.

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks.

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you.

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks.

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too.

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean.

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else.

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts.

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies.

Hwasa's grin widens.

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls.

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh.

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is.

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along.

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of.

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs.

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip.

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down.

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into.

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious.

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago.

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath.

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere.

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter.

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right.

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward.

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle.

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes.

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his.

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey.

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you.

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup.

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril.

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him.

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing?

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more.

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away.

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face.

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know.

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another.

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off.

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity.

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again.

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter.

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm.

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says.

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much.

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic.

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach.

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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#youremychaos #my chell 🐚🥺💜#reader reviews #fic: collateral

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zeroseuniverse · 6 hours ago

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Just Friends?

Word Count: 774 Summary: “Are you two dating?” Haechan would laugh, wave it off, and insist, “Nah, we’re just friends.” Pairing: Haechan X Fem Reader

Haechan had always been a little too loud, a little too playful, and maybe a little too reliant on the presence of his best friend. But that’s how it had always been—natural, easy, and entirely platonic. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

From the moment they met in high school, they were inseparable. They’d spent countless nights gaming until sunrise, laughing until their sides hurt, and pulling off the kinds of pranks that got them both into trouble. People constantly mistook their closeness for something more, but every time someone asked, “Are you two dating?” Haechan would laugh, wave it off, and insist, “Nah, we’re just friends.”

But recently, the "just friends" label didn’t sit quite as comfortably as it used to.

The cracks began to show at a mutual friend’s wedding. Watching his best friend dressed to perfection, effortlessly chatting and laughing with other guests, made something in Haechan’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore. His usual confidence wavered when he saw her smiling at someone else, and for the first time, he felt like a spectator in her life instead of the main character.

The night only worsened when someone asked them to dance. Haechan’s jaw tightened, his grip on his drink a little too firm as he watched her take the stranger’s hand and head to the dance floor. He tried to focus on anything else—his other friends, the music, even the buffet—but his gaze kept drifting back to her.

Why was he so bothered?

Later, when she finally returned to their table, Haechan’s teasing smile faltered. “Nice moves out there,” he said, his voice a little too casual. “Should I be jealous?”

His best friend shot him a look, half amused, half curious. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of your new dance partner,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light, though the edge of sincerity crept in despite himself.

She shrugged, giving him a playful nudge. “Please, like anyone could compare to you.”

The words were meant to tease, but she sent Haechan’s heart racing. He forced out a laugh, but the knot in his chest tightened. What was happening to him?

Over the next few weeks, everything felt different. He started noticing the little things—how her laugh was his favorite sound, how her presence made everything feel brighter, how he always looked for her face in a crowded room.

It wasn’t one-sided, either. She began noticing the ways Haechan had always cared for her, in his own chaotic but thoughtful way. The way he’d bring her favorite coffee without being asked. How he’d always make sure she got home safely, no matter the hour. How his teasing never crossed a line, always laced with affection instead of malice.

Their friendship became laced with new tension—awkward silences that hadn’t been there before, lingering touches that felt electric, and stolen glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

One night, after a particularly long gaming session, they sat together in the quiet of Haechan’s living room. The only light came from the TV, casting soft shadows across their faces.

“Do you ever think about us?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haechan froze, his heart pounding. He played dumb, because that’s what he did when things got serious. “What about us? Like, our legendary gaming skills?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “No, I mean... us. You and me. Like, if we ever—” she stopped, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

But Haechan didn’t let it drop. For once, he didn’t deflect.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think about it all the time.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. His best friend stared at him, wide-eyed, as Haechan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t know when it started,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And not just as my best friend. I... I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “You think?”

“Fine,” Haechan said with a dramatic sigh, his humor creeping back in to mask his nerves. “I know. Happy now?”

She laughed, and the sound made his chest feel light for the first time in weeks.

“Haechan,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You’re stuck with me forever, you know that, right?”

He grinned, his usual playful confidence returning. “Good, because I’d really like that.”

And just like that, the walls between them crumbled, leaving only the warmth of something real, something inevitable, and something neither of them wanted to let go of.

#nct imagines #nctzen #nct x reader #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct u x reader #nct u imagines #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 imagines #haechan #haechan x reader #haechan smau #haechan fluff #haechan imagines

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cmdrfupa · 2 days ago

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Have my unedited Ino thoughts

You let out a sigh, trying to remind yourself that it wasn’t a big deal.

People flake, it happens. But damn, blocking you?

Stinging regret settled as you thought on your genius “date outside of your comfort zone” idea. This was suppose to be the year of no expectations just fun and now those no expectations had you sitting on a bench at a park, eating a sad ice cream cone after being stood up.

The night winds blew gently, and with that came the sounds of wheels gliding across the pavement coming from behind you.

One, two, three, four, five. Five guys skating up one by one. A pink haired one on inlines closely behind, recording the masked leader while blasting probably the last song you thought you’d hear at a skatepark.

He did what you knew to be a frontside flip thanks to your brother then proceeded with moving closer to the camera to lift his balaclava just enough to show his mouth.

Something shiny caught your attention and you cocked your head to the side as you he flicked his tongue out. A silver ball. A tongue ring.

“And that’s how you serve up. TakuDori skate team, ready to be the reigning street champs yet again. See you at the finals, baby boy.” He kissed the camera and you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

Licking your ice cream cone, you smiled as he pulled his mask off and all of a sudden you could sit for just a little longer. “Well..” light brown hair, stuck to his forehead and nape as he lifted his long sleeve over his head, white undershirt sticking to him. “Damn. Definitely a fuckboy.”

“Good shit Yu! Buzz for the next tourney is going to really bring in a huge crowd.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, turning to give you a view of the probably the prettiest tattoo you’d ever seen on a person: Three dragons circled around a sea turtle. Vibrant with hues of red, green, yellow and browns that looked like water color.

Impressive.

He was tall, lean and effortless and he skated around twirling his shirt above his head. Weaving around the park like it was his personal playground with a physique that… well… it didn’t hurt that he was etched from marble.

You watched as he launched off a ramp, landing smoothly before skidding to a stop near the edge of the park— near you.

And then it happened. He tugged the undershirt off over his head, revealing toned abs and a much broader chest than you originally imagined, and used it to wipe sweat from his neck.

It was such a quick— natural— completely unintentional motion but it had you stuck. At least until he caught you staring.

“You enjoying the show?” He asked, his voice light and teasing. When your eyes snapped to meet his, you saw the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He definitely noticed.

“I wasn’t—“ you lied, stumbling over your words, heat rushing to you cheeks. “I wasn’t watching.”

“Mhmm.” He raised his eyebrow, clicking the metal ball against his teeth, clearly unconvinced while slinging the shirt over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I’d probably stare also if I saw someone pulling off the moves I just did.”

That earned an eyeroll. “Our humble king.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Confidence is key.”

“Or annoying” you shot back, though the smile growing on your face betrayed your amusement. He caught it and leaned against his board, his grin now undeniable.

“I’m Ino,” he offered his hand. His tone had softened slightly the teasing still there but warmer now, more genuine.

You told him your name, and his eyes lit up like he'd just found something precious. "Nice to meet you. So, what brings you to the skate park? Don't tell me you're secretly a pro skater about to put us all to shame."

"Not likely," you replied with a laugh. "I was at that Thai restaurant across the street. Was supposed to meet someone. A date."

"A date?" He tilted his head, his interest clearly piqued. "Soooo… where are they?"

"They didn't show," you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. "Guess they had better things to do."

His expression shifted, the playful smirk giving way to something softer, more thoughtful. "Better things to do than hang out with you? Mmm, doubt."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "Flattery's not going to get you anywhere," you said, though your cheeks warmed at his words. “You just met me, Ino.”

"Oh, it's not flattery," he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the fence. "It's just facts. Honestly, standing someone like you up? Tragic. But hey, their loss is my gain."

"Your gain?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly are you gaining here?"

"The chance to make it up to you," he said without missing a beat. "How about this: one date. No standing you up, no awkward silences, just me, you, and a guarantee that I'm way more fun than whoever bailed on you."

You stared at him, torn between disbelief and amusement. He was bold, that was for sure, but there was something disarming about his confidence-like it wasn't just an act. "You're really not shy, are you?"

"Life's too short to be shy, pretty girl. " he said, flashing you a grin so genuine it made your heart skip. "So? What do you say?"

You hesitated, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him shift his weight, his grin faltering ever so slightly. Then you smiled. "Alright, Ino. You've got yourself a date."

His grin returned full force “"Perfect. You won't regret it, I promise."

“And if I do?”

“I’ll give you my right eye to wear as a charm,” He put his hand up. “Scouts honor.”

“That’s so extreme. I’d just let you have another date, dumbass.”

It was like his eyes turned into hearts. “Yes ma’am.”

_________________

The song in question:

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ino takuma #takuma ino x reader #jjk takuma #takuma x you #takuma ino

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practicalgauntlet · 12 hours ago

Text

~You're still my person. Even if I'm not yours.~

Part two

"We kept crossing paths, near misses and almosts, when all I ever wanted was for us to collide." -Jessica Katoff

Synopsis - Some time has passed, and you think you've healed. But when you're shot by an unsub, old wounds are ripped open for all to see.

Category- Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Notes - Hurt/comfort, you get shot, Canon typical violence, blood and gore, angst, self-loathing, self-blaming, a year has passed between this and part one, gender-neutral reader (I only use They/Them pronouns because I know everyone likes Spencer not just the girlies), I'm so sorry this is so long, you're a trooper if you get through all of this. The fic started writing itself :/

A/N- this is for @bloodredrubyrose and everyone else who wanted the happy ending. I hope this is okay.

WARNING- This one-shot has violence similar to the cases in the show, but I wanted to bring attention to what transpires and is mentioned in this fic. The case revolves around murdered pregnant women and their fetuses. If the topic is too sensitive for you or can trigger anything, I suggest not reading this.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A year has passed since J.J.'s wedding.

You still find yourself hurting, lying awake at night thinking of the possibility of "What if?". You still have to shake away the thoughts of inadequacy, of not good enough.

Sometimes, when you're particularly tired or inebriated, you find yourself still unable to look away from him.

It was three weeks and two days after the wedding when Spencer invited you to hang out with him again. It was a month, two weeks, and eleven hours when he greeted you with a genuine smile again.

It was eight months, three weeks, six days, and two hours when you felt like you could breathe again.

Everything was back to normal. It wasn't bright, shiny rainbows and glittery kittens like Penelope said it would be once you healed. But it was normal.

It was easier to ignore the festering pit in your stomach during the day, easier to look your team in the eye, say, "I'm okay." and mean it. It was easier to watch Spencer heal the same way you were.

You were so proud of him. It felt like your Spencer was back. His long-winded speeches about something that didn't seem relevant but ended up helping the case drastically, his magic tricks in the bullpen when Hotch was in his office, and his goofy authenticity. All of it was back, at least partially.

He still got quiet when J.J. was around and closed in on himself. But compared to those days after the wedding, he was making immense progress. You just wished he let you in so you could help.

"I don't think they're listening."

You barely hear Morgan's voice over the bubbling thoughts that threatened to take control and invade your mind.

"Oh, sugar they're definitely not listening."

Penelope's hand was slamming down on your desk, startling you out of your reverie.

"What's on your mind, honey pot?"

She asks, propping herself up on the table. With her quirked eyebrow and intense look in her eye, you knew what she was asking.

"Are you still hurting?"

She was right to be worried, right to involve herself in case you got worse again. But instead of thinking about Spencer and how you'll never be on the receiving end of his affectionate gaze, you were actually thinking about the case.

There was a lull in leads, the ones you had only took the team to a dead end. Dead body after dead body and still nothing.

"I'm fine, Pen. This case is just taking a lot out of me."

And it was true. The BAU had been called in because a dead body had been unearthed by a gardener somewhere East. A heavily pregnant woman had been murdered, her unborn child ripped from her body and buried with her.

It was horrifying, to say the least, the brutality of the unsub turning your breakfast sour. But it had been seven hours since the team landed in the small town, and you were still no closer to finding the culprit.

"Why don't we get something to eat, hmm?"

Penelope suggested, hopping off the table and holding out her hand for you.

"If you're getting food, get me a little somethin'. I'm in the mood for Chinese!"

Morgan yelled from across the room, his hip propped against the clear board Spencer was mumbling at.

"I guess we're getting Chinese."

You chuckle, standing up and following Penelope out of the makeshift conference room the local police allowed you to use. As you were passing Spencer, you turned to him and called his name.

"Do you want anything specific?"

He looks to you, eyes reluctantly leaving his equations as he's pulled from his thoughts.

"What?"

There was a surge of affection at the sight of his pursed lips and furrowed brows. The way his hands fiddled with the marker, clicking the lid on and off the end.

"We're getting the team Chinese takeout. Do you want anything?"

"Just a fork."

You nod your head, peeling yourself away from his attentive gaze. When you and Penelope get in the car, she places a hand on yours. You didn't take your eyes off the road, but you could tell that she was looking at you with that look again.

"How have you been, sugar?

It felt good to have someone watching over you, someone in your corner, to ask if you were okay even after time had passed and you were healed.

"I've been doing good."

She was the only one to know of your breakdown on Rossi's front porch. She was the only one you allowed to see what it did to you those weeks afterward. How depressed you were, how hopeless. Penelope Garcia was your best friend, and she was the only one to know you were still unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Spencer Reid.

"Are you sure about that? I know this case is a doozy but I know that look in your eye."

You briefly take your eyes off the road once you reach a red light, patting the hand that now rested comfortingly on your thigh.

"Yes, I'm fine. It doesn't feel like the world is ending anymore. Plus, life is unfair sometimes. I just need to roll with the punches."

She looked at you, her knowing eyes always privy to the storm that rolled beneath your skin. In one final attempt to comfort her worry, you flash her your most believable smile.

Penelope quirked an eyebrow and looked away, not at all convinced but persuaded to leave it be for the time being.

The trip for food was brief. You got various dishes in case the team was in the mood for a certain thing. You were back at the station within twenty minutes, walking into the conference room to something you never wanted to see.

Your team was gathered around the table, faces grim as they spoke towards the phone sitting in the middle.

"Another body..."

Penelope whispers, catching the eyes of Morgan as he shakes his head solemnly. Hotch was already giving the team their orders.

Morgan and Emily were dispatched to question the family as the local police had already ID'd the girl. She was a well-known and loved woman; she was a part of the PTA, led the neighborhood watch, and hosted bake sales for all parts of the community.

J.J. was asked to stay behind and deal with the journalists and news anchors that suddenly surrounded the station.

That left you and Spencer to follow up with the police at the scene of the crime. Spencer drove the two of you there, your knee bouncing in the passenger seat as you watched the scenery pass by.

"I don't get it..."

Spencer mumbles. When you look to him for an explanation he was already glancing at you.

"Why pregnant women? Why take the baby out and bury it with the mother? It makes no sense."

You flip down the visor, both because you need to get the sun out of your eyes and to do something with your hands.

"Maybe they're surrogates for his real target? A mother? Maybe he's upset at his mom and taking the baby is a way to give mercy to his inner child."

"Or maybe," Spencer counters, long fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he pulls into the crime scene. "They're surrogates for a wife."

The scene before you was gnarly. And unfortunately, the unsub had changed M.O.

The woman was buried in a shallow grave like the others, dressed in a thin white gown, poised perfectly like Snow White with her child tightly swaddled in a towel and tucked safely in her arms. The only difference was the lack of blood, the lack of brutality. That, and she had blonde hair whereas the other victims were brunettes.

"He's devolving."

You mutter, feeling sick at the sight of her.

"Or he's getting close to what he's wanting to do."

You look up at him from your squatted position, taking in Spencer in all his glory. He looked so good in his FBI vest, with his sweater and tie peeking out from the collar.

You shouldn't be thinking of him like that. Not when a woman and her child had lost their life and they lay decaying in front of you. Not when you should already be over him.

"What do you mean?"

"She looks perfectly preserved. Sure, she's laid out in the same outfit and the same position. The color and the way she's laid are meant to symbolize purity. So we know he isn't murdering for hatred. He feels sympathy for these women. But look at this,"

He crouches next to you, the movement sending your heart into overdrive. His sleeves were rolled up as he shoved his hands into some blue surgical gloves. You could even smell his cologne.

"Her hair," He picks up a strand. "Her hair had been styled. There's a texture to it that means he used hairspray. And while the others' hair was wild and unkempt, most likely because he kept them for some time or they fought back, her's is washed and curled."

"So we know this woman is a surrogate, but he's not acting on any sexual or vengeful impulse?"

Spencer turned to you, looking at you from above his sunglasses.

"I think we're ready to give the profile."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"We are looking for a white male in his mid to late thirties."

Morgan starts as he leans against one of the desks, his arms folded against his chest. Emily stepped up, continuing on as she stared each and every officer down to make sure they were taking this as seriously as it was.

"Look for someone who had recently lost a wife and child during the birth, someone who is most likely blue collar. He would have been a normal man up until his loss. Now, he would be agitated and easily riled up. Getting into fights or arguments when he normally wouldn't. "

You step in, delivering the line you rehearsed in your head over and over on the ride back to the station.

"He's kidnapping pregnant women so he could relive the birth. So he could hold his child and kiss his wife. But he's desperate, so he is taking the babies out prematurely and amateurly that neither victim survives. He would need a space to do all of this, a garage, a second home, or a place of work. Somewhere concealed enough to not draw attention but spacious enough to perform the c-section."

It was now Hotch's turn to deliver the final line of the profile.

"He will continue to take women until he gets what he wants. We need to make sure Kate Smith is his last victim."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You found him. Carl McGregor, a welder for a construction company. His wife of six years died giving birth to his child, and he went off the rails.

You sympathized with him, knowing that he was in so much pain. But that didn't excuse what he did to those poor women and the families they were a part of.

Carl was hiding out in his garage, a woman in the last week of her second trimester strapped to the table; screaming for help.

You were the first on the scene, your legs carrying you just a bit faster than the others. When you opened the garage door, you had to put every ounce of will not to tackle the guy to the ground.

"FBI! Put the scalpel down Carl!"

Carl was hovering over Debbie Park, a young mother of three and a half. He had her strapped to a makeshift stretcher and her terrified screams broke your heart.

"No!" Carl said with a crazed look in his eyes. "My wife is about to give birth, give her space!"

You lower your gun so the barrel isn't aimed straight at his skull but keep it raised just in case. When you spoke, you made sure you sounded as calm and understanding as possible.

"Carl, your wife died three weeks ago giving birth to your son. Let Debbie go so her husband doesn't experience the loss you did.

You don't know how or when Spencer made it into the garage but he suddenly appeared in the shadows, his gun aimed at Carl.

"No, please!" Carl was focused on you, his shaking hands still holding Debbie down. "This is my wife! Why are trying to take her away?"

You lower your gun entirely, feeling safe with Spencer there to have your back. You approached Carl slowly, keeping your body crouched as if you were approaching a scared and wounded animal. Because that's exactly what he was. A scared and wounded animal.

"Carl?" You put a hand on his shoulder. He winces but doesn't attack. "Debbie has a family, she has three kids and a husband who are worried sick about her. Do you want to put her husband and kids through the same pain you're feeling?"

It all happened so fast. First Carl was lunging at you, a gun you didn't know he had raised before you could pull your own. Debbie's screams mixed with yours as Spencer fired his gun and took Carl down.

There was a sharp sting to your chest, your right shoulder to be exact just under your collarbone. Upon Carl's death, his finger squeezed the trigger and put a bullet three inches from your heart.

Spencer was in front of you before you could collapse, cradling your head to save it from bashing against the concrete ground.

"I need a medic!"

Spencer yelled into his com, his face wild with worry as he pressed his hands into your wound.

It hurt, sending a blazing fire throughout your body. In the back of your mind, you heard yourself scream from the pain, your throat raw and ragged. Your hands uncontrollably gripped Spencer's vest, clutching him closer to you as you tried to breathe around the sharp, boiling pain.

"You're going to be okay, the medic is on his way."

Spencer's voice sounded far away, garbled and hazy like he was underwater. Panic soon tore across your body, thrumming through your veins as you tried to ignore the sticky warmth pooling through your shirt.

"No, no, stay with me. Stay with me please!"

You barely felt Spencer's cold hands patting your cheek. You had to say it now, as you were dying. This was your last chance to tell him how you feel. You already felt yourself slipping away.

"Spence..."

Your mouth felt so dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. He was shaking above you, pulling your body into his lap as he rocked you back and forth.

"I'm here, I'm here. I'm not leaving, you'll be okay."

You felt he was saying that more for himself than he was for you.

It was hard to unfurl your fingers from his vest but you did it, lifting your hand to cradle his cheek. It was now or never.

"Before I dye, I need you to know-"

"No!" Spencer seethed. You had never seen him so emotional before, so upset he looked feral. "You are not going to die! Where's my fucking medic?!"

"I need you to know, that I love you."

He smoothed his hands over your face, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your eyes. "I love you too, you're my best friend."

You let out a breathy, strangled, humourless chuckle. Of course he'd make you spell it out for him.

"I'm in love with you, Spencer..."

Black was edging your vision, your ears ringing as you watched Spencer blink once, twice, before the medic pushed him away.

Faintly you felt your body being moved, that white-hot pain once again rendering you speechless as you finally succumbed to the darkness that was calling to you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Spencer couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't taste, or hear, or feel. Frantic, animalistic worry overpowered every other emotion. Logic be damned, facts be damned.

"Reid, calm down or you're gonna wear a hole in the floor."

"There is a high chance the bullet nicked a vital vein or artery. It took us fifteen minutes and thirty seconds to get her to the hospital and another six minutes for the doctors to start operating. There is a higher chance that she lost too much blood and will need a transfusion. If she needs a transfusion there is a chance she could have a Febrile non-hemolytic transfusion reaction or a Transfusion-related acute lung injury. There are so many possibilities to think over and every time I think I've found a way to stop them another one pops up. Do not tell me to calm down!"

Morgan backed off, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"My bad, man."

Emily was next to approach him and he had to look away from the worry on her face.

"Only thinking about what could go wrong will only cause you more stress. Maybe you should go home and take a shower."

"Stop telling me what to do."

He didn't recognize his voice, and he knew his friends didn't recognize him. So he backed off, settling himself in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, and put his head in his hands.

Emily was right. Derek was right. But if he thought about anything other than the complications that could take you away from him all he would focus on were the last words you uttered before blacking out.

"I'm in love with you, Spencer."

He didn't know what to do with that information. After J.J. he didn't allow himself to even look a second longer at someone that was out of his league. Which was everyone. Especially you.

You were so kind and gentle with him. You let him go on his rants, asking him to finish what he was saying if the team not so subtly told him to shut up or bluntly interrupted him. You loved his endless facts and knowledge and you told him often.

You were like a beacon of light when you entered the room, his gaze unconsciously looking for you wherever he was. You were his best friend; you knew everything about him and still treated him like a human being. Not some computer, not some freak.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His hands were shaky and he couldn't keep still to save his life. He had never felt like this before, not when a gun was pointed in his face, not when the bureau was infiltrated. Not even when Emily was in the hospital.

He'd never been this scared shitless before.

And then it hit him.

He was in love with you.

He had been for a while. Maybe after J.J., maybe before. Spencer didn't know when it happened or how deeply it had been buried. All he knew was that it was now so fucking obvious.

It felt so natural. He had always thought you were going to be a permanent fixture in his life. Always thought that you'd be a phone call away when he needed you and he'd be the same. Whenever he thought of something you were always there, in the back of his mind like you belonged there.

He faintly heard a commotion, the sound of chairs scraping against the ground and footsteps running away. He looked up from the floor, his body fuzzy from the realization.

Spencer bolted from his seat the moment he saw the doctor standing in front of his team. He gently shoved aside Morgan and J.J. needing to hear the news as close as possible.

"They're stable and awake. It had just barely missed their heart, but they will heal with no permanent damage."

Spencer could have dropped to his knees with relief, his body sagging and his lungs deflating.

"Can I- we see her?"

"Of course, but we still need to take their vitals frequently. And a room full of people would not be best stress-wise so I suggest one to two people at a time."

Morgan clapped him on the back, a knowing look on his face before shoving him forward.

"We're going to get something to eat. You check on our sunshine."

After all the attitude he threw their way, he was dumbfounded that they would give him such a precious opportunity.

"Thank you,"

"No problem, Pretty Boy."

When Spencer entered your room, it was like he walked into a different reality. You were usually so bright and shining, carving a path of light and kindness wherever you stepped, but now you were lifeless. The tubes and wires hooked up to you made you look so uninhabited; pale, and sickly from the blood loss.

Spencer approached the bed, being careful not to make any noise that would startle you awake. Your eyes were closed and he assumed you were probably in and out of consciousness due to the pain meds they were pumping into you.

He hated seeing you like this.

"Spence?"

He hadn't realized you had awoken, too focused on all the machinery you were hooked up to.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

Spencer didn't know what to do with his body so he just stood there, willing his emotions into submission and picking at the skin of his thumbs.

"I feel like I just got hit by a train."

You groan and he is at your side immediately, checking the monitors and making sure your pain meds are working. They were, but he needed to make sure.

"What no fact about processing pain or how it affects the body?"

You were looking up at him now, a pained but genuine smile on your face. In the hour that he worried relentlessly about you, he feared he'd never see that again.

That smile faded into something akin to concern when he didn't respond.

"What's wrong Spence?"

"I thought you were going to die."

He sounded so small, even to his own ears. Weak, scared. Like a child.

You waved him over closer, and he listened. If you told him to, he would follow you to the ends of the earth. It surprised him when you grabbed his hand and placed it over your heart, the roughness of the gauze grazing his shaking fingers. He tried to pull away, but you kept him there so he could feel your heartbeat.

"I'm still here, Spencer. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Do you-" He couldn't stand not knowing anymore. The probability of people saying things they didn't mean while bleeding out was too high for him to think clearly any longer. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

He watched your face turn sad, your lips turn inward and your eyes drop to the hospital-grade blanket. You also dropped his hand, the limb numbly swinging back by his side.

"Yes," You refused to look at him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you in that situation, it was unfair of me."

"No, I-"

"I understand if I've ruined everything. I don't blame you if you don't want to be friends anymore."

Before he could think and rehearse a thought-out sentence, his mouth moved and spoke for him. "I don't want to be friends."

He realized his mistake not a second later. And to make up for it, to take away the pain on your face, he gently grabbed your chin and made you look at him.

"I love you too, so much so that the idea of you dying turned me into an illogical and emotional mess."

Tears lined your wide eyes as you stared up at him, your cheeks regaining some color. Now that he's said it out loud, he couldn't keep his mouth shut even if he tried.

"I love you so much, that I want to take away all your pain. All the bad memories and shitty feelings that take away that pretty smile. I'd do anything for you."

You reached up and cupped his cheek, much like hours before, your lip quivering.

"I'd do anything for you too, Spence."

"I know."

It felt natural to kiss your forehead, to settle into the small hospital bed, and tuck you gently into his side. It felt natural to, days later after you were discharged, take you on a proper date and call you his.

A/N- Realistically I know there would be more turmoil, less trust, and more self-doubt during the confession part but this is fiction of fiction so let's just pretend okay:) I'll save that stuff for the full-length stuff. Also along the lines of reality, I know that there is such a thing as a bulletproof vest, but I needed drama so forgive me.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #no use of y/n #canon typical violence #angst with a happy ending #confession

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