#I'm actually too tired to start on it tonight but I will some time this week lol

[katzenklavierr]

FINALLY ALL MATERIALS AQUIRED

FURSUITTENING BEGINS POSTHASTE

I WILL BECOME REAL

[amkyor]

Hey! I'm a big fan, annnd I have a bakugou x y/n idea... where bakugou hasn't been paying attention to y/n his girlfriend lately and it's been lonely.... so y/n is watching a romance anime with Mina and y/n says... "I wish I had that"....and then Mina ask if she loves bakugou and she says ...."hes okay"..... but the whole time bakugou and his friend kirishima were listening....and bakugou his mind is like "I'm a bad boyfriend? Does she love me? Im...okay?"

K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY

Synopsis: Bakugo has been distant toward his girlfriend (you), and she realizes how much it is actually affecting her while watching a romance movie that includes the love that she wishes she had.

Short note: Chapter 23 of my Bakugo x Reader Fanfiction is out now! If you like my stories on here, I'm sure you'll like my fanfiction, so go check it out! The link is at the end of this post!!

Distance Between Us:

It all started slowly, too slow for you to realize.

The day you started to notice it was when it was late in the evening, and you were sitting on the couch, waiting for Bakugo to come home.

He had promised to spend the evening with you after work, but as the hours ticked by, your excitement turned into frustration. Finally, you heard the front door open.

Bakugo walked in, still in his hero uniform, his face tired and serious. "Sorry, I got held up at work. Some idiot caused a mess in the city," he muttered, tossing his gloves onto the table.

You smiled, trying to be understanding. "It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home now. Want me to heat up the dinner I made for us?"

"Not hungry," he replied shortly, already pulling out his phone. "I need to check the patrol schedule for tomorrow. There’s a lot going on."

You sighed, your shoulders dropping. "Katsuki, can’t it wait? You’ve been working all day. We barely get time together."

But he didn’t seem to hear you, his eyes glued to the screen. "Huh? Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

The evening dragged on, and though he was physically present, his mind remained consumed by hero work.

You ended up eating dinner alone while he sat at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop.

---

Another time was when he had made plans out of nowhere to hang out with his friends and ditch out on the two of you had planned.

It was a rare weekend when Bakugo didn’t have patrol or missions lined up.

You had planned a quiet day together—something simple, just the two of you.

But as you were setting up breakfast, his phone buzzed on the counter.

Bakugo glanced at the screen and smirked. "It’s Kirishima. He wants to hit the gym and grab lunch afterward. I’ll be back later."

Your stomach sank. "I thought today was for us? We haven’t had a day off together in weeks, Katsuki."

He blinked as if realizing for the first time that you might have feelings about this. "We can hang out later. It’s not like I’m gone all day. Plus, I haven’t seen the guys in a while."

You bit your lip, trying to keep your disappointment in check. "But we haven’t seen each other in a while either."

He paused for a second, then ruffled your hair in a halfhearted gesture. "Come on, it’s not a big deal. I’ll see you tonight." Before you could argue further, he was already grabbing his gym bag and heading out the door.

---

Another day came, and he did the same.

Bakugo’s dedication to his work often left him exhausted, and his sleep schedule was all over the place.

One night, you stayed up late, waiting for him to come to bed.

You had something important to talk about, but he was still in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, catching up on sleep.

"Katsuki," you called softly, standing in the doorway.

He grunted, barely lifting his head. "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s been on my mind for a while."

He groaned, sitting up slightly. "Can it wait? I just got back from a double shift, and I’m dead tired."

"But it’s important," you insisted, stepping closer.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Y/n, I can’t deal with anything serious right now. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?"

The next day came and went, and so did the conversation. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the timing right.

---

Then, of course, came another.

One evening, Bakugo was in the backyard, practicing his explosions while you watched from the patio.

You had been waiting for him to finish so you could spend some quality time together, but he was completely absorbed in his training.

"Hey, Katsuki," you called out, waving at him. "How much longer are you going to be out here?"

"Not now, babe," he shouted back, his voice carrying over the sound of crackling explosions. "I’m almost done!"

Almost turned into an hour, and by the time he came inside, you were curled up on the couch, half-asleep.

He walked past you, grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," he said, but there was no apology in his tone.

You gave him a small smile, too tired to argue. "It’s okay," you mumbled, though deep down, you wondered if he even realized how much you had been waiting for him.

---

In each of these scenarios, Bakugo’s priorities—whether work, friends, or personal routines—seemed to overshadow his time with you. While his intentions might not be malicious, his actions often left you feeling overlooked and craving the attention he gave to everything else in his life.

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The evening was calm, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow across the counters.

You stood at the stove, carefully stirring the simmering pot of stew. The gentle aroma of sautéed vegetables, rich broth, and spices filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft hum of the overhead fan.

Tonight, you had decided to prepare something special—something hearty and comforting, like the conversation you hoped to have with Bakugo.

It had been a while since the two of you had truly spent time together.

His hero work had consumed most of his days, leaving you with fleeting moments of his presence.

You understood, of course, the weight of his responsibilities, but that didn’t make the distance any easier.

So, as a gesture of love and an attempt to reconnect, you had spent the better part of the evening preparing this meal.

The kitchen was cozy, lit by the soft glow of under-cabinet lights.

Plates were set neatly on the table, silverware arranged perfectly beside them.

A bottle of chilled sparkling water stood in the center, and the faint crackle of the stovetop added a soothing rhythm to the room.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. He should be home any minute now.

You adjusted the flame under the pot, letting the stew bubble gently, and moved to check on the freshly baked bread cooling on the counter.

The sound of the front door opening broke the quiet, followed by the rustling of heavy boots on the doormat.

Your heart gave a small flutter at the familiar noise.

He was home.

You didn’t look up from your task, your focus fixed on the pot as you gave it one last stir.

Toward the front door, the faint creak of the door closing reached your ears, followed by the soft thud of a duffle bag hitting the floor.

Bakugo’s presence filled the space immediately, even without a word.

The faint scent of smoke and ash mingled with the aroma of dinner, a signature of his return after a long day on patrol.

You heard the stretch of leather as he raised his arms high above his head, likely working out the stiffness from hours of action.

His footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as he made his way down the hall.

You could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his hair likely a mess from the day’s exertion.

The sound of his approach grew louder, each step deliberate yet unhurried, as if he were easing back into the calm of home.

You stayed at the stove, stirring slowly, waiting for him to join you in the kitchen, the moment of connection hanging in the air like the steam rising from the pot.

The clatter of the wooden spoon against the pot ceased as you set it down gently on the counter.

Wiping your hands on the apron tied snugly around your waist, you turned toward the kitchen's pillared entrance.

The soft shuffle of Bakugo’s steps nearing the kitchen tugged at your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but abandon your task momentarily.

You stepped around the corner, leaning casually against the frame of the kitchen entrance.

Resting your hand lightly on the wall, you peeked out toward him.

The sight of Bakugo, mid-stretch with his arms behind his head, immediately brought a fond smile to your lips.

His usual scowl was softened by a tiredness that clung to him, his messy ash-blond hair catching the dim light of the hallway.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck, likely sore from a long day.

His broad shoulders rolled slightly as he worked out the tension, the faint sound of his knuckles popping filling the quiet space.

The corners of your lips curled further upward as you admired him in his element—worn out yet still exuding the confidence and strength you loved about him.

Before you could say anything, his crimson gaze lifted, finally catching sight of you standing there.

His expression didn’t shift much—just a subtle raise of his brows as if to acknowledge your presence.

You straightened slightly, your smile warm and inviting as you prepared to greet him.

But before you could utter a word, he spoke first, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.

“I’m going upstairs to shower. Gotta get this grime off my body.” His tone was matter-of-fact, and he started walking toward you without breaking stride, cracking his knuckles as he moved.

Your smile didn’t falter as he approached, though the hurriedness of his words made you hesitate. “Oh, well, that’s great,” you began, your voice light and teasing. “But don’t take too long becau—”

“Oh yeah, by the way, before I forget,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through yours without a hint of malice, just his usual bluntness. “The gang and I are gonna hang out later, so I won’t be home for long.”

The abruptness of his words hit you like a splash of cold water. Your mouth hung slightly open mid-sentence, the rest of your words caught in your throat.

Bakugo’s gaze didn’t linger long, already focused ahead as though his announcement was nothing out of the ordinary.

Bakugo’s heavy boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he approached you, his expression unreadable but relaxed.

He stopped just in front of you, his tall frame towering slightly over yours.

The familiar scent of ash and sweat lingered faintly, a testament to his grueling day.

Without a word, his hand reached out, rough but warm, and landed gently on your head.

His fingers ruffled through your hair in a way that was both playful and dismissive, tousling it slightly.

A light smirk played on his lips as he pulled his hand back, his crimson eyes meeting yours briefly.

“I know you can handle things here, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, his voice low and casual, like he hadn’t just brushed past the idea of spending time with you.

As you stood out in front of him, the confidence and courage you had gathered from cooking in the kitchen had disappeared.

Now that you felt this way, there was no way you were going to bring up spending time with him over dinner.

Even though you had spent all evening preparing this relaxing for the both of you to enjoy, you couldn’t bring yourself to to tell him.

You were scared that if you had opened up, he might have gotten angry and dismissed all your worries with his furrowed brows.

Your heart sank a little at his words, but you forced a small smile, not wanting to let it show.

He turned on his heel without a second glance, his footsteps carrying him toward the staircase that led to the second floor of your shared home.

As he walked, his broad shoulders swayed slightly, his relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that suddenly gripped your chest.

You stood frozen for a moment, your mouth hanging slightly open, the words you wanted to say stuck somewhere in your throat.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You hated how they burned, how they threatened to spill over.

This wasn’t the first time Bakugo had brushed things off, but tonight, with the effort you’d put into dinner and the mounting distance you felt between you two, it stung more than usual.

He reached the first step of the staircase, his hand brushing against the railing as he prepared to ascend.

At you stood, something inside you snapped—a small but resolute voice urging you not to let the moment slip by.

Swallowing hard, you gathered the courage you had left, your voice trembling slightly but steady enough to cut through the air.

“Can I go too?”

Bakugo paused mid-step, his back still facing you, as the silence stretched between you both.

For a moment, you wondered if he had even heard you or if he’d continue up the stairs without a response.

Then, he turned his head slightly, revealing his side profile, his crimson eyes glancing at you.

“You wanna come?” he asked, his tone even and unreadable, a single brow raised in surprise.

Your hands instinctively came together, fidgeting as you avoided his gaze.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Gathering a bit more courage, you glanced up at him, noticing his blank expression.

It only lasted a second before you looked down again, unsure how your request would be received. “I mean, if that’s okay…”

Bakugo stared at you for a beat longer, his brow still raised as if trying to gauge your seriousness.

Then, his features softened, his raised brow lowering as he gave a small, nonchalant nod.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” he said, his voice carrying a casualness that made it hard to tell how he really felt.

Without another word, he turned back toward the stairs.

Relief washed over you, and a small smile crept onto your face as you followed his movements with your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but his agreement made you feel a little better, a small step toward closing the gap that had been forming between you two.

As Bakugo reached the first step of the staircase, he stopped again, his hand on the railing.

He turned his head just enough to look back at you, his expression neutral but firm.

“I’m leaving by 6, so get ready,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Then, without waiting for a response, he ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

You stood there in the kitchen, your smile slowly fading as his words sank in.

Glancing at the half-finished dinner you’d worked so hard on, your arms dropped to your sides, mirroring the exhaustion settling in your chest.

The kitchen felt colder now, emptier, as you stood there alone, staring at the plans you’d made that now felt insignificant.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake off the weight of disappointment, forcing yourself to move and tidy up the counter.

But no matter how much you willed yourself to focus on the task at hand, the sting of his casual dismissal lingered, leaving a quiet ache in its wake.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The soft hum of the Porsche's engine filled the quiet evening air as Bakugo sat in the driver’s seat, his hand drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

His gaze occasionally flicked toward the house, his sharp crimson eyes scanning for any sign of you.

The minutes ticked by, and though he didn’t say it out loud, he was growing impatient.

But there was a part of him that understood why you were taking your time—he had sprung this last-minute outing on you, and you deserved a moment to get ready properly.

Inside, you were slipping on your white Converse, carefully tying the laces with precision.

The finishing touch to your outfit had just been added—a chic combination of blue jeans, a navy blue tank top, and a white cardigan that fell perfectly against your frame.

You smoothed down the fabric, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror by the door.

Your navy blue purse rested comfortably on your shoulder, and the messy bun you’d styled earlier sat perfectly atop your head, with the white headband completing the look.

Satisfied, you grabbed your keys and reached for the door handle.

As you stepped outside, the soft glow of the porch light illuminated your figure.

The evening air was cool against your skin, and the faint scent of freshly cut grass lingered.

You glanced toward the sleek black Porsche parked in the driveway, where Bakugo sat waiting for you.

Inside the car, Bakugo looked up as the light from the open door seeped out, drawing his attention.

His sharp gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his breath hitched.

You looked stunning—effortlessly chic yet understated, the kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard.

The way the soft curls framed your face, the navy blue of your tank top complementing your skin, and the casual elegance of your outfit made his heart skip a beat.

He blinked, trying to maintain his usual composure, but the faintest tint of pink crept onto his cheeks, betraying him.

It was subtle, just enough to hint at the effect you had on him, but it was there.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he tore his eyes away for a brief second, trying to recover.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the dashboard as if it could somehow distract him.

But his gaze inevitably drifted back to you, his expression softening in a way only you could bring out in him.

He didn't say anything just yet—he wasn’t the type to gush—but the way his cheeks betrayed a rare blush spoke volumes.

The soft hum of the Porsche’s engine was steady as Bakugo sat, his hand draped nonchalantly over the steering wheel while the other rested against his mouth.

His sharp crimson eyes flicked away from you as you descended the steps toward the car, trying to keep his focus elsewhere.

The blush that had crept onto his cheeks earlier lingered faintly, and though he wouldn’t admit it, seeing you like this had thrown him off his usual composure.

You opened the passenger door with care, stepping into the car and adjusting yourself in the plush seat.

The faint scent of Bakugo’s cologne mingled with the new-car smell, giving the cabin a warmth that was uniquely him.

As you closed the door gently behind you, you glanced up to see him leaning against the driver’s side, his elbow propped on the car door and his hand casually gripping the wheel.

His relaxed posture was natural, but the way his eyes darted toward you from the corners of his vision betrayed a subtle curiosity.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said softly, brushing a loose curl behind your ear.

Your voice broke the quiet tension, and you weren’t sure if you imagined his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his tone gruff yet calm, as he adjusted himself in the seat and placed both hands on the wheel.

Hearing the simplicity of his response made you smile, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

You carefully removed your bag from your shoulder, placing it neatly on your lap.

Bakugo, meanwhile, shifted the car into reverse, the soft rumble of the engine vibrating beneath you as he backed out of the driveway with precision.

You stole a quick glance at him from the corners of your eyes.

The streetlights outside cast a warm, golden hue that framed his sharp jawline and stern features as he focused on maneuvering the car.

He looked so effortlessly confident, so in control—it was hard not to admire him.

Reaching up, you flipped open the vanity mirror above your head, giving yourself a quick once-over.

You smoothed down a stray curl and checked your lipstick, making sure everything was still in place.

Satisfied, you closed the mirror with a soft click and adjusted in your seat, letting your gaze wander back to him.

The quiet of the ride was broken only by the sound of the tires rolling over asphalt and the faint hum of the radio playing low in the background.

You bit your lip lightly, debating whether or not to say what had been on your mind.

Finally, you took a small breath, your fingers beginning to fidget nervously with the strap of your bag.

“Sooo…” you began, your voice tentative as you glanced out the window, gathering your thoughts.

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his focus remaining on the road ahead. His silence urged you to continue, so you did.

“How do I look?” you asked, your tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

Your gaze flickered toward him briefly before quickly looking back down at your lap, where your fingers continued to toy with your bag strap.

The quiet hum of the car filled the space between you and Bakugo, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes were fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, while the other rested lazily on the gear shift.

You waited patiently, watching him through your peripheral vision, hoping for some kind of reaction to your question.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze momentarily darting toward you before returning to the street ahead.

The streetlights flickered as they passed, casting warm, golden hues across his sharp features.

His silence stretched on, and for a moment, you wondered if he hadn’t heard you.

Finally, Bakugo turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering toward you.

His gaze traveled up and down, taking in the effort you’d put into your outfit—the way your cardigan fell over your tank top, the way your jeans fit perfectly, and the way you’d styled your hair just so.

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes lingered just a beat longer than usual before he turned back to the road.

“You look,” he began, his voice even though there was a slight edge of hesitation.

He glanced at you again, briefly meeting your expectant gaze before focusing back on the street.

You could see his jaw tighten slightly, as if he were searching for the right words. “Good.”

That was it. Just one single, lackluster word.

Your shoulders sank immediately, the corners of your mouth pulling down as disappointment washed over you.

You slumped back into the passenger seat, crossing your arms loosely over your chest and shifting your gaze out the window.

You had spent so much time getting ready, hoping that maybe this time, he’d notice—really notice—and say something that would make you feel special.

But “good” was all you got.

Bakugo, on the other hand, was far from unaffected, though he certainly didn’t show it.

His mind was racing, replaying the moment he’d glanced at you and the way your face had lit up with hope.

His knuckles tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and a bead of sweat formed at his temple as frustration with himself began to build.

His brows furrowed as he stole another glance at you.

You were staring out the window now, your expression unreadable but your body language screaming disappointment.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter.

You remained quiet, sinking further into your seat as the car rolled through the neighborhood streets.

Your fingers toyed with the edge of your cardigan, your mind replaying the moment over and over.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for disappointment.

Maybe this was just who he was—gruff, blunt, and not the type to shower you with compliments.

Still, you couldn’t help the small ache in your chest.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched as he continued to drive, the silence between you both growing heavier with each passing second.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The drive to Kirishima’s house was silent, the tension lingering like an unspoken weight between you and Bakugo.

He didn’t try to make conversation, and honestly, you weren’t sure you’d be able to respond even if he did.

Your disappointment sat heavy in your chest, though you were doing your best to push it down and keep your composure.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Kirishima’s house, Bakugo shifted into park and stepped out without a word, slamming his door behind him.

You sighed softly, your fingers gripping the strap of your purse as you reached for the handle of the passenger door.

Opening it, you slid out of the car, closing it gently behind you.

Bakugo was already several steps ahead, his strong strides carrying him toward the house without so much as a glance back at you.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight as you followed behind him, your fingers nervously playing with the strap of your purse.

You felt small and distant, the space between you and Bakugo feeling far more than just physical.

As Bakugo reached the front porch, the sound of laughter and chatter drifted through the air, spilling out from behind the closed door.

The lively atmosphere of the gathering inside only seemed to amplify the quiet distance you felt from him.

Bakugo raised a hand and knocked on the door firmly, stepping back slightly as he waited.

You stopped a few paces behind him, your hands gripping your purse strap tightly as your mind raced.

You were determined to stand tall, to keep your emotions in check and not let anyone see how you were feeling.

The door swung open after a few seconds, revealing Kirishima’s grinning face.

His red hair was as wild as ever, and his cheerful energy was almost infectious.

“Yo, man! You made it!” Kirishima greeted Bakugo with a hearty slap on the shoulder before turning his attention to you. “Hey! Good to see you too!”

“Hey, Kiri,” you said softly, forcing a small smile as you stepped closer to the door.

“Come on in! Everyone’s already here,” Kirishima said, stepping aside to let the two of you in.

You followed Bakugo inside, the warmth and energy of the room enveloping you immediately.

Mina, Jirou, Denki, and Sero were sprawled out in the living room, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

Mina was the first to notice your arrival, her eyes lighting up as she waved enthusiastically.

“Hey, you two!” Mina called out, jumping up from her seat and rushing over to you.

She wrapped you in a quick hug, her bubbly personality as bright as always. “You look so cute tonight! I love your outfit!”

“Thanks, Mina,” you replied, your smile faltering slightly as you glanced toward Bakugo.

He was already making his way toward the group, offering a brief nod of acknowledgment before settling into a seat near Sero.

Denki grinned, leaning back on the couch and tossing a chip into his mouth. “Look who finally decided to show up. We thought you might’ve bailed on us, Bakugo.”

“Shut it, Sparky,” Bakugo shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.

As the group erupted into laughter, you found yourself lingering near the edge of the room, unsure where to place yourself.

Mina noticed your hesitation and grabbed your arm gently.

“Come sit with us! You can’t just stand there looking all pretty and quiet,” she teased, leading you toward the group.

You let her guide you, settling into a spot on the couch beside Jirou.

The lively conversation around you was a stark contrast to the swirling emotions in your chest, but you did your best to blend in, laughing when it felt appropriate and nodding along to the banter.

All the while, your eyes occasionally flicked toward Bakugo.

He was laughing with Sero and Denki, his usual gruff demeanor softened slightly by the presence of his friends.

But not once did he look your way, and that small detail gnawed at you more than you wanted to admit.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to focus on the moment and not the ache in your chest.

Tonight was about being with friends, and you were determined to make the most of it, even if things with Bakugo felt more complicated than ever.

You sat on the couch, nestled between Jirou and Mina, trying to focus on their lively conversation.

Bakugo was across the room, laughing with Sero and Denki as if the weight of the world didn’t exist.

You glanced at him briefly, your chest tightening before quickly averting your eyes back to Mina, who was animatedly recounting a story about a recent date with Kirishima.

“So, get this,” Mina said, her face lit with excitement. “Kiri and I went to this new arcade last week, right? And they had this claw machine he swore he could beat. It was filled with these little red dragon plushies—totally his thing, you know?”

Jirou smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Let me guess. He spent way too much money trying to win one?”

“Way too much!” Mina exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “But he finally got it, and he was so proud of himself. It was adorable.” She giggled, her expression softening.

“Honestly, though, it’s not even about the claw machine. Kiri and I just… we have fun, you know? We go out, we talk about everything.”

Jirou nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s exactly how it is with me and Denki. He’s a dork, but he’s my dork. We go to concerts, hang out at record stores, and just… talk. Like, really talk. He tells me about his day, his dreams, even the dumb stuff that happens during patrols. It’s nice, being so connected.”

The warmth in their voices as they spoke about their relationships was palpable, and it made you feel like a shadow in their light.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the tightness in your throat.

“And you,” Mina said, turning her bright eyes toward you. “How are things with you and Bakugo?”

Jirou tilted her head, her expression curious but kind. “Yeah, how’s it going? You two seem solid.”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your cardigan, and you forced a smile, even as your chest felt like it was caving in.

“Oh, we’re fine,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to steady yourself. “Everything’s good. Really good.”

Mina beamed. “That’s great! You two are like, the power couple. I mean, he’s Bakugo—grumpy as hell but so in love with you. It’s obvious.”

“Totally,” Jirou added, nodding. “You balance each other out, right? He’s all intensity, and you’re like this calming presence. It works.”

You laughed softly, the sound hollow to your own ears. “Yeah, it works,” you echoed.

They bought it, smiling warmly at you before diving back into their own banter.

But inside, you felt like you were crumbling.

The truth was, things weren’t fine.

They hadn’t been for a while. Bakugo’s constant focus on work, his friends, and his own world had left you feeling like an afterthought.

You glanced at him again.

He was leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Denki said, his sharp features softened by the rare smile on his face.

It was a side of him you loved, but right now, it only made the ache in your chest worse.

Forcing yourself to stay present, you turned back to Mina and Jirou, nodding along to their conversation.

You couldn’t let them see the truth—not here, not now.

So you plastered on your smile and pretended everything was fine, even as the weight of your unspoken feelings threatened to crush you.

---

An hour passed as you, Mina, and Jirou chatted away about everything under the sun—relationships, patrol stories, and even a hilarious moment when Denki shocked himself trying to fix a broken lamp.

Despite the warmth of their company, a small part of you still felt detached, your earlier feelings lingering like a shadow.

Mina, ever the bubbly one, suddenly perked up. “Hey, I just thought of something! Let’s go to the other room and watch a movie! I’ve been dying to see that new romance everyone’s talking about. What do you think?”

Jirou shrugged, a hint of a smile on her face. “Sounds good to me. I could use a break from all the noise out there.”

You hesitated, but the thought of getting away from the others, even for a little while, seemed appealing. “Yeah, sure,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The three of you made your way to a quieter room down the hall.

It was cozier than the bustling main area, with soft lighting and a plush couch that wrapped around most of the room.

The atmosphere immediately felt more intimate and calm, a perfect escape.

Mina grabbed the remote and flopped onto one side of the couch. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!”

Jirou settled next to her, her legs tucked beneath her while you took the other end of the couch.

The movie started, its opening scenes filled with charming banter and budding romance.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the story drawing you in.

As the movie progressed, the lighthearted moments gave way to more emotional scenes.

The characters faced challenges, their love tested by misunderstandings and miscommunications.

Then, the pivotal scene arrived.

The male lead stood in the rain, his face etched with regret as he argued with the female lead.

Her voice broke as she shouted, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t get it! I feel invisible to you!” she cried, her words hitting too close to home for your comfort.

Your chest tightened as you watched her crumble, her emotions raw and unfiltered.

The male lead, realizing his mistake, stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest.

Your heart ached, the scene striking a chord that you couldn’t ignore.

The floodgates opened, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face.

Your breathing grew shallow, and your palms began to sweat as you clutched the couch cushion beside you.

Mina and Jirou, engrossed in the movie, didn’t seem to notice your reaction at first.

But as you sniffled quietly, Jirou glanced over, her expression softening. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You quickly wiped your cheeks, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… really emotional,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

Mina turned her head, concern flickering in her eyes. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Scenes like this get me every time,” she said, offering you a reassuring smile.

You nodded, appreciating their kindness but feeling exposed nonetheless.

The movie continued, but your mind was elsewhere.

The female lead’s words echoed in your head, intertwining with your own unspoken feelings.

“I feel invisible to you.”

The weight of those words settled in your chest, and though you tried to focus on the screen, the tears wouldn’t stop.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep it together, but the truth was, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

The tears came harder, no longer quiet sniffles but soft, trembling sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

The scene on the screen blurred as your vision clouded with tears, and your chest felt impossibly heavy.

Mina and Jirou both turned toward you, their expressions shifting from casual concern to alarm.

“Whoa, hey… are you okay?” Jirou asked, leaning closer, her voice gentle but tinged with worry.

Mina’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She grabbed the remote and paused the movie, the room falling into silence except for your shaky breaths.

She scooted closer to you, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

“Alright,” Mina said firmly, her tone serious but warm. “What’s going on? This isn’t just about the movie, is it?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to wipe the tears away with the back of your hand, but they just kept coming.

“It’s nothing,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jirou gave you a skeptical look. “Come on, don’t do that. You’re obviously upset.”

Mina nodded, her grip on your arm tightening just slightly in encouragement. “Yeah, we’re here for you. So whatever it is, just say it.”

For a moment, you hesitated.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and you didn’t want to burden them with your feelings.

But the way they looked at you, genuinely concerned and ready to listen, broke down the last of your defenses.

“It’s… it’s Bakugo,” you finally admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “I just… I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

Mina’s eyes softened, and Jirou tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Mina asked, leaning forward, her tone gentle now.

You took a shaky breath, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. “I don’t know… it’s like he’s always so busy, and when he’s home, it’s like I’m not even there. He doesn’t notice when I try to do things for him. I cooked dinner tonight, hoping we could eat together and talk, but he just brushed it off and left to hang out with you guys.”

Mina’s face fell, a pang of guilt crossing her features. Jirou’s lips pressed together, her brow furrowing.

“I know he’s a hero, and I know his job is demanding, but… I just feel so invisible to him sometimes. Like I’m not a priority,” you continued, your voice trembling. “And I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, but it’s just… it’s hard.”

Mina reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize things were like this.”

Jirou nodded, her gaze serious. “That sounds really tough. You shouldn’t have to feel like that, especially not with someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

You sniffled, grateful for their support, but still feeling the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I love him, but… it feels like he’s slipping away.”

Mina wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting hug. “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ll figure it out. And honestly, Bakugo needs to hear this too. He probably doesn’t even realize how much he’s hurting you.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s not exactly the most emotionally aware guy, but he cares about you. You just have to tell him how you feel.”

Their words brought a small measure of comfort, but the thought of confronting Bakugo about your feelings still terrified you.

You knew they were right, though. Something had to change.

You sat there in Mina’s embrace, your tears slowly subsiding, though your chest still felt tight.

The weight of their words lingered, and you knew they were right.

As terrifying as it seemed, you had to talk to Bakugo.

But how? He wasn’t exactly the type to sit down and have a heart-to-heart.

Mina pulled back slightly, her warm hands resting on your shoulders as she looked you in the eye. “You have to tell him,” she said firmly.

“And not in a ‘hinting’ kind of way. Lay it all out. He’s not good at picking up subtle stuff.”

Jirou nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, Bakugo’s not gonna magically figure it out. But if you’re honest with him, I think he’ll listen. He’s stubborn, but he’s not heartless.”

You sniffled, wiping your face with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I just… I don’t want to come off as needy or like I don’t support him. I know how hard he works.”

Mina sighed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. This isn’t about being needy. This is about being in a relationship where you feel seen and loved. You’re allowed to have needs, too.”

Jirou added, “And honestly? If he doesn’t get that, then that’s on him. Relationships are about both people putting in effort. It’s not all on you.”

You nodded slowly, their words sinking in.

It wasn’t easy to hear, but deep down, you knew they were right.

You couldn’t keep bottling everything up and hoping things would magically improve.

Mina smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Look, Bakugo might be a hothead, but he’s not a bad guy. If he knew you were feeling this way, I think he’d do something about it. But you’ve got to give him the chance to step up.”

You sighed, fiddling with the strap of your purse. “I guess I’ll try talking to him later… when we’re alone.”

“Good,” Mina said with a nod, her tone encouraging. “And if you need backup, you know where to find us.”

Jirou smirked slightly. “Yeah, we’ll set him straight if he doesn’t get the message.”

The three of you shared a small laugh, the tension easing just a bit.

Mina grabbed the remote and turned the movie off completely, standing up and stretching.

“Alright, let’s get back to the others before they start wondering what we’re up to.”

You nodded, standing up and smoothing out your clothes.

As the three of you made your way back to the main living room, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Anxiety, hope, and determination all competed for space in your heart.

As you stepped into the room, Bakugo was standing near the corner with Kirishima, laughing at something Sero had said.

His usual sharp smirk was etched on his face, but there was something different in the way his eyes flickered toward you, a hint of something unreadable beneath his confident exterior.

For a moment, you just watched him, debating how you’d navigate the rest of the evening while the conversation with Mina and Jirou still echoed in your mind.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Bakugo had heard everything.

It wasn’t intentional.

On his way to the bathroom earlier, he had walked past the closed door of the cozy room where you and the girls had been talking.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it—just chatter from Mina and Jirou, nothing unusual.

But then he caught the sound of your voice, trembling slightly, and his feet had stopped.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really, he hadn’t.

But something in your tone made him pause, leaning against the hallway wall just out of sight.

He listened as Mina and Jirou pressed you about how things were going between the two of you.

He heard the way your voice wavered when you said everything was fine—so unconvincing that even he could tell it was a lie.

And then came the confession.

You weren’t happy.

You felt ignored, neglected.

You felt like he didn’t see you anymore.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

You, the person he cared about most, felt like you were slipping away, and he hadn’t even noticed.

His knuckles clenched, and his jaw tightened as he leaned his head back against the wall.

Guilt surged through him, hot and unrelenting. He wasn’t great with emotions; he knew that.

But hearing you spill your heart out to your friends, feeling like he didn’t care enough—it stung more than he wanted to admit.

When Mina and Jirou encouraged you to talk to him, he heard the hesitation in your voice, the fear of being seen as needy or overbearing.

It made his chest ache. You should never feel like that—not with him.

He had walked away before you left the room, needing a moment to collect himself.

By the time he rejoined the group, his mind was racing.

As you stepped into the living room, Mina nudged you gently with her elbow. “You’ve got this,” she whispered before heading to the group, leaving you to take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

Bakugo, standing near the corner, glanced your way.

His sharp smirk remained, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual, softening for the briefest second before he turned back to Kirishima and the others.

He didn’t say anything, but in the back of his mind, he was already planning.

He wouldn’t let you feel like this again. Not if he could help it.

---

The night had wound down, and one by one, everyone began saying their goodbyes.

Mina and Kirishima gave you tight hugs, Mina giving you a reassuring smile as if to silently remind you of the conversation you’d had.

Jirou patted your arm, her subtle way of showing she was rooting for you.

Bakugo, meanwhile, was his usual self—casual nods, a few gruff “See ya’s,” and a fist bump for Kirishima.

His energy seemed as steady as ever, though you noticed the way his eyes flickered toward you more than once, a slight crease in his brow that he didn’t quite hide.

As the two of you made your way to his car, the quietness of the night enveloped you.

The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and the sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel filled the silence.

You felt Bakugo’s presence ahead of you, his confident stride unchanging, though he occasionally glanced back to make sure you were keeping up.

When you reached the car, he pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the doors, and slid into the driver’s seat.

You followed, gently closing the passenger door behind you and placing your bag on the floor by your feet.

The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the space, a scent you usually found comforting.

Without a word, Bakugo started the engine.

The low rumble of the car filled the stillness as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

His hands rested on the wheel, firm but relaxed, his eyes trained on the road ahead.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, trying to read his expression, but it was the same stoic mask he always wore.

The weight of the evening felt heavy in your chest, and despite the warmth of the car, you felt a chill run through you.

The drive was quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in your throat.

You fidgeted with your fingers, your gaze shifting between the passing streetlights outside and Bakugo’s profile.

He hadn’t said much since you left Kirishima’s house, and it left you wondering if he’d noticed the distance between you—or if it even mattered to him at all.

Bakugo’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel as he drove, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was working through something in his mind.

His gaze remained steady, but every now and then, you noticed his eyes flicker toward you, though he said nothing.

The silence was deafening, and with every passing second, it felt like the space between you grew larger.

Finally, unable to take the tension anymore, you shifted in your seat and let out a soft sigh, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks for driving,” you said, your tone polite but distant.

He grunted in response, a low “Yeah,” his focus still on the road.

The quiet settled again, heavier this time, and you found yourself staring out the window, the lights of the city blurring past.

You wanted to say more, to breach the gap between you, but something held you back.

Bakugo, meanwhile, stole another glance at you, his expression unreadable.

He wanted to speak, to address the weight in the air, but the words felt foreign to him.

For now, he just drove, the road stretching ahead, both of you caught in your own thoughts.

The car hummed softly as the city lights flickered past, but the silence between you and Bakugo felt louder than anything else.

You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, your eyes fixed on the blurred scenery.

Your hand rested on your lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with your nails as your thoughts raced.

What had started as disappointment had now spiraled into uncertainty.

You couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation with Mina and Jirou, nor the growing chasm between you and Bakugo.

You’d tried so hard to keep it together, but being here, so close yet feeling so far, made it even harder.

Bakugo kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel firm.

Inside, he was battling a storm of emotions.

The echoes of your words from earlier replayed in his mind, mingling with the snippets of the conversation he’d overheard at Kirishima’s.

“I just… I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He wasn’t good with words.

Hell, he wasn’t even good at feelings most of the time. But he wasn’t stupid—he could feel the distance, and it frustrated him because he didn’t know how to close it.

His crimson eyes flickered to you briefly.

The way you sat there, so quiet and withdrawn, tugged at something deep in his chest.

He hated seeing you like this, especially knowing he’d been the one to make you feel this way.

After what felt like forever, Bakugo’s resolve finally cracked.

His hand hesitated on the wheel, fingers tightening for a moment before he let out a sharp breath.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reached over.

His hand covered yours, warm and slightly rough, the weight of it grounding you.

You blinked, startled by the sudden contact, and turned your head to look at him.

Bakugo didn’t meet your gaze right away.

His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, his jaw tight, like he was bracing himself for something.

His thumb shifted slightly, brushing against your fingers in an awkward but earnest gesture.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “Stop doin’ that.”

You stared at him, confused. “Doing what?”

“Fidgetin’ like that,” he muttered, finally glancing at you for a split second before looking back at the road. “You’ll mess up your nails or somethin’.”

His words were gruff, almost dismissive, but the way his hand stayed on yours told you there was more to it.

He wasn’t just talking about your fidgeting—he was trying, in his own clumsy way, to tell you he cared.

Your chest tightened as you looked down at your joined hands.

The warmth of his touch, the slight awkwardness of the gesture—it all made your emotions bubble up again, but this time, they weren’t as heavy.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. “Don’t say it. Not here, not like this.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and leaned back against the seat.

For the first time that evening, the silence between you didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

The car came to an abrupt stop at a red light, but the tension in the car felt like it had slammed into a wall at full speed.

Bakugo’s hand hovered over the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped it.

His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, but your anger was a storm now, and it couldn’t be contained.

“Seriously?” you demanded, your voice sharp and trembling. “If not here, then where? If not now, then when?”

Your hand yanked away from his, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold sting of frustration. “You always say that, Bakugo. You always brush our problems away. You… you brush me off like I’m some kind of bug.”

His eyes darted to you, his lips parting as if to defend himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You treat me like I’m not worth your time,” you continued, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you even know what I was doing before you came home? I was cooking dinner. For you. For us.”

Your hands shook as you gestured toward him, your words pouring out in a rush. “I did all of that so we could talk, so we could try to fix this. Just so I could know—know for sure—that I mean something to you.”

The light turned green, and Bakugo hit the gas with a little more force than necessary, his jaw tight as he stayed silent.

But you couldn’t stop now.

“But of course,” you spat, your voice rising, “your friends are more important! Work, training, hangouts—all of it is more important than me!”

The car swerved slightly as Bakugo’s grip faltered, and he shot you a glance, his brows furrowed in frustration and guilt. “But they’re not! You’re more important—”

“Don’t give me that crap!” you cut him off, your voice almost a shout now. “If I’m so important, then why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you make time for everyone and everything else but not for me? Huh? Answer me!”

Bakugo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His silence was deafening, and it only stoked the fire inside you.

“Why, Katsuki?” you pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Why do I have to fight so hard to feel like I matter to you?”

The car pulled into your driveway, and Bakugo threw it into park, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly it looked like he might snap it in two.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the engine.

Finally, Bakugo exhaled sharply and turned to you, his crimson eyes filled with a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something else—something softer, something that looked a lot like regret.

“You do matter,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You mean everything to me, damn it. I just… I don’t know how to show it.”

But you shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “That’s not enough, Katsuki. It’s not enough to just say it. I need to feel it. And right now, I don’t.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable, as Bakugo stared at you, his expression unreadable.

For once, the explosive hero had no words, and the silence between you felt like it could split the world in two.

Your chest heaved as the emotions you’d been holding in for so long spilled over.

Tears streamed down your face, your voice trembling and raw as you finally let everything out.

“Why couldn’t you have just spent time with me?” you cried, your voice breaking as your gaze locked on Bakugo.

He flinched at the pain in your voice but said nothing, his hands clenching into tight fists on his lap.

“Why couldn’t you see that while you were having fun, I was feeling miserable?!” you continued, your words cutting through the silence like shards of glass.

Bakugo’s eyes darted toward you, filled with a mix of guilt and helplessness, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Listen, Katsuki...” you began, your voice softer but no less intense. “I love you. So much it hurts.” Your words hung in the air, trembling with sincerity. “But it’s starting to feel like... like you don’t feel the same.”

His head snapped up at that, his crimson eyes wide and frantic. “That’s not true!” he blurted, his voice rough and unsteady. “Don’t—don’t say that, alright?”

But you shook your head, your tears falling harder now. “Then why does it feel like I’m always fighting for your attention? Fighting for a moment of your time?”

Your voice cracked, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together.

Bakugo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze fell to his lap, his fingers gripping his knees so hard it looked painful.

You could see the frustration, the guilt, the turmoil swirling in his expression, but it wasn’t enough.

It didn’t fix the ache in your heart.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Like I’m not enough for you. Like I’m not your priority.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up again, his eyes blazing with emotion. “You are my priority!” he insisted, his voice desperate now.

“You’re everything to me, alright? I just... I just don’t know how to handle all this shit sometimes!”

His voice cracked at the end, and for the first time, you saw something in him you rarely did—vulnerability.

He looked at you like he wanted to say a million things but didn’t know where to start.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Then show me, Katsuki,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “If I mean so much to you, then show me. Because words aren’t enough anymore.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the faint hum of the engine.

Bakugo looked at you, really looked at you, and for once, the explosive hero seemed completely lost.

Bakugo’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths as he stared at you, his crimson eyes shadowed with guilt and frustration.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to die in his throat.

His hands clenched tighter on his lap, and he turned his gaze to the steering wheel, as if looking at you was too much to bear.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again as you watched him struggle to say something—anything—that could make it better.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his voice low and strained. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”

The admission startled you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked through your tears as you waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been so focused on everything else—work, training, trying to keep up with everyone—that I didn’t realize what it was doing to you. To us.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion rough and frustrated. “And that’s on me.”

His voice trembled slightly, and he slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sharp thud breaking the tense quiet. “Dammit, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. Like you don’t matter.”

You watched him, your tears still falling, but something in his voice tugged at your heart.

It wasn’t just guilt; it was desperation.

“But you do, alright?” he said, turning to face you fully now. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, raw and unguarded.

“You matter more than anything else in my life. I just... I don’t know how to balance it all without screwing it up.”

His hands trembled as they rested on his thighs, and you realized how much it was costing him to admit this.

Bakugo Katsuki, the man who always seemed so sure of himself, so strong and unshakable, was unraveling in front of you.

“You’re not the problem, alright? I am,” he continued, his voice softer now. “And I swear to you, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us. Just... don’t give up on me yet.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but the pain you’d been carrying for so long still lingered.

You looked at him, your tears blurring your vision, and took a shaky breath.

“Katsuki, I’m not asking for perfection,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m asking for you to try. To make me feel like I’m worth it. Like we’re worth it.”

He nodded, his jaw tight as he swallowed hard.

“I will,” he said, his voice firm despite the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be better. For you.”

You stared at him, searching his face for sincerity, and what you saw there made something in your chest loosen.

He looked at you like you were his whole world—like he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

For the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Bakugo nodded again, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can.”

The car fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy or suffocating.

It was filled with unspoken promises, with the beginnings of something better.

And for now, that was enough.

---

Bakugo’s hand enveloped yours, firm yet gentle, as if he was anchoring himself to you.

The warmth of his grasp communicated what his words had struggled to convey earlier—a need, a desire to hold on to you no matter what.

The silence in the car was filled with unspoken understanding as you both sat there, the weight of the evening settling between you.

When the car finally pulled into your driveway, you barely had time to move before Bakugo was already out of the driver’s seat.

He strode purposefully around the car, his movements sharp yet filled with intent.

You blinked in surprise as he opened the passenger door, crouching down to your level.

His crimson eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. “You mean a lot to me,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

“So much... and I’m sorry for not showing you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words tumbled out, each one more heartfelt than the last.

“I’m sorry for not replying. I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry for not showing up,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he leaned closer.

“I promise, though, from now on... everything I do, I’ll do it with you on my mind.”

His hands found their way to your thighs, a touch so gentle and deliberate it sent a shiver through you.

It wasn’t just an apology—it was a plea, a vow.

“I promise you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “that from now on, I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel loved. So please, don’t give up on me. Please, don’t lose hope.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his tone, the rawness of his confession.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small, wavering smile as you placed your hand over his.

“You swear?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly, his crimson eyes boring into yours with unwavering determination.

“I promise,” he said, his voice firm yet soft.

That was all you needed to hear.

A small, genuine smile spread across your lips as you nodded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight lifting off your chest.

After a moment, Bakugo stepped back slightly, holding out his hand to you.

You placed your hand in his, and he helped you out of the car with a gentleness that contrasted his usual brash demeanor.

Once you were both standing, he didn’t hesitate—he pulled you into a tight, almost desperate hug.

His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

His head rested against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers threading gently through his spiky blonde hair.

“I missed you more,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice low and filled with emotion.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the world around you fading into insignificance.

It was as if time had paused, giving you both a chance to reconnect, to heal.

When he finally pulled back, his hands still rested on your waist, and his gaze locked onto yours.

The intensity in his eyes took your breath away, and before you could say anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an apology, a promise, a declaration.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if to ground himself.

You responded just as passionately, pouring every ounce of love, frustration, and hope into the kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

His crimson eyes softened as he looked at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

You smiled back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

He chuckled softly, his voice lighter than it had been all evening. “I won’t. I swear.”

In that moment, standing together in the driveway under the soft glow of the porch light, you felt something shift between you.

A new beginning, built on honesty and love. And for the first time in a long time, you believed things could truly get better.

ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How��s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part two)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: as both of your best friends, steve tries to get you and bucky to bond

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut in an elevator, fingering (r!receiving), discreet, mutual pining, angst, not proofread I'm lazy and tired

notes: thank you guys for the response to the first part...what the fuck?? everything i write for bucky goes insane and i didn't think people wanted more but i got too many messages not to keep writing for him.

ps: wanted to post this tonight… so it may not be seamless, but i will edit when im fully awake bc im half asleep rn

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The next time you saw Bucky was the following day. He was seated next to Steve as the pair of them lounged in the grass at a park near your house. Steve and you came here a lot—him making a reason to escape Avengers duty and you simply living within walking distance. 

“Hi.” You offered an awkward wave to the men, sitting down on the throw blanket they’d laid in the grass. 

While Steve greeted you, Bucky hardly acknowledged your presence, averting his eyes to watch his friend next to him. Steve dug into a bag beside him and pulled out a few small notebooks. One of them was noticeably more worn; you recognized it as his own sketchbook. 

In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends. 

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious, I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.” 

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation. 

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?” 

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser. 

“Me too.” 

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down. 

As time passed, you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting, and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not. 

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life, in particular, was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was really gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork. 

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?” 

You perked up and excitedly flipped yours with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch. 

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.” 

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.” 

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?” 

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw, but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched, and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply. 

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?” 

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.” 

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?” 

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.” 

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.” 

“I agree, big step for him.” 

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him. 

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again. 

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around, and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevator's closed doors with the stoicism he always had. 

Neither you nor Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off-balance briefly. 

When he regained his composure, Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having had a moment alone with you since the day prior. 

You nodded. “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?” 

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that effect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response, but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself. 

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button. 

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?” 

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you. 

“I’m not. I’m being normal-“ 

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.” 

He let out an amused scoff. “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator. I'm claustrophobic.” 

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.” 

“That’s not it-“ 

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.” 

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place. 

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right. 

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you. 

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it. 

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you. 

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus. 

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.” 

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly. 

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing. 

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met. 

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest. 

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you. 

“Don’t move, I got you.” 

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut. 

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky. 

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.” 

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that were now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossoming for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over, you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern. 

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusted without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll, and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully. 

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his neck for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you. 

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before. 

He let you whine like this for a bit longer before adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on. 

“Doing so good.” He nodded. “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly, you snapped, head falling into his neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm. 

Your hips rolled, and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one, Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless, and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly. 

“You coming?” 

With a ding, the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them, you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.” 

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So, is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?” 

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed-off self. Admittedly, you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night. 

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky, it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved. 

We’re better as friends. 

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand to be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light. 

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.” 

“‘Course, doll.” 

part three

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[cosmosluckycharms]

idk if u wanna write this but spider!bat reader x miles? like maybe after atsv they get totgether

Bug Like Angel

Sweet / I thought you wanted to dance

sorry this is so ass im writers block rn and its so late rn im so tired but ive been starving u guys from works sigh uhhh this is not canon to the actual storyline this is a what if

this is so ass sorry its also short cause again writers block is not fun

sorry if this is ooc im so tired

It was 9:19

You were getting ready for your first gala.

A week earlier, Alfred had promised you you'd finally get to spend time with your father.

Better late than never.

As soon as he told you about it, you went ahead and told all of your friends.

Everyone from school and the spider society.

Sure, lately you were starting to give up on Bruce being your father, but there was a tiny part of you that hoped this was what could fix your relationship.

This could be a way to finally connect with your family.

They would all see you as a sibling.

Most people would assume that you would hate galas like most people your age.

And the truth was, you did.

Even though you'd never gone to one, some of the people there would come over to the manor for visits.

You hated how all the stuck-up rich people would always talk about things that didn't interest you.

The way they would poke fun at you over never being acknowledged.

The way that they'd tell you how you looked so much like Bruce.

You shook your head and tried to get rid of the thought.

Tonight would be the night that your father would tell everyone you were his daughter.

He would boast about all your hobbies and achievements.

That everyone would finally get to see you, as Bruce Wayne's daughter, and not just a forgotten Wayne.

You spent the whole week preparing yourself for this day.

You got your nails done by Miles' mom in a way that perfectly matched your dress.

You did your hair so very perfectly, the way Peter B's MJ had taught you.

And your dress was personally done by someone in the spider society who was a fashion designer.

You had some jewelry you borrowed from Pav's aunt.

A pearl bracelet and necklace, along with some earrings.

You were so excited.

You checked the time, it was 9:32.

You had to be ready by 9:35.

Shit.

Why were you always late?

You started speeding up and putting the finishing touches.

By the time you were done, it was 9:36.

You sped down the dark miserable halls and the huge flights of stairs, being careful using the new heels you went and bought with Miles' mom.

Once you got downstairs, you were out of breath.

Once you caught it again, you saw Bruce and Tim already heading out the door.You walked up to Bruce and pulled on his sleeve, confused.

"Why is Tim coming? I thought it was just us?" you tilted your head in confusion.

Tim spoke up "You were taking too long, he decided to take me instead."

You balled up your hands in anger, but managed to calm yourself down "But Alfred told me-"

You got cut by Bruce "I don't have time for this, we're running late."

You flinched at Bruce's sudden cold tone.

A slight feeling of guilt passed through Bruce. "I'm sorry, I forgot. Maybe next time."

They started making their way out the door once again.

Tim made a stupid joke that made Bruce let out a chuckle.

You felt angry tears well up in your eyes as you stood there, frozen, as you watched them both walk away.

You furiously stomped your way back to your room, throwing your fancy purse onto the floor.

You cried at the edge of your bed, which left a stain of makeup on there.

After half an hour of pathetically crying, you sat up.

You should've known.

You should've known how Bruce wouldn't wait for you.

You should've known that he wouldn't care enough to wait for you.

Of course wouldn't, you weren't worthy enough for your father's love.

You would never be.

Bruce's love went to his other children, his sons.

You'd never be equal to them.

The more you thought about it, the more mad you were.

You had to get out of the manor before you got even more pissed.

You put on your web shooters, ignoring how you still had your big gala dress on.

You opened your window and snuck out.

You ignored how someone was most likely gonna see you swinging around without a costume.

You got to a random rooftop and sat down.

You noticed how across the building was the gala, playing loud, classical music.

You started crying once more.

You couldn't tell if it was out of sadness or anger.

Your dress was now slightly ripped and your heels were scuffed.

Your makeup was running down your face and everything was going wrong.

You just wanted to go home.

A familiar buzz and ringtone went off.

You checked your phone and checked the contact.

It was Miles.

Your heart skipped a beat and you fumbled with your phone a bit, quickly clearing your throat and picking up.

"Hello?" you said, a tad bit too excitedly.

"Hey, it's Miles."

"Oh, yeah. right."

An awkward silence passed on both ends.

"Why'd you call? I mean, it's not like I did want you to call; you're cool and all, and I do like you. I mean-! Not like, like like you, I mean like-" you rambled on for a couple more seconds before finally shutting up.

"I got a feeling I had to check up on you," he replied

"I'm fine, great even!" you spoke, obviously not fine.

"You only say that when you're not fine. I'm on my way."

Fuck.

He was on his way and you looked a mess.

You quickly tried your best to clean yourself up.

Sure, Miles wouldn't judge you for your makeup that was running down your face or your ruined dress, but you didn't want him to worry.

You cleaned yourself up as much as you could, which didn't do much.

You felt a familiar tingle in your skull.

You turned around and saw an orange portal.

As soon as Miles walked through, you got excited.

Only for that excitement to fade out to realize you still looked bad.

He looked at you, noticing how you looked like a mess "Y/n? You look like hell."

"Yeah, I just got back." you chuckled.

After yet another moment of awkward silence, you ran and tackled him into a hug, awkwardly.

He spoke up, sitting down "You look upset, what's wrong?"

"Nothing serious." you sat down next to him

"Was it your family?"

"Yeah."

"They're all assholes."

"I know, right?"

"What even happened?"

"Fucking Tim happened." you threw a random pebble at the floor.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Dude, for the last like, week I've been so excited over finally being able to go bond with my father, only to be forgotten again."

"At least you look pretty."

"You're pretty too! I mean, like, Uhm, yeah." you stuttered, face growing warm

You both talked for a while, mostly filled with you both awkwardly flirting like two middle schoolers.

After an hour or two, you could hear the gala's music blasting a romantic slow song.

You both hummed along to the slow song, you didn't notice how Miles looked at you like you were the light of his life.

He got up, making you look at him confused.

He pulled his hand out, and you took it.

You've never been a really good dancer despite being in dance at a young age.

And what made it worse was that you kept fumbling around, accidentally stepping on his shoes every 10 seconds.

Instead of just giving up on you though, he kept going.

After a minute or two, you finally got it. All you could hear was both of your laughter and the loud, slow music blaring from the gala.

Unbeknownst to you, there were a lot of people who could see you and Miles.

Luckily for him, he had his mask on.

Unluckily for you, they saw you dancing with him.

They took a lot of pictures, and you would've known if it wasn't for someone having their flash on their camera.

You can already see the headline for tomorrow's gossip magazines.

"Forgotten Wayne, seen flirting with new vigilante?"

As soon as you both noticed the flash, Miles spoke up.

"I think it's time to get you home."

Before you could protest, he picked you up bridal style and started swinging you back to the manor.

Great, the paparazzi ruined a moment with your stupid crush of a year or two.

He dropped you off at your windowsill, which had always been a blind spot for cameras.

You started turning around to go to bed, only to be turned around and kissed by Miles.

You felt your face heat up.

You both stared at each other in shock.

"Goodnight!" Miles quickly blurted out, rushing away.

You processed what happened and threw yourself onto your bed, giggling and kicking your feet.

You couldn't believe this.

The guy you've liked since you first met him 2 years ago liked you back!

It was like a fairytale dream!

The next morning you got up and ready for the day.

You knew you were most likely going to see your family eating breakfast, which made you feel nauseous with anxiety.

You didn't wanna face them.

Not Alfred.

Not Bruce.

And certainly not Tim.

You didn't understand why Bruce preferred him over you.

You didn't want to get upset all over again, so you pushed away the thought.

All you wanted to think about was the night before.

You felt like a lovesick puppy every time you thought about Miles.

You made your way to get breakfast, still in your pajamas.

You could slowly overhear some of your family's conversation.

You were nosey, so you eavesdropped.

"I just can't find anything about this guy!" you heard Tim saying

Bruce spoke, clearing his voice "Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure!" you could practically see Tim stressing from a mile away. "it's like he's not from here."

You finally got to the kitchen, about to pour some cereal for yourself.

"What did you do?" Tim barked

"Huh?" you looked at him, trying to act dumb

"Last night, 11:47 pm. where were you?" he glared

"Out and about." you tried to act natural

"Be specific."

"wouldnt you like to know weather boy?" you reached for the cereal

"You're being so stubborn." he crossed his arms

"I was in the manor." you lied

He slammed the pictures of you and Miles dancing together.

Shit.

"Hop off my dick," you spoke, angrily.

"And what about these?" Bruce placed down a picture of Miles kissing you, with the bottom of his mask lifted slightly.

A drop of sweat rolled down your face "Uhm.."

"This is dangerous! You can't be doing this. you shouldn't be dating other vigilantes." Bruce took a sip out of his coffee

"you guys do it all the time," you argued

"That's different!" he slammed the coffee mug down.

"How?"

"We know how to take care of ourselves."

"As if I don't?"

You could feel their angry stares on you.

"Listen, I'm fine now. I don't get what the big deal is."

"The big deal is how this is ruining how people see you. How people see all of us." Tim lectured

"That's all you care about? How the public sees us?" you put your hands on your hips

They went quiet for a moment and you spoke up again.

"This wouldn't have happened if you both just let me go to the gala for once," you uttered.

"This is about the gala?" Bruce asked.

"No, it's not about the gala, it's about how I've constantly been treated." You explained, trying to keep your composure "You guys only care when I'm doing something that harms you socially."

Bruce was about to speak up only for you to walk back to your room, still hungry.

"Just let her be," Tim said, looking at the pictures yet again.

He couldn't help but wonder,who was that boy?

im sorry this is so ass omg

no taglist this time bcs this isnt canon

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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[yourstrulyrani]

Simon Riley who causes your jaw to lock mid giving him head? ( or maybe an individual reaction list thingy for the tf141?)

my jaw dropped when i read this (enough for it to lock up ;).. get it?) ANYWAY this is my first dirty request ever and first 18+ work ever...i know it's gonna suck (no pun intended i promise), so please cut me some slack :')

taskforce141's reactions to reader's jaw locking mid-head session. cw: mdni. 18+ content ahead. mentions of oral.

simon relishes in the feeling your tongue swirling around the soft skin of his tip, coating it with enough slick to get yourself ready to let himself hit the back of your throat again. "wrap your lips around it, baby. put it in deep for me." you go ahead and try close your lips into an "o" shape until you realize you can't. simon realizes and snickers, removing his tip from your mouth. he pulls you up on the bed to sit with him. he inspects your jaw, massaging it with the tips of his fingers as he says, "you did so well for me that i locked up your jaw, love." he doesn't hesitate heading to urgent care. when you arrive and they ask your reason of visit, he speaks up saying "she just yawned too hard, doctor," rubbing your lower back soothingly... or teasingly. or both. definitely both.

gaz has you lying on your back with your head hanging off the edge of the bed, pumping gently and slowly in and out of your mouth. your mind is hazy with pleasure at the way he feels. all of the desire depletes when you realize he's starting to go too faster and harder and your jaw can't shut. you tap his arm two times, one of many gestures the both of you agreed on way back when as you discussed boundaries during intimacy. gaz instantly becomes aware of the tapping and quickly responds by sitting you upright, sitting by your side. your jaw is locked enough for your words to become slurred. he understands and apologizes, "i'm so sorry, love. i didn't realize." after resolving to a quick google search, he applied a warm compress to your jaw. he gives you a bath as aftercare since both of you know for a fact that was enough for tonight, as your jaw slowly starts to relax.

price has himself laid back on the bed, legs apart and his hands clasped behind his head. you're in between his knees as your head bobs up and down, one hand taking care of the rest of his shaft. a proud smirk on his face, "just like that, pretty girl." his gruff voice praises out to your movements. you usually make noises, whether you're gagging just right or trying to moan with your mouth full, but john notices the noise that comes out of your mouth this time and it's not normal: it's of discomfort. his smirk falters and his eyebrows furrow in concern. his hands unclasp and move to take your mouth off him. he wastes no time going to the kitchen to grab painkillers. with his carefulness, you take the medicine. after, he moves his body so he's laying on the bed again and your back is against his chest. he massages your jaw, enough to ease the pain also thanks to the medicine. "don't worry. i'm here for you. let me know if i can help any more, lovely." he presses a kiss to the curve of your jaw, helping you fall asleep.

johnny let you take control of the pace this time. you decide to go all out, deep and fast because you thought he deserved it after a harsh deployment. "so well, sweetheart." his fingers glide along your hair, careful not to damage his gorgeous girl's hairstyle. he's so close and you both know it, but when you feel the ache in your jaw you couldn't help but to get off him. at first he thinks you're lying to tease him but when he knows you're not bluffing, he justs bursts out laughing. "there's no way. this can actually happen?" like gaz, he uses google to search for a remedy. unlike gaz, his search led him to a youtube video of a bbc show called 'bizarre er' of your same dilemma, which was solved by placing popsicle sticks inside the mouth to tire the muscles, forcing them to shut eventually. johnny giggles as he shows you the video, but knowing your man, you trust him in his popsicle stick plan. (it works out in the end).

(yes that video mentioned in soap's part is legit on youtube, look it up LMAO. this request made me remember i watched it ages ago when i was little and i thought soap would be someone to attempt it idk)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[rumisgf]

PASSENGER PRINCESS - connie springer x black!reader

summary: your... best friend takes you on your weekly late nights drives. but, this night is different: both of you are aware of the tension between y'all even though neither of you address it- until tonight. warnings: marijuana usage, best friends to lovers, eventual smut, yk car sex, french kissing

you just had got off work, and today really wore you out. it was the usual: your manager was getting on your nerves, there was this lady who tried to argue with you over the counter, and you had to train probably the most incompetent teen who had just got hired. all you knew is you need a blunt and a nap.

as you're laying on your bed ready to kick your clothes off, your phone buzzes. a text from connie, probably the only person you have patience for right now. it reads 'you home?' to which he knows you are, he found out when you get off work (because he listens, of course. totally didn't do his own research before you even told him directly). the minute you text back he's calling your phone, and you roll your eyes a bit 'cause you already know he wants to bother you now.

"hello, sir?" you can hear him smack his lips.

"man, you not even tired! i'm 'bout to head out anyway, just wanted to see what you was doin' right now."

"what, you trynna pick me up?"

"don't ask dumbass questions, you want me to pull up or not?"

you smile to yourself, and get up to change out your work clothes. "mmm... yea. c'mon."

"bet." *click*

soon enough, you see his car pull up from your apartment window and make your way out the door. as you walk down the stairs, you can't help but grin to yourself. no matter how bad of a mood you're in you would never miss an opportunity to chill with his fine as- you mean, the only tolerable dude you know.

you open the car door, the smell of weed hitting your nose. "yooo!" connie greets you with a smile, and a wood in hand. he already had started to roll up before you even made it to the car.

"nigga, what did i tell you 'bout smoking outside here?! if i get in trouble, it is not gonna be my fault!"

"you'on wanna hotbox?" he asks obviously, making you roll your eyes as you buckle in your seatbelt.

he starts the car up and places one hand on the wheel, ready to find an empty parking lot. he notices how you stare outside the window, hand resting on your cheek. "work piss you off?" you simply reply with, "why?" and he says "you not talkin' like usual and actin' all bothered."

he was right, work did piss you off. but for some reason, he was making you especially nervous today. "ion know, just my manager was on dick today. and i had to train this lil' boy he was pissing me off too. i know he a kid but damn, this why i ain't wanna be a trainer in the first place. i already work overtime most of the week i don't be having the energy for that shit, y'know? he keep giving me all these things to do like my schedule not already tight and i'm busting my ass just to still not get promoted yet." it was nice to get stuff of your chest like this because it really calmed you down. better yet, he knew how to calm you down. he knows how to listen while making sure you're still having a good time.

he eventually pulls up to a gas station. "well, don't let that shit bother you. you probably gon get promoted anyway cause you actually do your job. besides, if that don't happen, i been telling you to quit anyway." getting out the car, he pulls his hoodie over his head and comes to open your car door. "now c'mon." "i don't want noth-"

"i said c'mon, mama, i'm getting you snacks! and i want some too i'm not leavin' you in here."

having no argument, you get out and walk with him inside. since it is late, you're the only ones in there and there's only one cashier in sight. the mid aged lady smiles at the two of you as she notices the door bell ring. you both grab a drink of choice from the freezer and make your way to the counter. he sees your eyes dart to a bag of chips, and he picks it up to place it down before you grab his hand. "you don't have to, con." he ignores you, sliding it to the cashier to scan. "oh, stop it, you act like i haven't payed for your hair before."

"your total is $12.59"

he pulls a 20 out his pocket, handing it to her a taking his change. as you both leave, she says "by the way, you two are such an adorable couple!" but, before you can correct her, connie replies

"thank you, ma'am!"

now, you're both sat in the car laughing at the interaction that just happened. "thank you? for real?" you say through giggling. connie simply shrugs, "i ain't wanna make her feel bad!" in your mind, you began to question his response still. why didn't he say no? "i mean shit, you don't look bad so." he stops, furrowing his eyebrows and side eyeing you. "oh, if i was ugly you woulda had a issue?" you look to the side as he pretends to start to be offended. "well, yeah duh." he laughs in response, you following after. "alright, dude."

eventually, he pulls into a random parking lot. you see a bench and a sign, so you assume this is just some park in the area. luckily, no one's here anyway. connie's hand finds the back of your headboard as backs up into a spot. "found this spot like yesterday, nobody really around at night. plus it's chill, i wanna talk to you and ion wanna be bothered seeing other people around."

you can't help but focus on his jawline as he looks back, barely paying attention to the words coming out his mouth. "you even listenin' to me?" he snaps you back into reality. you turn back in your seat as you smack your lips and he chuckles, settling back into his seat. he picks up from where he started, rolling a blunt for the both of you. once he finishes he pulls out a lighter from his glove department, bringing it to his mouth. your eyes pay good attention to his eyes glancing down at the wood, his fingers, his mouth as he inhales, and the way he looks at you after he puffs out smoke.. god he looked fine.

"damn, you gon' take it?" he asks before you even get the chance to zone out completely. you mutter "my fault" before taking it and bringing it to your own mouth. now, its his turn to examine your movements. you don't even notice him eyeing you: the way your acrylics look as you hold it, your makeup still looking nice after a full day of work, your closed lids, the way you're slightly titling your head back... fine as fuck he thinks to himself. he takes off his hoodie as his body warms up. when you look back at him, you see his toned arms in the moonlight and your face begins to heat up. "you feel better, ma?" you nod in response, attempting to contain yourself. however, he can't help but examine you and you begin to notice. "so, what you wanna talk abt?"

he uncharacteristically fiddles with his thumb and looks down. "well shit..." you take another hit, still making eye contact with him. "after that thing just happened it kind of reminded me even more," he takes a pause. he puts his hand out, and you pass the blunt to him before he continues. he brings it to his lips, slowly inhaling. then as he exhales,

"what if we was a couple?"

you take a second, nearly being took out your high that barely started coming over you. "oh.. uhm-"

"not like that, just what if, y'know?" he quickly interjects to save himself from possible rejection. "yeah of course....well, ion know like i said you not ugly." you end up shrugging. sure, you guys are friends, but it would be a complete lie to say you haven't thought about it yourself. you had just never planned on voicing it. "well, what do that mean?"

"i don't know, you not ugly. if we talking hypothetically you my type i guess." you explain, avoiding saying how you actually feel. "i guess is crazyyy." he leans back in his seat, throwing one of arms behind his head as he takes another hit. "so, i'm yo type?"

you feel yourself start to smile. "now what do you mean, sir?" he simply laughs. "i think you pretty too, y/n." his statement catches you offguard, and you find yourself speechless. he only laughs more and looks straight at you, now half-lidded with red hued eyes. "you ain't notice me starin' at you for how many times you been in my car? and you the only girl i really be having in my car, you basically my passenger princess."

the name passenger princess makes you feel warm in a place that you are not willing to acknowledge. "...well, i been starin' at you too. surprised you ain't notice" he's quiet for a second, then looks down at his lap with a smirk. "i did." you smack his arm and he's now in a fit of laughter as he relishes in your embarrassment. after a minute, he smiles at his eyes cant help but focus on your lips. "what?"

he takes a minute to think over the choices he's about to make. and after some thinking, he comes to a conclusion. "...c'mere, mama."

you stare at him for a second, questioning if this is a good idea. but, the way his arms look after removing his hoodie and the way he's manspreading is definitely blinding your judgement. so, you find yourself climbing in his lap just slightly raised up enough so you're not actually sitting on him. but, his hand wraps around your waist and makes you sit down. "aw c'mon, why you bein so shy? it's just me." and he's right. this isn't even the first time you've been this close to him or sat on his lap. your friendship has very little... boundaries. or better yet, you two have a closer platonic relationship than others.

he stares back at you as he raises the blunt in his hand to your lips. you take a hit, blowing smoke directly in his face. you both smile and laugh softly, connie biting his bottom lip. "you so goddamn fine, i swear."

all you respond with a soft giggle as you lean closer into his chest. he wraps an arm around your shoulders and holds eye contact. finally, you both slowly lean in, closing the distance between your faces. his lips instantly catch yours and set a steady pace. he tastes like soda and indica, but right now that is so delicious to you. subconsciously, you slowly move your hips on his laps in rhythm with the movement of your lips on his. he lowly grunts and pulls away. "woah, what you trynna do?" he mumbles, eyeing your body on top of his. "shit, i been holding in a lot, con... i'm on what you on."

his eyes find your thighs, then comes back up to your red, lazy eyes. "you sure, ma?" you bite your lip, "yeah... you want to?" a soft chuckle leaves his lips and he leans back in, centimeters away from your lips. "i been wantin' to do so much to you, y/n, i wanna make you mine.."

his lips crash onto yours and his hands immediately find your ass, massaging the plush skin hidden by your leggings. your tongue finds it way into his mouth and he matches you, tongues dancing with each other. you can feel his boner from under you, and you hope he can't feel you throbbing on top of him. he pulls away again, and tugs at the hem of your leggings.

"can i move these, baby?" he asks. you nod, and he pulls them down to your knees. you shimmy them off knowing you're better off without them restricting your ankles. in return, he scoots you back and he unzips his pants, pulling them down to reveal his stiff hard dick under his boxers. nearly drooling, you eagerly move back up and kiss him again. you grind your hips on his lap once more, moaning into his lips at the feeling. his hand go to guide you and kneed on your ass. he groans into the kiss, you making him harder than he already was.

then, you pull away. he takes a second to look down and notices the wet spot forming on his boxers. he smirks to himself, "damn, baby you that wet?" you look away, still grinding on him. he laughs to himself at your reaction then slides his hand down, pulling your underwear to the side. this thumb finds your clit and you gasp at the sudden contact. he rubs slowly, eyes glued down. he pays attentions to the way your hips begin to buck upward at his touch. then, he slowly slides two fingers into your entrance. "o-oh fuck-!" you moan out. looking back up to you, he licks his lips and focuses on you. "like that, mama?"

you hum in response, eyes closing with pleasure. grinning, he curls his fingers and earns a louder moan sliding out your lips like butter. the sound of you and your wetness as he plays with you is music to his ears. "c-connie..." as you moan out for him, he perks up teasingly. "hm, baby?" you open your mouth to speak, and cut yourself off with another moan. "i- fuck.. i need you"

"need what, babygirl?"

you whine, knowing he's making you say it. "..need you t' fuck me, bae.."

with that, he slips his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and keeping eye contact as he licks them clean. while he does this he lets you pull him out his boxers, dick springing out. you already had a feeling, but he's big. you stroke him slowly, taking notice of how he squirmed in your touch. "fuck, y/n.." his hips buck upward and his lids close for a second, slightly throwing his head back. you end up throwing off your underwear, leaving you in only your hoodie you left the house in.

"take yo time, okay?" he says softly as you lift up. you nod, and finally begin to sink down onto him. he bites his lips as he feels your slick coating him as you slide his dick into you. your hands grip his shoulders as you sit all the way down, feeling every inch of him. you both moan at the feeling. after a few seconds, you start moving up and down on him. your head falls into the crook of his neck, moaning onto his skin and sending chills down his spine. "f-fuck...baby.."

his hands find your hips, following your movements. "damn baby, just like that.. ride that shit.." you pick up the pace and your grip on him tightens. he now goes to grips your ass, helping move you up and down on all his length. "fuck-! 's so big.." you're whining and moaning into his shoulder, working yourself on him.

connie starts to move his hips in unison with you. "yeah, you like that shit? he starts grinning, looking at your face buried into him. "mhm.. love this dick.." your slick is staining his boxers even more as it drips down while you coat his dick in arousal. "i know, mama, this pussy takin' me so well... you wet f' me." he smacks your ass, earning a small gasp out of you. "look at me, ma."

you lift your head and he smiles at you, admiring your current state. "sexy as fuck.." he moves to massage your hips before pecking your lips. "love you, princess." your heart flutters, as well as your pussy, and your lips form a small smile. "love you, pa" you circle your hips on him and he hums with satisfaction, curses falling out his mouth. "yeah, just like that.. so fuckin' good.."

you ride him with intent, doing it like you had always did in your fantasies. "you feel so good.." you moan, your hole gripping him tighter. "fuck.. i know, ma, i know. takin' this dick so well."

a knot begins to form in your stomach and your eyes squint again as you look back at him. "baby, 'm gonna cum.." you moan, now moving up and down faster. in response, he begins fucking up into you at the same pace.

"mhm c'mon, nut all on this dick." your moans grow in volume and you become putty in his hands. "fuckfuckfuck!" you cry out as your eyes close shut, and you're slamming your ass down on him as you chase your high. he moans as he watches you, holding you tighter. "yeah, there you go mama..." soon, you begin writhing on him as you cream on top of him, painting his dick white. you can feel the strings of your own cum as he continues to thrust into you, reaching his own orgasm. "c-connie! fuck!"

"'m close baby, 'm close, i know." his breathes are frantic and his head is thrown back. "holy fuck, baby.. shit-!" he pulls out as he jerks himself, releasing himself on your ass. you both lay on each other, out of breath as you come down. he looks at you, a smile growing on his face. "don't you go fuckin' somebody else like that, you mine now."

you smile back tiredly, leaning in to kiss him. this kiss is slow, and loving. you pull away, "and you mine."

© rumisgf

[keraawrites]

Every good girl needs a lil thug 𝜗𝜚

Summary: Dealer Eren AU, Eren tells everyone your his woman, even if he never officially asked you and maybe your getting tired of the uncertainty. ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: A little angsty, use of the word nigga, pet names (Daddy, baby, mama, ma etc) drug use, alcohol use, car sex, cowgirl, make up sex, choking,kind of possessive Eren (?)

Word count — 6.4k {I didn't expect it to be this long}

Your nails tapped against the keys of your MacBook, the soft clack filling the quiet of the library. Your black-rimmed glasses sat perched on your nose as you switched between your textbook and the half-written essay on your screen, perfectly focused.

It was a early Friday evening, and most students were already slipping into weekend mode—either scrambling to finish assignments last minute or just skipping the effort altogether. But you were different. You had goals. A full-ride scholarship didn’t keep itself, and you weren’t about to start slipping now.

Everyone on campus knew you were that girl—the straight-A student, always turning in assignments early. The type who had professors wrapped around her finger and a résumé that could humble anyone.

So, naturally, it surprised people when they found out who you spent most of your time with.

Because if you were the campus good girl—the golden standard—then Eren Yeager was the opposite.

He was that guy. The one who had been selling on campus since freshman year, the one who professors side-eyed but never caught, the one who moved through life like it was his for the taking. A bad habit you never could quite shake.

And yet, despite all of that, everyone knew what it was.

You belonged to him. Even if he’d never said it.

The iced pistachio latte sitting next to you had long since watered down, forgotten in favour of deciphering the never-ending debate between nature and nurture. But just as you started getting in the zone, your phone buzzed against the desk.

Then it buzzed again.

And then, the real interruption—your phone started ringing.

You sighed, already knowing who it was before you even looked at the screen. A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you picked up.

"Yes Eren."

“Where you at?” His voice came through the speaker, smooth but with that usual edge of impatience. You could hear the low hum of music in the background.

“The library,” you replied, stretching your arms over your head. “Some of us actually care about midterms, you know.”

Eren chuckled, deep and amused. “Damn, you always tryna make me feel dumb or somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “I’m just saying, you could be studying too instead of—”

“Instead of making money?” he cut in, voice teasing but smug. “C’mon, princess, you know that essay ain’t finna keep you warm tonight.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Eren had this way of slipping into your head, making you forget whatever self-discipline you were trying to cling to. You and Eren had this thing going since Freshman year, you both juniors in college now and even though he wasn’t technically your boyfriend and you weren't technically his girlfriend, he was your man as much as you were his woman.

“I need to finish this paragraph at least,” you muttered, already knowing you’d fold.

Eren hummed like he wasn’t buying it. “Mmm. I'm outside.”

And with that, he hung up. No goodbye, no waiting for you to agree—because he knew you would.

You exhaled sharply, shutting your laptop with a soft thud. Sliding your glasses off and packing up your things, you tossed your cold latte in the trash and slung your coach tote over your shoulder.

When you stepped outside, the fall air was crisp, wrapping around you as your eyes scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, there he was—leaned against his black Charger, a joint tucked behind his ears.

Eren's eyes watched as you walked out of the library, your purple juicy couture tracksuit hugged your curves nicely, the colour blending in perfectly with your mocha skin tone, your bag slung over your shoulder as your hair was pulled into a slick back pony.

Eren loved it when you wore the things he got you, yes you had your own money but that didn't mean he couldn't spoil you every now and again.

"I like spoiling my woman" he always told you and you always hit back with a "Technically not your woman'. He would always kiss his teeth when you told him some shit like that always telling you not to play with him.

Eren smirked down at you, his 6 foot 3 frame towering over you as you tiptoed up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Sliding into the passenger seat of Eren’s Charger as he opened the door for you, like he always did. You got comfortable as he flicked his lighter, taking a slow drag from his joint before passing it to you. The familiar scent of weed and his cologne filled the car, wrapping around you like a second skin.

His hand sliding up your thigh before shifting gears and pulling off. The drive to your apartment was quiet, save for the low bass of his playlist and the occasional back-and-forth about your classes, which he only half-listened to. He always did that—acted like he didn’t care, but asked just enough questions to let you know he was listening.

Once you stepped inside your apartment, the familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you, the scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. You tossed your bag onto the couch and flopped down, stretching across the cushions. Eren sat on the floor between your legs, leaning against the couch as he started up his PlayStation.

He always left it there like he owned the place. In a sense, he did; he always gave you money for your bills even when you told him that you could pay your own way, but again, that didn't stop him.

The air around you two was calming, your fingers traced lazy circles against his scalp, your fresh set dragging lightly as he focused on the game. The room was dim, the soft glow of the TV flickering across his sharp features. He was so at ease like he had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile, you could feel everything.

Weed always had you feelin’ soft, needy in a way you couldn’t ignore. It had you noticing the warmth of his skin, the way his hoodie had bunched up just enough to expose his toned stomach, the way he sat between your legs like he belonged there.

Without thinking, you leaned down, pressing your lips against the side of his neck.

Eren’s fingers froze on the controller. "Damn, ma," he muttered, tilting his head slightly to let you in. "Now you wanna act up?"

You hummed against his skin, your lips traveling lower, kissing along his jaw. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t stop you. He never did.

His hands slid up your thighs, gripping gently as you moved lower, biting at his pulse point. "You high high, huh?" he teased, voice rougher now.

"Maybe," you admitted, your fingers slipping under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Eren exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep his composure. But the way he gripped your legs told you he wasn’t unaffected. "You always do this," he murmured, voice low. "Get a lil' faded, start actin’ like you can’t keep your hands off me."

You smirked, as you continued your work. His groans becoming more vocal as your lips made the way to the sensitive part under his ear. His fingers world against your legs, sliding higher and higher, and just as he turned slightly to pull you fully into his lap— His phone buzzed. Again. And again.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of his skin. But his phone continued to go off, kissing his teeth he sat up, sighing through his nose, you already knew what was coming.

You exhaled sharply as he reached for his phone, your fingers slipping from beneath his hoodie.

"Who is it?" you asked, even though you already knew.

“Gotta make a stop,” Eren muttered, rubbing his thumb over his lip as he read his messages. “Some people want a pick-up at that party over on 5th.”

The warmth from moments ago cooled instantly. You leaned back against the couch, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the tv, screen paused on the game he was playing.

Eren noticed the shift in your mood immediately. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Nah, don’t do that," he muttered, twisting to look at you.

You sighed, picking at your nails. "I just… thought we were gonna chill."

He frowned slightly, like the thought genuinely hadn’t crossed his mind. "I was chillin’—you’re the one who started somethin’." His lips curved slightly. "Not that I’m complainin’."

You shot him a look, unimpressed. It wasn’t even that you were mad, exactly. You knew who he was, what he did, and what came with it. But still, it stung a little that he was so quick to get up and go when you barely had any time together.

Eren sighed, stretching as he stood up. "Look, come with me. Party’s probably lit. You might as well."

You hesitated but ultimately shook your head. "Nah, I’m good."

Eren studied you for a second, he leaned down to give you a quick kiss. Feeling sour, you turned your head but that didn't stop him. Gripping your cheeks tightly, he brought your face close to his.

"Stop with the attitude, I'll be back soon." He kissed you, giving your face another quick squeeze before he was out the door.

You didn’t even realise how much time had passed. The blunt you had smoked, long forgotten as your eyes laid heavy, the soft base of your R&B mix playing in the background.

Before you could get to the point of your high paranoia, the sound of your phone vibrating against the coffee table broke your thoughts.

You grabbed it lazily, assuming it was Eren texting some half-assed “be back soon” message. But instead, the group chat with Mikasa and Sasha lit up your screen.

📲 Mikasa: Heard Eren left your ass again.

📲 Sasha: LMAOOO figures.

📲 You: Can y’all be serious for ONCE.

📲 Mikasa: We are serious. You’re sitting in your apartment pissed off and high while he’s at a party.

📲 Sasha: And you know he’s gonna be getting hit on.

You rolled your eyes, even though you had thought about that part.

📲 You: What do you bitches want?

📲 Mikasa: We’re outside.

📲 Sasha: Open up.

Your eyebrows shot up. You tossed your phone onto the couch and rushed to the door, pulling it open.

Sure enough, Mikasa and Sasha were on your doorstep, looking smug as hell.

"Y’all are insane," you said, stepping back to let them in.

Mikasa barely glanced at you as she walked inside, her tight black leather pants fit her like a glove and she paired it off with a black plunge crop top.

"We’re getting you out of here."

Sasha grinned, already making herself at home on your couch, the doughnut in her hand didn't go unnoticed as you gestured for her to give you a piece.

"You don’t really wanna sit here all night, do you?"

You grumbled as you took another bite from the sweet treat. "I wasn’t gonna—"

"Please." Sasha waved you off. "You were about to scroll TikTok and fall asleep."

Mikasa smirked. "Meanwhile, Eren is at a party, surrounded by girls who don’t care that he’s technically yours."

Your jaw clenched. Technically.

"This is your brother we're talking about." You had met Eren originally through Mikasa; she was your roommate freshman year and introduced Eren to you as her brother. The dark haired girl quickly told you how she was adopted into the family when they were young and has referred to the green-eyed boy as her brother ever since.

"Yes and if my brother doesn't know that when he has a good girl he must keep her then I don't know what our parents taught him."

Sasha clapped her hands. "Soooo, let’s remind him exactly who you are."

You rolled your eyes at the two before heading up to your room, the speakers began blaring with Doechii as the two sorted through your wardrobe.

You perched yourself on the ottoman in front of your vanity, your hair, already straightened from earlier was easy to style. In no time it was in a half-up, half-down pony, the lace of your frontal melting into your skin.

You gathered your makeup, taking your time as you started with your base. The foundation melted into your skin like butter, smooth and effortless, enhancing what was already there.

You quickly finished up, dousing yourself in that vanilla spray that always drove him wild before you turned to your bed, an outfit waiting for you.

Your brows rose as you noticed the dress that lay against your sheets. "He's never seen me in this."

Mikasa scoffed, "Figured, seeing as it's still got the tag on it and how short it is."

You remembered when you bought it; Eren had given you money for your nails and a mini shopping spree a couple weeks ago. The dress was gorgeous and you wanted to surprise him in it but never got the chance.

"So what'd you think?" You bit your lip, trying not to ruin your gloss as your thoughts raced through your head.

"Why the fuck not."

The house was packed.

Music rattled the floors, bass shaking the walls as bodies pressed together in the dim, neon-lit space. The air was thick with weed and cheap booze, the kind of mix that blurred the edges of the night, made everything feel a little slower, a little easier.

Eren leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the couch, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. The notifications on his screen were meaningless. Random names, new orders, people trying to talk to him. But not you.

The last time he saw you, you were warm and needy in his lap, nails dragging over his chest, lips soft and sweet against his jaw, begging for his attention.

And he left.

Not because he wanted to.

But because when people hit his line, he handled business. That’s just how it was.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about you.

Eren barely registered Connie saying something next to him, some joke that made the others laugh. He forced a small smirk, flicking ash from his blunt as he exhaled a slow, heavy cloud of smoke.

But his mind was elsewhere.

"Hey, Eren."

The voice was familiar, laced with an unwelcome sweetness that had him clenching his jaw before he even turned his head.

Historia.

Connie smirked knowingly from beside him, shaking his head like he had front-row seats to the bullshit that was about to unfold.

Eren sucked his teeth, dragging from his blunt before exhaling slow. "Historia."

His eyes barely flickered in her direction, just enough to take in the skimpy outfit—the clear attempt at getting his attention. He was unimpressed.

Didn’t matter how much she tried.

Didn’t matter that they had one night together at some party years ago before he met you.

Historia never really understood that he wasn’t interested. And worse? She refused to take the hint.

She perched herself onto the couch beside him, leaning in a little too close, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her fingers like it was some cute little accident.

"You’ve been busy," she purred. "Haven't seen you in months."

Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his blunt over the ashtray. "You don’t need to see me."

The blonde giggled, ignoring the obvious dismissal. "Oh, come on. You’re not still mad about all that, are you?"

"Mad?" Eren smirked, finally turning to her. His green eyes were sharp, a dangerous kind of amusement flickering behind them. "I don’t think about you enough to be mad."

Historia’s smile wavered. Just slightly.

Connie stifled a laugh beside him.

Eren barely paid her another glance, before Connie got his attention.

"Oh, you're not gonna like this," Connie muttered, nudging him.

Eren’s brows furrowed. "The fuck you talking about?"

Connie didn’t answer. Just tilted his chin toward the kitchen, toward the center of the attention shift that had swept through the room.

Eren followed his gaze—

And his stomach fucking dropped.

Fuck.

There you were.

Looking so goddamn good it made his jaw tighten, made his grip flex around the blunt between his fingers.

You were perched against the kitchen island, head tilted back, laughing at something Jean was saying—his hand way too damn close to your hip for Eren’s liking.

And the dress—where the fuck did you get that dress?

Fuck, fuck, fuuckkkkk.

It was short. Short enough to make his chest tighten, to make his blood boil. It hugged every inch of your body in a way that had heads turning—too many heads.

Eren bit down on his lower lip, tongue flicking over his teeth as he felt something hot and possessive crawl up his spine.

He could already hear the shit he was about to say to you when he got you alone. Could already feel his hands on your hips, gripping, marking, reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

"You're still dealing with that slut?"

The sound of Historia’s voice snapped his attention back, sharp and sudden.

Eren kissed his teeth, his jaw going tight as he turned toward her, gaze dark.

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Historia shrank back slightly but rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath. Eren was already over it.

He pushed himself up from the couch, blunt still balanced between his fingers, but he didn’t head toward you just yet.

Because he was pissed.

But he was also intrigued.

You were playing with him.

That dress. The makeup. That perfume he knew you were wearing—the vanilla one he fucking loved. Here, surrounded by guys who had way too much confidence in his absence.

Your glittery lip gloss caught the low light of the room as you took a slow sip of your drink, lashes fluttering as you side-eyed him through the crowd.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to let his hands wander, drag up your thighs, lift that stupidly short dress just to prove a point—

Jean leaned in a little closer, saying something low in your ear.

Eren saw the way you smiled, soft and teasing.

And that was it.

The brunette pushed off the wall, exhaling sharply as he made his way toward you.

He barely heard Jean still talking beside you. The other man was laughing, leaning in close, and that—that was already too much.

"Erm, sir, you better behave yourself, or Mikasa will string you up."

You laughed, shaking your head at Jean’s attempt at flirting—his well-practiced, half-serious effort. You knew damn well his heart was set on Mikasa, had been for years, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make a move.

Jean grinned, opening his mouth to reply—

But he never got the chance.

Brushing past him, Eren slammed his shoulder into Jean’s so forcefully it nearly knocked him off balance.

"Hey, man, what the—”

Jean barely got the words out before Eren’s presence swallowed the space between you.

That scent—his scent—hit you before you could even turn your head. The familiar, dangerously intoxicating mix that smelled like home. It was the same scent that lingered on your pillows, in the oversized hoodie he left behind, the one you swore you weren’t attached to—but never gave back.

Your heart stuttered.

Standing in front of you, towering over you, broad shoulders squared, muscles tense beneath his fitted black tee. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together in that signature Eren scowl.

But it was his eyes that got you.

Darkened, sharp, the color of a sea before a storm.

They didn’t just look at you—they devoured you.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning complete oblivion to the tension crackling between you.

Raising a brow, you spoke first. "Hey."

Eren didn’t blink. "What you doing here?"

You tilted your drink to your lips, taking a slow sip, letting the seconds stretch.

Then, with a shrug, "Having a good time, obviously. You were right, party is lit.”

You felt the tick in Eren’s jaw before you saw it. His eyes flickered, dropping down to your thighs.

"Yeah?" His voice was deceptively calm, but the way his fingers flexed at his sides told another story. "With him?"

His chin jerked slightly toward Jean.

Jean, to his credit, held his ground. He didn’t back away, didn’t fold, but you could feel the shift.

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "You left, didn’t you?"

Eren's eyes narrowed. "You know why I left." Yeah, to sell drugs, which seemed to be more important than you, so you weren't gonna make it easy for him.

"Don't you have some people to sell to?" You didn't give him a chance to reply because you were already off, the announcement of beer pong was made and you dragged Sasha with you.

Eren felt his eyes twitch, his blood boiling as he watched you walk away from him in that damn dress.

You felt your heart beat against your chest, the adrenaline from the blunt you guys had smoked on the way still coursing through your veins.

You had left Eren to stew in his feelings. You knew you would fall into his arms later tonight but not without making your point-- you weren't gonna be just a ‘technically’ anymore, and he better know it.

The laughter left your lips, your high making you feel like you were on top of the world as you and Sasha won the round of beer pong. Your eyes searched the crowd unconsciously for him and it wasn't hard for you to find his piercing green eyes already watching you.

You felt the dip in your stomach, his eyes watching you before he gestured for you to follow him. He got up, brushing past people who tried to get his attention but he was already out the door.

You felt hot, you swallowed softly before downing the tequila shot that Sasha had left for you. You brushed and weaved between drunken bodies, you couldn't subdue the underlying feelings of anxiety that swelled in your chest. You didn't know what to expect, but you knew one thing for certain, you were gonna give Eren a piece of your mind tonight.

You finally made it outside, your eyes landing on Eren who leaned up against his charger. You released a breath you didn't even realise you were holding, shaking yourself of your jittery nerves as you approached him.

Rolling your eyes, you climbed into his Charger, the familiar scent of cologne, weed, and leather swallowing you whole.

The tension inside the car was thick, suffocating.

You weren’t looking at him. Not even a glance. Instead, your fingers tapped aimlessly against your phone screen, scrolling through nothing just to keep yourself busy. Just to keep yourself from breaking first.

You barely heard him kiss his teeth before the phone was snatched from your hands.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Your head snapped toward him, fire instantly flaring in your chest. “Nah, don’t do that shit. Don’t sit here acting like you got a reason to be mad when—”

He cut you off, voice sharp. “You really gon’ come here, dressed like that, act like you don’t see me, treat me like I’m one of those little boys?”

Your blood boiled. "Eren—"

“Nah, fuck that.” His fingers flexed tighter around your phone like he was this close to throwing it out the damn window. “You know damn well not to play me like that.”

“And you know damn well not to talk to me like that, Eren.” Your voice was low, firm, laced with the anger that had been simmering in your chest all damn night.

His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white as he pulled away from the curb, driving with that reckless kind of speed that mirrored exactly how he was feeling.

But you weren’t scared.

You were tired.

Tired of this damn game.

Tired of the way he made you question everything.

Tired of knowing what this was, feeling what this was, but never hearing it from him.

You stared out the window, arms crossed over your chest, heart pounding. You didn’t even know where the hell he was driving—somewhere dark, somewhere quiet, away from the house party and the bullshit.

Then, he was pulling over. Throwing the car into park, exhaling sharply like he was trying to get himself together but failing miserably.

Silence stretched between you.

“…Mama.”

His voice was different now. Softer.

Your breath hitched.

Your throat tightened.

You sniffed, and that’s when you realised—fuck. You were crying.

You hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t felt the tears until they were already sliding down your cheeks, hot and angry and full of everything you’d been trying to hold in.

Eren cursed under his breath. “Shit.”

You turned your head, wiping at your face quickly, trying to hide. But Eren wasn’t having it.

He reached over, unbuckling your seatbelt, his touch surprisingly gentle for how frustrated he’d been just moments ago. Then his hands were on your face—thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away the tears like it hurt him to see them.

He hated himself for putting them there.

“Baby,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Talk to me.”

You wanted to.

Wanted to lay it all out, make him feel every ounce of the doubt, the hurt, the longing you felt every time he left you in limbo. Every time he acted like he owned you, but never actually claimed you.

But your voice wouldn’t work.

Wouldn’t come out past the lump in your throat.

Eren’s breath was heavy, his fingers gripping your jaw as his forehead pressed against yours. “I got you, aight? Always.”

And for once, you needed to hear more.

Because that wasn’t enough anymore.

"Didn't think this shit would get to me, Eren, but it is—"

Your voice broke mid-sentence, frustration bubbling over as your hands curled into fists on your lap.

Eren's face was tight, his breath uneven as he leaned in closer, eyes searching yours. “What, baby? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

"Us, Eren!" Your voice cracked. “If you could even call it an ‘us.’”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening like he already knew where this was going but still wasn’t ready to hear it.

“I haven't looked at another nigga since I met you," you continued, voice shaking. "And I know you don't fuck with these other hoes, but Eren, it hurts."

His chest rose sharply at that.

"It hurts that I'm still questioning if we're solid,” you pressed, voice thick with emotion. “It hurts that I don’t even know where I stand with you. It hurts that you’d rather do drops than spend time with me—”

"That's not true, Y/N—"

"Isn't it?" you snapped, eyes shining as you met his gaze.

Eren fell silent.

You let out a choked laugh, shaking your head as you wiped angrily at your face, black mascara smearing against your fingers. Your lips trembled, the weight of everything crushing down on you all at once.

“I be defending you like a dumbass, making excuses for you,” you sniffed, voice quieter now, “telling myself you’re busy, that you got shit to handle—but you always got time for them fucking drops, don’t you?”

Eren inhaled sharply, fingers curling into his hoodie.

You exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I don’t know if you’re ever gonna choose me, Eren. Not just when it’s convenient, not just when you’re in the mood—but really choose me.”

Silence.

Thick. Heavy.

“Fuck.”

Eren’s voice was strained, barely audible. His head dropped for a second, fingers gripping the back of his neck like he was trying to hold himself together.

He turned to you. Hand cupping your cheek, fingers sliding beneath your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Nah, baby, don’t say that,” he murmured, voice raw. “You are my choice. You been my choice.”

Your breath hitched.

“I was just too fuckin’ stupid to say it,” he admitted, shaking his head, green eyes dark and serious. “Too fuckin’ comfortable thinking you already knew.”

Your lashes fluttered, heart squeezing as his thumb brushed away the mascara streaks on your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’re my world,” he murmured. “All this shit? This hustle? It don’t mean shit without you. I was out here moving like I had all the time in the world to show you, when really?” His breath came out heavy. “I shoulda been making it clearevery fucking day.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“I shoulda told you from jump,” Eren continued, leaning in until his forehead was nearly against yours, his hand warm against your face. “You are my girl. You been my girl. No more guessing, no more waiting, no more thinking I’ma let you go ‘cause that shit’s never happening.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, for a different reason.

“Baby,” he breathed, fingers sliding down to your chin. “I got you. I see you. And I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Eren pulled back just enough to search your face, his own filled with an aching kind of sincerity. “Say something, ma. Please.”

Your lip quivered. "You love me?"

He let out a low chuckle, the sound soft, almost disbelieving. “Yeah, baby. More than you fucking know.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

And that’s when you lost it.

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let another second pass where you weren’t on him.

You surged forward, crashing your lips against his, hands threading into his soft brown hair, tugging hard.

Eren groaned into your mouth, his hand immediately gripping your waist, his other palm cupping the back of your head as he yanked you even closer.

The kiss was everything.

Soft, but desperate. Sweet, but needy.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as his fingers flexed against your skin.

You shifted, moving up onto your knees in the passenger seat, pressing your body against his, feeling his warmth, his presence everywhere all at once.

Eren groaned, his hands sliding down to your thighs, gripping them tight before slipping beneath your dress, fingers pressing into your soft skin.

You whined against his lips, pressing yourself harder against him, needing more.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough, almost strained. “You tryna kill me?”

“Love you too Ren,” you breathed, dragging your lips along his jaw, your kisses turning messy, wet, needy.

Eren’s grip tightened on your thighs, his breath heavy as he let you have your way with him. Let you take what you needed from him.

Because God, he owed you that much.

His tongue parts your lips, exploring the warm cavern of your mouth with a passionate intensity. His hands roam freely over your body now, one tracing delicate patterns on the inside of your thighs.

Every touch is filled with desire and love, Eren had always made you feel special when you guys had sex but this time was different.

“Fuck, baby, wanna do this in your bed—show you how much I love you,” Eren murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your lips trail down his jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat, leaving faint marks as you shake your head. “Can’t wait, Renny,” you whisper, your voice breathy and filled with need. Your nails scrape against his belt buckle, the sound of metal clinking in the quiet car. “You can show me again later. Need you now. Please, Daddy.”

Eren groans, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through his chest as his hands move to adjust the seat. With a quick press of the button, the seat reclines, and you giggle softly as he maneuvers you both as you help take off his trousers.

"Anything for you, baby. Take what you need," Eren breathes, his eyes dark with desire as they roam over your form. Your dress rides up your thighs as you roll your hips against him, the deep brown of your skin contrasting beautifully against his pale chest as you bunch up his shirt. Your hands press firmly against his muscles, feeling them flex beneath your touch as you begin to rock against him.

Tiny whimpers left out lips as your clothed clit rocked against him. His hands find the blunt from the cup holder, lighting it up. The smoke curls lazily in the air as he watches you move, mesmerised by the way your body rolls against his, the way your lips part with each breath.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand sliding up your thigh, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers find the delicate lace of your thong, pulling it aside as he taps your thigh gently. You lift yourself up, the fabric of your dress bunched up around your waist as you guide yourself down onto him.

A deep moan escapes your lips as you take him in, your walls stretching to accommodate him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as you adjust to the feeling of fullness.

"That's it, ma," he groans, watching as you begin to move, setting a rhythm that has both of you gasping.

The feeling of your walls clenching around him has Eren shuddering, his head falling back against the seat as he groans deeply. His hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he tries to steady himself. The sight of you above him—your dress bunched around your waist, your dark skin glowing in the dim light, your lips parted as you adjust to him—has him on the edge already.

You lean forward, your hands pressing against his chest for balance, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. Slowly, you begin to move, rolling your hips in a deliberate rhythm that has both of you gasping. Eren’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with need. “You feel so good.”

You bite your lip, swiveling your hips to take him deeper, the stretch of him making you shiver. His emerald eyes flutter shut for a moment, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back, but the way you move—so confident, so in control—has him unraveling beneath you.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice low and guttural, as you pick up the pace.

The sound of your bodies moving together fills the car, the leather seat creaking beneath him, the windows fogging even more. His hands slide back to your hips, guiding you as you ride him, his grip firm but not controlling, letting you set the pace.

"So good, fuck," You gasp, each roll of your hips sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your thighs tremble as you ride him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs fills the car along with your moans. Eren's hands grip your waist tighter, guiding your movements as you take him deeper.

"Shit, baby," He groans, his voice rough with need as he watches you move above him. The sight of you—lost in pleasure, taking what you need—has him close to the edge. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just the right pressure.

"Right there, Renny, please!" Your walls clench around him as the pressure builds, your movements becoming more erratic. He took one more drag of his blunt before his other hand slid up your back, pulling you down to shotgun.

He groans as you take what he gives you, moaning softly as you let out the excess smoke before his hand wraps around your throat, bringing your lips down to his.

You squealed into the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, his feet planted firmly as he drove up into you with vigour.

"Don't want you to ever question us again. You are mine, gonna get your name on my chest."

"E-eren please."

"Everything I do is for you, will prove it to you for the rest of your life. Never wanna make you cry again unless-- fuck-- unless it's like this." You nodded aimlessly to everything he was saying, your teeth buried into his neck as you approached your orgasm.

"Eren, I'm gonna cum."

You felt his hand tighten around your neck, a silent scream drew past your lips as you felt yourself cum around him.

"There you go mama, fuck-- doing so well for me." He hisses as he still drives up into you. His hands now on your ass as he continues to guide you on his dick.

"Eren." You whine as your hands try to push off his chest. He quickly hand your wrists behind your back, kissing the side of your neck as he chased his own orgasm.

"Just a little more baby, please," he pleads, slowing his thrusts as he knows how sensitive you are after cumming but it still doesn't stop him. He groans from the feel of your pussy constricting, practically begging to swallow him deeper.

The lewd sounds of your pussy fill the car, the tip of his dick kissing that spot before he’s shoving it back in.

"'So fucking good," you moan, your voice a hazy drunken mess as you feel another orgasm approaching.

With a final thrust, you both reach your peak together. Your walls clench around him as pleasure courses through your body, your thighs trembling as you mould into his body. Eren holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple as you both come down from your high, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

"You mean it?"

Eren chuckles, his fingers running along the bare of your back. It takes everything in you to lift up your head to meet his eyes but boy are you glad you did.

"Every fucking word. I'm so fucking sorry, you are 100% mine, I love you, everything I do and will do is for you baby. I will never stop telling you." You smile, leaning in to kiss him, hands pressed tightly underneath his shirt.

"You really gonna get my name tatted?"

"Yup, and get you a big 'ol chain with my name written in gold."

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

[bmbidoll]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑

baekhyun x f!reader

synopsis: you never really let yourself get too close to the friend of your friends, baekhyun, while he got progressively tired of your vanishings everytime you two hooked up. it's only in a pivotal moment in his audi where you two lay your feelings bare. in more ways than one.

content: 6k words one shot with small angst plot, but mostly smut with both rough and fluff undertones ♡

author's notes: hiiiii!!! I'm so so so happy with the incredible response that savor (check it out if you haven't!) received that I've decided to share this one, too! please enjoy it for a while as I'll take some time to try and do something more elaborate with my next work with military!baekhyun

041725 update: military!baekhyun is here!!! i would really love it if you gave it a read. check it out !! thinking bout you ♡

once again, my current and future works will always be created, centered, and catered to adults! so if you're a minor pleeeease don't interact. and to my dear readers, thank you for your tremendous support, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did envisioning it.

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, semi but almost public car sex (i'm not sorry), hair pulling, dirty talking, dry humping, fingering, oral sex f!receiving, cumplay, oral fixation, marking, p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie (get used to it), cock warming, overall pure filth! you have been warned!

every adventure with baekhyun was something sort of too good. ever since you became 'acquainted', those shared glances were undeniably wanton. everytime he saw you coming into your mutual friends' parties with your girls, he'd have to put his teeth on something, either his bottom lip or his finger just to not walk into you and take you right in the center of the room.

you had noticed his stares. one would have to be blind not to, since he didn't really keep it discreet. as if sending a message not just to you, but to everyone to assert some type of 'ownership'. you found it ridiculous just as much as you found it hot, because out of the bedroom, you didn’t really know him, always picking someone else to the dance floor knowing he'd see it.

you gave him some sort of a show, grabbing random dudes that would always end up stunned when you left them hanging, even if you were the one who initiated. it was light fun in your mind since you don't ever actually look towards hooking up with any of them.

everyone knew you'd mostly care for your girls, not having eyes for just any guys. of course, you knew how to have fun. you liked it that one time you made out with junmyeon when you met the group before baekhyun came into the picture. junmyeon wanted more, but you kept him at that, mild fun, even if sometimes you pictured letting loose with him or jongin.

you'd dance teasingly, not caring that much for your partner since you know they'd be hypnotized by the way you knew how to work your hips close against their crotch, barely touching it. that was enough to make baekhyun clench his jaw and stand up, leaving his drink behind and walking towards the exit, not giving you a second glance. that's how the game usually starts.

but he swore to himself he'd make it different tonight.

you turn to your dance partner with a sweet grin, interrupting their stunned attempts to get your number with your hand caressing their cheek. excusing yourself from the dance floor, you took your time to kiss your girls goodbye with knowing looks from them.

your steps are quiet against the fading music from inside the house as you walked into the porch, feeling the hot summer night. you were glad you chose a crop top and a skirt combo, as usual. you spotted a certain sillhoutte by the corner, smoking a cigarette as he leaned on the railing.

"you still smoke that shitty stuff?" you asked, not receiving any surprise from him since this type of conversation is normal between you two. when you actually talk, that is.

"you still entertain those shitty guys?" he retorted sharply, making you amused as you walked closer to him, standing on his side as your stare found his sharp profile.

baekhyun gave you the grace of his gaze, even though he was frowning with a certain scowl.

"I don't understand you." you muster with a seductive grin, analyzing how could he get so bothered with things that seemed so simple to you.

"you do. you just pretend you don't so you don't feel guilty of stringing me along." he murmured, dropping the cigarette and stepping on it.

"excuse me? stringing you along to what? exclusive sex?" you quipped, your grin fading quickly. if anything bothered you the most, was his audacity. byun baekhyun's audacity always made you want to give him a real reason to get mad.

he only chuckled, dryly. shaking his head as he turned away from you to walk across the street towards his audi, making you grumble with guilty conscience while you watched him.

you knew through your girlfriends that baekhyun had some sort of 'hard crush' on you. you always found it ridiculous because you'd never even gave him the grace of knowing anything from you from your own mouth, besides sex talk. you were sure everything he knew about your life was piece of info delivered through others like the things you knew about his.

that he was somewhat of a reformed player. that he now didn't mess with just any girl for the fun of it anymore.

you found it hard to believe, considering how he looked, how he talked, and how he danced. how he caught to you before you caught to him.

it started with make out sessions after drinks, then messing around in bathrooms, to spending the night on his penthouse. it scared you, not only for the fact that it happened a lot, but also that you could never refuse him. you wanted him too much.

but for different reasons.

"wait!" you said, trying to follow his large steps. he opened the driver door, but you quickly pushed it closed before he could enter, "fucking wait, goddammit!" you shouted earning a furious glare from how roughly you treated his car. not that you gave a damn.

"if you ever touch my car like that again I swear to god—" you interrupted him.

"I don't mean to string you along!" you snapped, "I just... I'm not good at that part." lowering your voice as your confidence dimmed.

you were never good with honesty, always telling that you're as good as fucked if you ever were the first to fall in every past fling you've had. and that applied to just any type of relationship, especially to yours where you were both... kind of strangers. strangers that loved each other's bodies too much.

"what part are we talking about? the part where you just tease me with some random fuckboy just to get angry sex, or the part where you disappear in the morning without ever giving me the grace of a fucking word?" baekhyun spoke calmly, but you knew he was anything but, narrowing his eyes at your progressively curved stance.

"the latter... the 'figuring out where do we go' part." you murmured, feeling immature under his sharp gaze.

"oh my god. what else do I have to do to get to your fucking head that this," he pointed towards the both of you, "is not just some mediocre hooking up thing? I've been trying to get to know you for almost a year! god, even your girls know how fucking in love I am with you." baekhyun ranted, making you feel slightly embarrassed for being so unable of handling this, handling him, with maturity.

it wasn't that you didn't like him... you just couldn't. couldn't fathom getting involved someone that seemed so perfect without even trying.

"get in." he said, simplistic, walking around the car to the passenger seat and opening the door.

"what?" you asked, confused.

"just get in before I change my mind and leave you alone, for good." his voice said, cold, but you could hear the tiredness. you certainly didn't not want to defy him now, knowing he's good with his word.

you cursed inwards and walked around the sports car with your head down, smiling awkward when he held the door to you as you entered, and got in the driver seat afterwards. his audi was more spacious than his porsche, which made you more comfortable as he drove into the night, both of you too tense to muster up words. your eyes stared pathetically at the car's tinted windows, seeing the droplets of summer rain start, fucking great.

your apartment complex was built in the past century, which meant any light wind could mess up your building's energy, much less with the rain, to which wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. baekhyun knew that, but you never actually invite him over.

you looked at him as he stared at you, seemingly knowing your thoughts. "I'm not taking you to my penthouse again." he said casually.

"baekhyun, please? I'm not even gonna do anything, I just don't wanna stay in the damn dark by myself. plus the air conditioner won't work, so it'll be a humid oven in there." you sighed, but he didn't seem very interested in your lame excuse.

both of you stood quietly as he stopped on a red light, checking his phone in disinterest before stepping on the pedal again, expertly driving through the streets. you'd find him to be a vision in other circumstances.

"I'm sorry."

baekhyun clenched his jaw at your words, but didn't say anything, so you continued. "fuck, baekhyun— i really am. it's just... I'm bad at... everything revolving people. I know it doesn't seem like it since I'm outgoing and 'extroverted', but when it comes to problems like this, I really have no idea about what the fuck I'm doing." you felt the car stop in the middle of the way to your home and his eyes turning to face you, but you continued, "the truth is that I didn't actually believe that I was hurting you. didn't but that you actually, honestly wanted something to do with me that wasn't just stress relieving sex... even though you never actually gave me a concrete reason to disregard your feelings. so I just cowered everytime there was an opportunity to face that, face you. I know none of that shit is your problem and you expected me to at least be honest and own up before it got to this point, but I failed at that. since that's all I've known in past relationships." you finished, ready to just leave the car and walk home on your own. fuck the rain, you just didn't want to face his coldness after all that.

your escape plan was fumbled as quick as it was formed, baekhyun locking the doors from the digital panel and grabbing your hand. he stared at you with conflict, but didn't have the same coldness and reservations from before your speech. he sighed and pushed one strand of your long hair behind your ear.

"why do you push me away, angel...?" baekhyun murmured with a voice sure to make you drop down your defensiveness, frowning as the answer was just as unclear to you as it was to him. you felt so small, and he hated it as much as you did.

"I guess I just..." you started, looking at him waringly only to find soft pupils focused on you so intensely that it made you look down again. "I tend to leave first because I never want to be the one left. I don't ever want to give anyone the ability to leave me again... so it doesn't have anything to do with something you've done or not." you looked at him again, baekhyun finally grasping understanding amidst his hurt from your actions, now sure they were consequences of protecting yourself.

"I had no idea, angel." he squeezed your hand, his thumb caressing it gently, his grasp pulling you into his arms for a soothing hug that you didn’t know you needed right now, the way his cool hand found your lower bare waist beneath your crop top made you shudder softly, resting your head against his spacious shoulder.

the way baekhyun looked at you when you leaned back made you gulp from the closeness. "now we can go to my penthouse, if you want to." he asked, protective of you, which made you nod softly, but when he turned away from you to grab the steering wheel, you impulsively grabbed his arm, making him stare at you in confusion.

"what is it? I figured we could also order something when we get there since there wasn't any food at the..." he trailed off as you stared at him with those eyes. "...party."

you slowly made your way over the panel, thankful he chose his audi today, since it gave you space to cross towards his seat. "what are you—" baekhyun started, but gasped as you straddled him, you legs feeling his jeans.

"angel, I won't do anything before I'm sure you're not leaving me afterwards." he spoke with his jaw clenched, strained, but serious.

"not even kiss me?" your voice murmured, close to him, watching him struggle to control himself.

it's not like you didn't want to take this seriously. not like you didn't mean any of your earlier words.

it was just hard not to want byun baekhyun when he looked into your pupils with such protective eyes. and even harder when he kissed you with such wanton lips. his hand went carefully behind your head as his mouth claimed yours gently in a way that made you pathethically weak, something that you felt was unfair. you pressed the button on the side of the driver seat that made it slowly descend, giving you more space to grind your hips against his, making him growl, parting the kiss with a rough tug on your hair.

"take this seriously if you don't want me to fuck you like you're worthless in the backseat." he hissed in a whisper, making you grin at the delicious tingles his proposition gave you.

but as much as you liked it when he was angry, you didn't want to make him mad anymore. not tonight.

your hand found his cheek, caressing him gently. "if I didn't take you seriously, I wouldn't tell you those things. I may be a coward, but not a liar." that made him release your hair and caress your scalp, "besides... is it truly wrong to want you this much...? to want to be yours right here in the center of the street?" you murmured, resuming your soft moves in his crotch, making him throw his head back in a curse, clearly unable to totally deny you

"you're lucky I'm in love with you." baekhyun grunted, meeting your center with his, the friction of his jeans and your pleated skirt making your breaths shorten. "I know," you purred with a wide smile, "but did I ever make you not love fucking me?"

that made his hands find your rear roughly, squeezing it in a way that made you whimper.

"you fucking minx..." he pulled your hips to his forcefully, making you grin lazily. "making me taint another one of my cars..." you gasped as one of his hands quickly found your heat under your skirt, rubbing up and down as you seeped through it while he spoke. "look at you. you're so damn shameless." he murmured on your ear as you curved from his touch, your hands finding his shoulders as an anchor when he tugged your panties aside and slowly inserted his middle finger, making you curse.

"could you go any slower?" you grunted with frustated sarcasm, but regretted instantly when you saw his annoyingly handsome, deviant grin, feeling his curling digit take his time as he hovered his thumb on your increasingly swollen clit.

"you know, darling? I actually wanted to wait a bit. I was hoping..." baekhyun trailed off, watching his finger pumping in and out of your wetness. "we could have just went to my house and... talked, actually met each other like..." he added his ring finger, making your brows raise in a gasp, "normal people who can actually hold a conversation."

you were practically getting yourself off on his fingers, throwing your head back in uncomposed breaths, before whining when he pulled them out of you.

"but you just had to act like your needy self, hadn't you? firstly... you entered the party with this..." he raked your skimpy outfit, his other hand kneading your ass, "pathetic plea for my attention. now you're in my car, acting like you need me as much as you need air. the rain already stopped, and you're not even ashamed of your weak excuse to get into my bed."

you only smiled recklessly, grinding on him as a counter attack, stealing him a curse. "you're talking like you're so much better, hm? even if I wore something casual in this hot summer night you'd be drooling over my ass, which if I'm not mistaken, you have. the entire night." you caught his eyes on your exposed midriff so you leaned closer, contracting your abdomen in anticipation of his touch on your waist, "I bet even if it wasn't raining, you'd take any reason I gave you just to bring me over and..." you trailed off, biting your lower lip as your stared at him, playful.

you knew those eyes of his, and what you didn't know from spoken words, you recognized from his deep stare, that unlike other guys you met, gazed you with devotion. in less than a second, your lips crash desperately, his hand that was carefully caressing your hips now rushed under your skirt to bruise your pale skin. the way his blunt nails grazed your skin in urgency made you part your lips to moan on his kiss, to which he took advantage and pushed his tongue inside, making you rake up his hair, messing the stylish curls. you honestly thought it looked better that way, especially when you tugged them to make him moan a sound that, in all honesty, made you wetter. a selfish part of you wanted to be the only one to hear it, regardless of the implications. to drink on the deliciousness of his pleasured stares, ever switching from confident playfulness to longing pleas.

your bite on his lip made him puff and thrust upwards in delicious friction of your dry humping, something that you two usually spent long minutes doing. he stopped your attempts of undoing his belt to murmur in your ear. "go to the backseat, let me eat you out." and if you weren't so turned on, you'd laugh at his addiction to your taste.

you only smiled softly, slowly crawling your way to the backseat in a exaggerated raise of your ass that exposed your damp, black lace under your pleated skirt. you eventually sat there with a full blown smile when you turned to face him, his fucked out expression focusing on the way you grabbed the headrest, pulling down your panties with one hand and throwing them carelessly to the front of the car, something that'd normally make him mad. not this time, though. no. in fact, he caught them and stored on his pocket, making you roll your eyes.

"you really know how to act like a teenager when you want too, hm? baekhyunie?" you teased, sliding sideways as he made him way beside you, already separating your thighs and pushing your skirt up on your waist.

"does a teenager know how to eat you out like I do, angel?" baekhyun asked, looking up with a growing grin. and before you could even retort, you had to grab his hair with a curse at the slow lap of his velvet tongue between your folds. he'd start slow with circling movements on your clit before pushing inside in a curling manner that made you moan. the way he made out with your pussy was something you were obsessed with, the intricate manner he took turns with nibbling and sucking made your thighs quiver, and you were sure he loved when you suffocated him between them, rubbing his nose to slobber on your taste in a filthy manner.

your mind was so high that you almost didn't notice the sound of the car window going down behind you, your eyes widened as you saw his hand pressing the button with purpose, his own watched your gasping reaction in determined lust.

"what the fuck! baekhyun, someone's gonna—!" your hand that tried to press the button over his own was caught in a tight grip, your plea interrupted from the absolute need to let out a gasp from the added fingers of his right hand that were paired with his tongue.

"let people hear how pretty you sound when it's me who's eating you out. fuck it, let them see it." the way his voice sounded low and raspy triggered goosebumps from within your cunt, and you were thankful no one was around at this hour. your head was thrown back another time when he started a rapid, skillful assault that would surely make you come within seconds. the thrill of it all was raising your senses even higher, your gasps echoing recklessly into the night with the promise of someone hearing it made you want to scream in ecstasy, the orgasm shattering your reality for a moment. you swore the strength of your grip on his hair hurt baekhyun, but you weren't bothered to let it go when he was determined on drinking your every remnant, only stopping with a push from your hand.

he exhaled with a grunt, panting as he desperately unbuckled his belt and tugged everything off in one go. "turn around." he stated, helping you when your moves were consequently sluggish.

you could already feel his chest on your back when he steadied his cock on your entrance, his lips kissing your neck as he caressed your curves, your hands clutching the — still open – window.

"do you want this? right here?" baekhyun said on your ear, unconsciously making you rub yourself onto him.

it could be considered embarrassing how your mind didn't give a fuck for the spot you were put. how your only desire was to be his in every place you could get, since you knew he'd care for your comfort and needs perfectly.

"yes." was the single word you muttered before slowly moaning from the way he stretched you from behind. you could even smile from how you felt him throb inside of you, elated from the way he cursed on your ear.

the small sting from the already quick pace he settled did nothing to snuff out your lust, only raising it to the max as the both of you moaned on the open car window.

"fuck— I love how your pussy throbs around my cock after you come...!" baekhyun strained his voice behind you, snapping his hips ferociously onto you in a way that made your eyes roll from how deep he hit.

you couldn't even properly speak, only taking what he gave you with grateful noises. when his fingers found your lips and his hand gripped your chin, you instantly opened your mouth to receive his digits lewdly, humming at the way he sucked onto your pulse point.

"such a fucking good girl, right, angel...?" he hissed, thrusting viciously. "do you like this? me fucking your pussy on open air? hm?"

you could barely stop your choked moans as he removed his fingers from your mouth to hear your answer. when he didn't, his open hand hit your ass in a harsh hit, making you yelp loudly.

"y-yes! fuck yes!" you shouted, shaken, whimpering as he caressed the sting he caused amidst his thrusts.

baekhyun only chuckled breathlessly, enjoying how you clenched everytime he spanked you. "just look at how good you take me... it's like you're swallowing me whole. such a perfect pussy." he kept changing it from slow to rapid moves, almost making your eyes well up with your inability to respond.

"god— I think I really fucking love you...!" he grunted, raising his pace as he smacked your flesh again. "gonna show you how much I love you by cumming inside, hm?"

you could barely nod, his fingers pressing down your tongue again before baekhyun rammed into you one final time, filling you up with a groan. he kissed your neck amidst love bites and pulled you onto his lap further in the backseat as he closed the window. his hand lovingly went up under your top, caressing your chest through your bra as he muttered multiple praises and turned you to face him, asking if you were okay with everything and if he didn't hurt you in any way. it was so good you almost thought you were already his, even without the two of you putting it into words.

he cleaned you with tissues from the car's glove box before both of you climbed back onto the front seats in a comfortable silence as he drove you to his penthouse confidently. he held your hand even though you said you were fine, walking you to the elevator before you were finally on his couch, facing each other with a water glass on your hand. you gulped silently before setting the glass on his coffee table, hugging yourself as you prepared yourself for the inevitable talk you been delaying for months.

"how are you?" baekhyun's voice muttered as his eyes watched you curled on the edge of the couch, your stockinged feet on it, yet his question made you raise your brows in confusion. that was certainly not the first question you expected.

"I mean— how are you feeling? right now?" he rephrased, making you look down in thought.

"I... feel okay, I suppose." you murmured, unsure.

"do you wanna talk about us...?" baekhyun spoke softly, his hand finding your knee in an attempt to coax a proper response, something that made you feel guilty.

you stayed silent, contemplating everything before you slowly pulled your knee closer to your chest.

"I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to face such thoughts right now." you sighed, closing your eyes while you pushed your face between your knees, frustrated by your inability to express your worries properly.

you heard him standing up from the couch to hover over your figure, pushing your hair back gently without a word. that made you look up with a worried look, but it soon softened as you saw his face, the intentions of making you comfortable clear within his expression.

"you're really serious about this, aren't you?" you spoke, shy as you sat properly to let him sit close to you. "about me and you... getting to know each other?"

"I'm serious about it because I wanna be serious about what I feel for you. for what I want to feel as I get to know you, if you'll let me..." baekhyun hummed, laying his head on your shoulder, which made you grin softly.

"and what would it imply?" you spoke softly, turning your face to his lowered one, watching his lashes flutter as he looked at before starting to visualize.

"oh, you know, the usual. dates, adventures.... lots of cuddles, plenty of kisses..." he paused, grinning at you as you rolled your eyes with a soft smile.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

"if being ridiculous makes you smile like that, then I'll take it." he said, making you groan and throw your head onto the cushion in a cringed expression. you heard him laugh, and unconsciously smiled when you faced him again, settling on a comfortable shared gaze.

baekhyun leaned closer, softening his expression as he spoke again "but more than that... supporting each other, trusting each other," you felt him lower his tone as he reached your lips, "being there for each other, through the good times and the bad."

"yeah...?" you whispered at him as you stared at his handsome face.

"yeah." he whispered back.

something about his tone and look made you kiss him, unhurried. it felt even better since he promptly responded by bringing you onto his lap to make out with patience.

"you're crazy" you said between pecks, inhaling his soft, woody, warm fragrance that brought you just as much comfort as it brought you desire.

"you're more." his said, breathy, sending newfound tingles in your lower stomach, and you remembered he still didn't give you back your panties, meaning you'd soon seep onto him if you kept this up.

so you figured, why not make it difficult for him?

you slowly inserted your tongue on his mouth, feeling his own eagerly swirling against yours in a lazy kiss, gently sucking onto him. that, paired with a couple of nibbles on his lower lip got him groaning, so you innocently moved your hand lower between your bodies and introduced your index within your walls, making you gasp. baekhyun only furrowed his brows, confused, but soon widened his eyes when you raised your hand between your faces, exposing the glistening of your juices coating your finger, before you licked the digit clean.

such action made him clench his jaw, exhaling through his nose as he stared at you sucking onto it.

"you wanna know what you'd get in a relationship with me, darling?" baekhyun spoke in a unnervingly calm low voice while his eyes were fixed on yours.

but before you could ask, he lifted you off the couch into his arms with ease, making you yelp as he walked with you further into the apartment, before reaching his master bedroom and tossing you on the bed. you yelped as your back reached his mattress, focusing your eyes on the one who stood before you, taking off his clothes in a hurried manner.

"you get all of me. every part. anytime you want." he stated as he got his shirt off in a manner you could only watch in a surprised awe.

"you get my mind," baekhyun unbucked his belt again, "you get my heart," his jeans and briefs dropped to the ground as he crawled onto the bed, on top of you. "and you get my body. all for you." he finished, pressing the tip of his already leaking cock against your folds. his tongue tracing the shell of your ear.

you cursed, shutting your eyes in overwhelm, just to hear him speak again. "and I get all of you. every part, every sound, every breath. all mine."

you opened them up only to find his face, completely whipped in anticipation for your response. both your breaths were shaken, your hand found his cheek with gentle caressing before your made your decision.

a relationship with baekhyun sounded far fetched from the start, you could already see that. but maybe a part of you longed to get to know him on the day after this. on the morning after, where your bodies are so spent you don't want to move away from each other. and maybe...

maybe you could turn this into something you won't be scared to face in the future.

looking at his eyes, you could see that beyond all the lustful desire, he only does this because that's the only thing you ever allowed him to do. so you breathed in, leaned your face closer to his in a way that lovingly made your noses touch, watching him close his eyes for a second.

"okay." you murmured.

it was another shockwave to feel him enter your walls again, and baekhyun took his time, gently pushing every inch in a painfully slow manner.

"you're still so damn tight, doll." he strained, hissing when he finally settled within in a torturous pace.

"s-so what, hm?" you stuttered, still adjusting to his thickness, making him chuckle at your attitude.

"so I think about it everytime I'm not thinking about dating you." baekhyun hummed, deliberately patient with his thrusts as he watched your facial expressions. "I love picturing us together for real, even when all I've seen is you like this... like..." he trailed off, closing his eyes to keep composure.

"like...?" you coaxed, meeting his hips halfway in a lazy manner.

"like a goddess." he murmured lowly, his dark eyes completely fixated on the way your face reacted to pleasure.

you only pushed your hand to his chest to stop his shallow thrusts and sat back with unhurried movements. you stared at him with intent to make sure he knew what you felt in the moment, finally taking off your skirt and crop top, then sprawling yourself on his bed, naked under his eyes for the first time tonight.

"then why don't you love me like one...?" your voice murmured in honest desire, your legs high as you exposed your center to him, bewitching baekhyun.

the suddenness of his next thrust caught both of you off guard, with a deep moan being ripped from his throat as he was, once again, completely enveloped by you. your legs wrapped around his waist as his body shuddered uncontrollably, the intensity of the sensation as big as ever.

"you little minx..." baekhyun grunted as he steadied his breath, pounding you against his bed in a way that made you cry out numerous curses, fighting for composure.

"I love that I can make you speechless." he whispered, rolling his hips repeatedly. and if you thought it was hard to keep your head clear amidst everything, it was ever harder for him. feeling your grip around him in a continuous pulse.

"not my fault your cock fits so perfectly." you choked, making him grin in a surge of satisfaction.

"and it's all yours." he murmured, his teeth finding your pulse point once again as he slowed his thrusts in a manner that accentuated the depth of his movements. "do you like it like this, doll? can you feel me like this, hm?"

you'd swear you'll kill him for this, for teasing you like this, but the only thing you could ever do right now is respond in a way that could appease both of your fires. even if it sounded pathetic. "th—there... right there...!"

baekhyun smiled against your neck, his body responding to your words.

"here...?" he asked, repeating the motion, his hips circling against yours in a deep, deliberate motion, his body rubbing against yours in all the right places.

when he picked up the pace again, your hands went behind you in an attempt to achor yourself, trying to grab his headboard, but failing. baekhyun noticed and hummed, leaning back to watch your face with a small sheen against his temples, "hold onto me," his voice rough and ragged while his body continued in a fast, hard movement. "hold onto me, angel. I got you..."

even in your light minded state, you still replied, worried, "I'll scratch you..." with a breathy voice amidst pants.

"I don't care. scratch me, bite me. do whatever you need, but hold onto me." he rumbled roughly.

at a certain rough thrust, you cried out, digging your long nails on his broad back in a way that surely marked him. baekhyun hissed, the counterpoint of the pain making him go delirious as he kept whispering praises on your ear.

"I can't— can't take it much longer...!" you whimpered, feeling your tight coil extremely close to snap for the third time that night. he wasn't very far, either.

"I can feel it, angel. let—" he moaned, "let it go for me, I'm right there with you."

baekhyun grabbed you thighs securely, looking up at your face as you asked "together...?", making him nod his head.

"together," he panted, "let yourself go and come with me. I got you."

with guttural sounds from him, you silently screamed while tugging his hair and back, feeling both of your releases hit intensely. baekhyun cursed loudly, drawing out both your orgasms as he filled you up again, shaking with aftershocks on top of you.

there was a moment of mutual comfort in the silence that follow, both of you uncaring for how long you actually spent with him inside of you, since he settled beside your body, holding you close.

"you know I'll do anything..." baekhyun hummed in your hair, nuzzling your neck as you stared at the ceiling, finding his face in a soft, confused hum.

he knew it could sound repetitive to you, but he just had to say it again. and a part of you likes it. a lot.

"for you to be mine." the way he spoke your name afterwards felt good, sending shivers from inside of your body.

he raised his head to look at you, locking your gazes in a silent understanding with serious, but pleading eyes.

"say yes." he told you, fixed on the way you raked his sculpted face. the way his moles adorned his features.

"you'll never let this go, hm?" you grinned, looking down in more comfort than you'd expect.

"no." baekhyun said, with a clear tone that made you look back at him with shy eyes as he continued.

"I'm never letting you go."

[generic-enthusiast]

Darry helping Pony out with some bullies and a six-year-old Ponyboy running up to him a week later with a comic in his hand, saying "Darry, Darry, look, he's just like you!"

And it's a Superman comic book, open to a page where he's fighting a villain and bringing some civilians to safety

"See? He's helping people like you helped me!"

Darry just laughing and ruffling his hair

"Sure, Pony, I'm Superman."

And going back to his homework

But Ponyboy won't let it go. He starts calling him Superman and gets Soda in on it. Two-Bit absolutely cackles the first time he hears it and instantly plays along. Then Johnny starts saying it too, maybe a bit as a joke, but also because he's thinking about how Darry helps him with his homework sometimes and helped scare those Socs away and gave him a hug when he found him in the lot. Steve starts once Darry grows up and actually starts looking like Superman and by the time Dally gets there, he doesn’t even question it.

Darry laughs at first. Jokes about it. Then he starts hearing people talking about Superman and thinks, for a second, that they're talking about him before he remembers that it's just his family that calls him that.

By the time Ponyboy's eight, no one remembers how it started, no one cares about how it started, it just is.

Then it's a Tuesday evening when Darry's twenty and he's getting home from ten hours of heavy-lifting and has to cook dinner and the bills are due and he feels like collapsing onto the couch and sleeping for three days, but he doesn't have the fucking time to sleep because Pony has to go to school and Soda has to not oversleep and they have to have something to eat for dinner and he needs to convince Johnny he can stay over and isn't a burden and Two-Bit can't be getting too drunk because he needs to graduate goddammit and Steve might be kicked out tonight and needs to have somewhere to sleep and Dally needs some sort of constant in his life and it's too much and Darry's just twenty, he can't do it anymore–

"Darry, Darry, look, he's just like you!"

And suddenly Ponyboy's hopeful eyes are looking up at him, seeing Superman instead of his big brother because he helped fight off some Socs.

But that isn't enough anymore. He can't just fight off some Socs and come home and do his seventh grade homework. He needs to somehow keep his family together, make sure they all have a place to sleep and food to eat. And he can't falter, can't fail for a second because he's Superman, and Superman is invincible. Doesn't feel pain. Doesn't get tired. Doesn't let anything get him down.

"Hey there, Darry. Everything good?" Steve walks into their house without knocking.

"Yeah, just a bit tired." Darry sits up from where he’d been leaning back on the couch. Can't be tired. Can't be weak. "You kicked out again?"

"Yeah. Cool if I hang out here tonight?" Darry nods, stifling a yawn as he gets up. "What's for dinner?"

"Uh..." He glances towards the kitchen, trying to remember what they have. "Not sure. I'll figure it out."

"Need anything from the grocery store?"

Darry shrugs. "I can get it myself."

"I don't mind. You look beat."

"I'm fine," Darry says instinctively.

Steve snorts. "Okay. Need anything? I'm gonna go buy some cigs anyway."

"Uh..." Darry opens the near-empty fridge and sighs. "Some spaghetti for tonight. Get some chicken, too, we'll make it tomorrow. And a couple apples so you idiots eat some fruit."

"Got it."

Darry starts digging around for his wallet.

"Don’t worry. S'on me. Still got some from when the old man kicked me out two weeks ago."

"Steve, I can't ask you to–"

"Then it's a good thing you ain't askin'."

They stare off for a few moments before Darry relents.

"Thanks, Steve."

Steve nods. "No problem, Superman." He gives a mock salute and walks out the door.

Darry stares at the empty doorway for a couple seconds before he snaps out of it and starts cleaning up in case the state decides to poke around. He knows it isn't sustainable. They can't go on like this forever, he can't take care of his brothers alone forever.

He knows he isn't really Superman.

But maybe if he lets himself get help, he doesn’t have to be.

[sdmnpact]

Please fuck me.

Wroetoshaw x Reader smut

** MDNI 18+ **

~~~

It was a cool saturday night. You were at the pub with a couple of friends and friends of friends. You were honestly about ready to head home. You were slightly tipsy but not outright drunk. You were also feeling very needy. Needy for someone's touch. Unfortunately you didn't have anyone to relieve you.

You looked around at the group of friends. Chip, Freezy, Bach, Harry... Harry. You always fancied him. You found him incredibly attractive but you never tried anything with him because you weren't looking for a relationship and you know he wasn't either. But tonight, maybe it doesn't have to be about a relationship. It could be about two friends doing each other a favor.

You made your way towards him unsure of how you should approach him. You don't want to be super forward and start with 'Please fuck me.' but you didn't know how to make it casual either. You clearly stood there for a long time debating it because he noticed you lingering around him.

"You alright, Y/n?" He said holding a glass of beer in his hand. His eyes slightly glazed over. His hair slightly messier than his usual birds nest. "Oh uh yeah, I'm fine." You said nervously, the courage you briefly had, now faded as you were about to walk away.

"Well, you wanna join me for a drink?" He said gesturing towards an empty table in the corner of the pub. You looked at him, his eyes visibly darker. "Sure." You said, your voice deeper than before as he ordered you two another beer.

You walked towards the table sitting down on one side. He finally came a couple seconds later holding two pints in his hands placing one in front of you while taking the other as he sat down.

"So, you having fun?" He said beginning a conversation. "Yeah, it's been great, I was actually getting kind of tired and thinking about leaving but I..." You began forgetting who you were talking to. You were about to spill the fact that you were looking for someone to help you with your, your need.

"But what?" He questioned scooting forwards as if this was a secret he needed to hear up close. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just tired is all." You said smiling weakly, taking a swig of your beer. He looked at you, furrowing his eyebrows knowing that something was up with the way you got awkward all of the sudden. You kept drinking your beer, looking around the pub trying to avoid eye contact.

Suddenly, you felt a leg brush against your own underneath the table. Your head snapped back to Harry who was staring at you, his eyes filled with hunger now. "Harry-" you began.

"Shh, it's alright love." He leaned in closer so only you could hear him. "I know you came over to me so I can fuck you." Your eyes went wide as those words left his mouth. "What!" You exclaimed as he sat back finishing the rest of his drink. He licked his lips slowly as you watched closely. His eyes focused on you as you badly needed that tongue to be licking you instead.

"You make it quite obvious, you know. I see the way you look at me. Those little fuck me eyes you make every time we meet up. I'm not the only one who notices either." He smirked as you gulped, his leg still pressed against you slowly making it's way up and down.

"My mates say I need to fuck you already. They want me to stop your suffering." He said with a small breathy laugh. "So let's go." He said getting up and putting some cash on the table. He began walking towards the exit without looking back. You sat there still too stunned to do or say anything. You watched as he stopped at the door turning to face you. He gestured to you mouthing a 'well are you coming then'.

You quickly scrambled to your feet making your way towards him like a dog towards a bone. You looked back at your friends as some had smirks on their face looking at you. Were you that obvious?

Harry had already called an uber and it had been waiting outside. Did he plan on fucking you tonight already? You both got in, sitting apart from each other. You looked out the window, your heart pounding harder than ever before. Your stomach in knots as you wished you were already at his flat.

You felt him grabbed your hand. You looked towards him but he kept looking out the window. You smiled to yourself trying not get too excited.

The ride felt like an eternity but you finally arrived at his flat. "Thank you." Harry said towards the driver as you both got out making your way inside the building.

He unlocked his flat door and you walked inside as you heard the door lock behind you.

Just as you were turning around, you felt his arms wrap around you. His mouth already on your neck planting small kisses up and down. "Harry" You said quietly. His small kisses turning into aggressive bites. You moaned as his teeth made contact with your skin. One hand on your breast the other gripping your waist. You went back into him feeling a tent in his pants. He was just as needy for you as you were for him.

He tugged at your shirt, desperately trying to pull it off. You helped him, leaving yourself in your bra. "You don't know how badly I wanted this, how badly I wanted you." He growled as you turned to face him. He picked you up causing you to yelp at the sudden movement. He placed you on the counter, reaching behind you unhooking the clasps on your bra.

Your breast now exposed to him as he stood back in admiration. "Sculpted so perfectly." He muttered under his breath coming forward placing his mouth around your left breast taking the other in his large hand. Your head went back as you enjoyed the sensation of his warm mouth around your nipple. His saliva dripping off as he moved on to the other one.

"Please fuck me." Your thought from earlier leaving your mouth as your heat throbbed at the thought of him.

"Oh don't worry darling, I will." He said teasingly, sucking on your nipple even slower. His eyes looked up at you as you felt his tongue make circles around your nipple. His hand traveling to your lower body. Luckily, you were wearing a skirt so he had easy access to you.

His hand going underneath your skirt feeling the fabric of your underwear. You have been dripping all over yourself at this point leaving quite the mess. "Oh baby, all this for me?" He said with a smirk as he pulled away from your breast.

You watched as he pulled down his trousers and boxers. His member snapping back and hitting his stomach. You licked your lips in anticipation. His fingers made their way back between your legs moving your underwear to the side making sure to brush against your heat. "You ready?" He asked as he positioned himself. You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip. He smiled at the sight of you as you inched forward.

He grabbed his member, pressing his tip against your entrance as he slid it up and down, still teasing you. You whimpered as you inched towards him again, his tip entering you slightly. "Hold on princess." He said smugly as he continued teasing you. You felt yourself dripping all over him as he finally put himself inside of you slowly. You gasped at the feeling of his thick cock slipping between your folds.

His hands wrapped around your waist as yours kept yourself upright on the counter. He leaned in near your ear and whispered. "You're so fucking tight. don't worry, I'll fix it." He stood back and finally began thrusting in and out of you. He began slowly making sure it wouldn't hurt but the way your legs pushed him into you further made him realize you didn't care about the pain.

His thrusts getting faster, deeper. It's almost like something clicked in him. Instead of the sweet guy you usually knew, he became more dominant, more aggressive.

He plowed into you harder making you almost scream with pleasure. His low grunts fueling your hunger for him.

Your sweaty palms causing you to lose your grip on the counter as you had been propping yourself up. Harry seemed to notice and slowed down, picking you up still inside you. He made his way towards his bedroom, carefully setting you on the bed. "More comfortable?" He questioned as you nodded. This time instead of thrusting into you roughly, he decided you would feel more pleasure if he slowly slammed into you.

He pulled back and quickly plowed into you, his hips making contact with your inner thighs causing you to loudly yelp out at the sudden sensation. "Fuck." Left your lips as you began to feel euphoric as he continued this move.

Slowly you felt yourself beginning to reach climax. Your walls tightened around him causing him to pick his pace up again going faster trying to get you to cum quicker.

The sudden change making your legs go weak as you reach up above you for anything to grab as you almost couldn't handle the amazing feeling you felt.

You breast bouncing back and forth the faster he went. His hand reaching for one, cupping it as if it bothered him. You couldn't take the pressure anymore, your legs wrapped around him as you felt yourself release. The feeling bringing tears to your eyes as Harry kept going feeling himself about to finish.

Your grip on the sheets getting tighter as you felt his warm liquid fill you up. He stood over you, both of you breathing heavily. He looked at you, admiring your beauty as your makeup was smudged and your hair was a mess. You were still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He pulled himself out of you, laying next to you on the bed, the sounds of your panting filling the room. "So, wanna do this again sometime... or now?" he said breathlessly, looking over at you as you looked at him with wide eyes. "Maybe after a break but definitely again." You said through a breathy laugh.

~~~

A/n

Listen, I've been reading a lot on here lately and got some... inspiration. I hope you enjoyed!

[seungcheorry]

heyy i love ur writing so much and i was wondering that maybe can you please do something like how svt would act in fromt of their members? thank youu and have a nice day hehe

hi, thank you so much for suggesting! i wrote this thinking about how they would act in front of their members when they're in love. hope you have a nice day too. ❤️🍒

seungcheol tries to play it cool so much, but the way he's constantly smiling or how he acts when you call him is enough for his members to tease him. they're happy for him, though.

jeonghan acts like it's no big deal, but if any member asks about you, he'll answer "i'm gonna marry them" in a heartbeat. he just knows better than to give his boys a reason to tease him, you know?

joshua is a cinnamon roll through and through, so he doesn't hide that he's happy and in love. might even let some of his members (dk and boo) say hi to you whenever he calls you. if anyone tries to tease him, he just goes "yeah, so what?".

jun is very discreet, it's not like he doesn't want his brothers to know that he's in love, he's just... private about it? so they definitely only find out after months, but once they do jun makes sure to tell them everything about you (they're just high school girls giggling and kicking their feet atp).

soonyoung couldn't care less how his members see him. yes, he's whipped; yes, he's a simp; no, he can't stay for too long tonight because he promised he would take you out for dinner. are you listening to the members cooing him? can you see how bright his smile is though?

wonwoo is shy when it comes to romantic business, so he doesn't act a kinda way. his members know better than to tease him, i mean, jeonghan and seungkwan might try to crack a joke just so wonwoo can open up a little about you, but other than that they just know that he's dating because he has this shy, silly smile on his face whenever he's on his phone.

jihoon doesn't have a specific way to act when he's in love. he might be more on his phone and paying less attention to his surroundings, but that also happens when he's really tired from work. he convinces himself that the members won't know that he's in love if he doesn't tell them, but seungcheol and probably soonyoung saw it coming for a long time now.

seokmin is another silly, whipped guy. he can't shut up about you, everything reminds him of you, and that's a whole plate for his members to tease him about. he may get annoyed sometimes, sulk a little bit, but his brothers know the moment to stop and give him a break - they know seokmin probably better than anyone.

mingyu already gets bullied on a daily basis by his members, so when they know that he's in love that's just another excuse to mock him (lovingly). it's nothing that mingyu can't handle it, so he doesn't actually care when he tells joshua about the date you two had last night and seungkwan overhears and starts to make kiss sounds just to annoy gyu.

minghao isn't big on sharing his romantic feelings with his members, so there's nothing to tease him about it. they will accuse him of hiding that he's in love though, and minghao will literally be like "i'm acting normal, you guys are just dumb" - and tbh? he ain't lying, he really is acting normal.

seungkwan tries sooo hard to play it cool and pretends it's not a big deal, but at the first "how's y/n doing?" vernon shoots him he'll start to run his mouth about you and won't shut up for at least 1 hour. but no, if anyone asks him he is NOT in love and he is NOT a simp 🙄.

vernon is kinda shy to let everyone know that he's in love and in a relationship (shy, not ashamed!!), so he will try to act like nothing is happening. oh, that's no one on the phone, sofia just told him a really good joke, yeah. sorry he can't come to that restaurant with minghao tonight, he's sooo tired, he'll just head home- until seokmin asks him "so... who's the lucky one?" and he goes 🥹 and spills the beans.

chan is a mix of seungcheol and seokmin. at first he tries his best to be the cool, laid-back guy; but when his hyungs start to tease him about his new partner, he's like "you know what? might as well express my feelings", and then he won't shut up about it and any time someone says "oooh he's in love" he will reply "yes, i am 🥺". chan is a loverboy, i'm afraid.

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | ten.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut

⇢word count: 4.6k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, hwa just hella unsure and causing problems lol, typical yunho x oc being cute af, making out, a lil bit of some dry humping, flashback scene of yunho taking seora to see her mom, crying, yunho opens up to seora about his relationship and it goes south

⇢a/n: the hongjoong fic is starting! you can find it here in case you missed it <33

"Hey." You pop into Noeul's cubicle, welcoming yourself into the free chair. "How's it going?" You're taking a break after the emails briefly stopped flooding in, checking in with your bestfriend. She seems better, but you know where her mind is still at.

"Hey cutie." She looks at you. "It's been alright. Dealing with some more internal issues, but nothing too bad." She chuckles. "Finally got a minute to breathe?"

"Mhm."

"Seeing your man later?"

"Mhm." You respond in a sing-song tone. "Can't wait. Miss him." 

"Cuties. Love you two."

"Have you talked to Seonghwa?" You ask, just to give her time to vent if needed.

"Nope."

"He didn't text you back?"

"Um, no. No he hasn't." She gives you a tiny, forced smile and it breaks your heart. "He's been ignoring me, actually. I saw him this morning on the way to the office, and I thought it was my window to talk to him."

"But? Did you guys make contact?"

"Yeah, but he literally popped out his phone and made a beeline for the entrance." She scoffs. "Yoori's also been majorly giving me the eye."

"Well."

⇢FLASHBACK

noeul: hey, can we talk?

hwa: sorry, not a good time. swamped today.

noeul: okay, so can't we talk after work?

hwa: can't.

noeul: seonghwa, really?

"Sorry." Seonghwa says as he slips into Yoori's office, her face unamused when he finds him tucking his phone into his pocket. "I just got caught up with something."

"Noeul, you mean?" She looks at his pocket and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"No. I was editing an article I need to get out before the end of the week."

"Right." Yoori looks at him over her computer. Seonghwa can tell she's still not happy. And although he doesn't blame her, he is getting tired of the attitude. Of her temper and being short with him. Of keeping within the same routine. He tried to make it up to her. Tried to make this different.

But in the end, it didn't feel so different and he doesn't want to continue if it'll keep heading down this route.

He does think about the fun he had with Noeul. He thinks about having more fun with her. He thinks about how maybe, Noeul would be different. A different kind of fun for him.

"I didn't come here to fight." Seonghwa sighs. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight."

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't really wanna be out tonight, especially after the day I've already had."

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with me taking you out to dinner? I'll pick you up and drop you off. Or, you can stay at mine if you want."

"Seriously Hwa. Not tonight. Can we raincheck?" He sighs again and nods defeatedly.

"Yeah sure."

"Is there anything else?" She asks him and he just shakes his head. Feeling like he wasted his time to see her. He was excited to see her and ask her out tonight.

But, that went down the drain.

And now, as he's heading back to his office, he's staring at the thread between him and Noeul. Wondering if he should text her and finally talk to her. He's starting to think that Noeul wasn't just that shiny new toy to him and that his heart hasn't truly belonged to Yoori all this time.

Maybe, he needs to break free if all they do is go in circles.

Circles he feels obligated to follow because Yoori is all he's known these past months.

⇢END

"I'm sorry." You brush her hair away from her face.

"Maybe I am just stupid."

"You're not. He's just.. not the right guy, and that's totally fine." You look at her, slightly frowning. "You'll find someone who is worthy of your love and will shower you with the love you deserve."

"I know, but why can't I let go of it? We literally made out at your birthday and that was it."

"Well, you had fun with him. You were with him for the majority of the night. He's attractive too, I can't lie." You shrug. "But, he also needs to really get his shit together, especially with the whole Yoori thing. You don't wanna be another part of that equation, and you don't deserve to." She sighs.

"I just gotta let it go. You're right. It makes no sense for me to hold onto this. He's with Yoori and there's no changing that."

"Quite frankly, I don't even know if Yoori has him." She looks at you, forehead crinkled. "Okay, sorry. Point is, he needs to get himself together and you deserve someone who is sure of you. They'll come along, no doubt."

"I hope so."

"My sweet Noeul." You throw your arm around her. "Come over sometime this week or weekend? We can have a girl's night. I'll tell Sian, too."

"I could use another shopping date. I need a new, cute but functional, everyday bag."

"Are we thinking luxury bag?"

"Maybe."

"Treat yourself! Let's do it." Noeul smiles. "There she is."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." Your phone dings, signaling a text from Yunho and another coworker about a project-related. order "Let me get back to work. I've gotta check on this order I placed for the team. They needed specific electrodes for this study and they said they'd have it by a specific time this week. Gotta make sure it's on track."

"Goodluck."

"Thank you. Text me if you need anything? Or come bother me if you have time." She nods.

With that, you text your coworker back as you head to the procurement facility to check on the status of their order. It's an elevator ride down to the basement, and luckily, there isn't a huge line or a lot of people crowding the area to pick up orders. You find your contact to get an update, relieved it should be delivered tomorrow and can be picked up before lunch time. You relay the info to your coworker as you head back upstairs to your desk, the emails and task items slowly building post-break.

yunho: can't wait to see you later pretty girl

you: excited 🥰 what's lunch?

yunho: surprise!

you: boooooo

yunho: don't give me that, cutie. it'll be worth it! 

yunho: gtg, gotta look into one of the systems slowing down

yunho: 😘

You set the phone down to get back to work, only to come back to it with another text from Yunho.

yunho: damn kiss me back at least??????

you: can you go?! 😂

you: 😘

You giggle to yourself, finishing up the other tasks that have made its way to you before lunch time comes around the corner. You get the usual text from Yunho letting you know he was heading to your meeting spot, so you grab your water bottle and head out. It's a bit chilly outside, causing you to wrap your jacket around you tightly— easily finding Yunho's tall figure ahead.

"Hi." You giggle when Yunho pulls you in for a tight hug and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Missed you, pretty girl." He raises a cute bag up. "Made some kimbap with Seora last night."

"I missed you, too." Your eyes glow at the bag. "That's so sweet. Can't wait to eat 'em for lunch, I'm sure it's delicious." You smile, tiptoeing to give him a curt peck on the lips. You feel Yunho smile against the kiss, subtly biting his lip when you pull back.

"Can we get to the car? Now?"

"Yunho." You laugh, squealing when Yunho laces his hand with yours—rushing over to his car in the staff garage and dragging you along. He has long strides, so you're having to keep up 10x more than normal. "Yunho! You're a giant, I can't keep up!" He laughs when he decides to carry you and gets you into his car— immediately sliding into the driver's seat and reversing out of the spot. "Why are you rushing?!"

"Because we're on a time crunch and I just need my time with you. What do you mean why?" You snort. 

"Uh huh."

"I also just want you on my lap, is that so much to ask?" You let out a cute yell, making Yunho laugh even louder. He makes his way to the usual trail and lake, parking underneath the shade since the sun is out despite the chill. He pops open the large container, showing you the different kinds of kimbap they made. He hands you some chopsticks, allowing you to dig in first and give an honest review.

"Yum! This is so good, Yu." 

"Yeah? You aren't lying?" He looks at you, maintaining eye contact until you break first.

"Swear." You chuckle.

"Your mom and dad said it was good, too. I'll give credit to Seora for the idea and for planning out what kimbap we'd make."

"The girl's got taste!" You pop in another one, looking out at the lake ahead. There's a few people walking the trail, elderly couples holding onto each other as they take their time with their stroll or runners getting a workout in before it gets too late in the afternoon. Ducks are taking a dip in the lake, squirrels running up the trees. 

It's a nice reminder of life's little blessings.

"Hey." You turn in the passenger's seat, tucking your leg underneath the other to sit comfortably.

"Yeah, baby?"

"How was it? Did you take Seora to the cemetery?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "It was good. She was really happy."

"Did she get to decorate?"

"Lots."

⇢FLASHBACK

"What's that?" Yunho asks as he drives over to the cemetery, briefly glancing at Seora's lap when he gets a chance.

"You know how I got into crochet kits lately?"

"Yes, I'm reminded by the monthly subscription that goes through on my card." Seora laughs. "You're making good use of it."

"Yeah. I made one from the Hello Kitty line I got in. I made the Little Twinstars." Seora raises the two. "They're holding hands. I know they're siblings but I wanted it to be like.. me and mom."

"That's cute." Yunho smiles a bit.

"I also made this sushi and named it Oishi. It has a little slice of tamago on the top." Yunho laughs.

"You're just like your mom. Inspiring and creative." Seora smiles.

"Then, I made a drawing of our picture."

"It's beautiful."

"And a threaded bracelet."

"Wow, you really got to work." Seora shows her wrist and holds it near her father's by the wheel. 

"She can match us now."

"That's right." Yunho pulls into the cemetery and drives toward the columbarium. He parks near the front doors, letting out a sigh when he shuts off the car. "Ready to go, ace?"

"I am." She nods with a soft smile. Yunho quickly hops out to help Seora out of the passenger seat, shutting her door for her when she climbs out with all her things. Yunho walks alongside of her as they enter the quiet, still building. Seora holds onto her father's arm as they walk down the hall, Yunho leading her through the familiar path towards Eunha.

"Here." He brings her in front of her niche, looking down to see her reaction. She slowly steps forward, her hand touching the glass.

"Mom." She says quietly.

"Go ahead." Yunho hands her the key to unlock the little glass door. She takes it, slowly sliding the key into the lock before twisting it open. 

"Brought you some stuff that I made." She says quietly. Yunho watches with a smile on his face as Seora continues to explain to her mom what each item is and why she brought it. Once the decorations are settled to her liking inside, she lets out a sigh and drops her head. He hears her sniffling, her hand coming up to wipe her tears away.

"Ace?" He comes from behind, hands on her shoulders.

"I just miss her." Is all she says before she turns to dig her head into her father's chest. 

"Oh, ace." Yunho holds her close, gently rubbing her back as she continues to quietly cry— tears a sign of all the pain and sadness she harbored over the years. "I'm so sorry, babygirl." He whispers against the top of her head before placing a small kiss to the surface.

The days and nights of longing for a mother's love, a mother's touch. 

Yearning and needing.

All coming to surface.

"Can we sit here for a bit and talk about mom?"

"Of course."

"I remember some things."

"You do?" Seora nods. She remembers a few core memories from when she was small; they're all bits and pieces, fragments of the past when she wished she had all the puzzle pieces together to see the bigger picture. But, she remembers. She remembers pieces of her mom and that's what matters to her, that's what she'll hold onto tightly.

She remembers when she finally stopped whining and crying during swim class— finding the courage to join the other toddlers in the water to learn how to float and get used to the feeling. She remembers her mom encouraging her with her sweet tone, telling her she believed in her. She remembers the kiss to her forehead, feeling it against her skin like it was just yesterday.

And Yunho listens.

He chimes in with a few other stories from when she was a baby, the two of them giggling and in good spirits while sitting around Eunha. The hour goes by so quickly, it feels like 5 minutes to the two.

⇢END

"That's so sweet."

"Yeah, we spent about a good hour there. Gonna make it our weekend thing besides our little dates and her games."

"Cute." You smile. "You should." The both of you are sipping water, popping in some gum post-meal. "I'm glad you two had that time together and will keep it a part of your schedule."

"Yeah." Yunho leans his head back against the headrest, eyeing you up and down as much as he possibly can from his seat. "Come here, baby." He says lowly, subtly licking his lips.

"Hm?" You hum, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"C'mere." He gives you a look, adjusting his seat back to make room for you.

"Babe, people might see us!" You say, even though you're already preparing to take your seat on your man's lap. 

"And I do not give a fuck." He laughs. "They can have a free show." He watches as you climb over, straddling his lap. "Besides, you're already here. Did you really have strong opinions about it in the first place?" He looks up at you as you trace his jaw with your thumb. He takes your hand in his, kissing your fingers, your knuckles.

"Maybe, maybe not." 

"Mm, tease, aren't you?" He smirks, lips edging towards yours. He licks his lips, hands gripping at your hips to keep you close. "Hm, pretty girl?" He whispers just as his lips graze yours, followed by a light, feathery kiss. You finally dip forward to lock him into a kiss.

It's soft at first. Sweet. 

Yunho's lips against yours feel perfect. Like it was molded to fit yours, to console you, to keep you safe;

Like it was made to love you.

Your hands fall to his cheeks, thumb pads grazing the surface, his jaw. The kiss deepens quick, tongues moving together in a slow dance. Yunho grip on your hips tightens, egging you to move on him. 

And you do just that.

Slowly, eagerly. With intent, meaning.

"Yunho." You breathe out, trapping him into another kiss just as he bites onto your bottom lip and tugs it back. 

"Yeah, baby?" He whispers, hand coming up behind your neck; fingers threading through your hair to keep you close. 

"Wish we could be home right now."

"Say the word and I'll take you home." You giggle against his lips, pecking him once more.

"You've gotta pick up Seora later."

"I can stop by yours before I do." He leans forward to continue kissing you like there's no tomorrow. "I plan to tell Seora tonight, by the way." You pause, hands still cupping his cheeks.

"A-are you sure, love?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He rubs at the sides of your thighs, but you sit back— titling your head as you look at him.

"Maybe we should wait a bit more? You just took her to the cemetery to see her mom, Yu. She might need time."

"She'll be okay. I just.. I wanna tell her sooner than later. Or else, I'll feel like it's never the right time and that's unfair to you."

"Well, she's the one who matters the most."

"I promise she'll be fine. You trust me, right?"

"I do. It's not that. I'm just not sure how she'll react." It's true, you don't know how she'll react and that's what you're afraid of. You're afraid she'll take it the wrong way, you're afraid she'll never look past it. You're afraid she'll never accept this.

And if she doesn't, then it'll be something you'll have to accept.

Seora will always come first and you will never do anything to challenge that. To break her beautiful relationship with her father, to ruin her comfort zone.

"Either way, it's going to be an adjustment, but we'll make this work."

"Together?"

"Always." His eyes fall to your lips before he dips in for another sweet, long kiss. You giggle after awhile, breaking the kiss to look at your phone.

"Fuck. Maybe we should head back." You flash your phone at him, seeing there's only about 10 minutes left of break." Yunho sighs, groaning a bit.

"Fine."

"Grump." You joke as you climb back into the passenger's seat.

"No seriously, can I pop in before I pick up Seora?"

"Yunho." You pinch his arm. "And be late to pick her up? Absolutely not."

"Ah— okay." He pouts as he starts up the car and begins to head back toward the hospital. "Are you working from home any day this week?"

"Maybe." You laugh, and he wiggles his eyebrows. You swear Yunho is such a dork, but you fall for him more and more every day. 

"There's my invite." 

"You're too much." He slides his free hand into yours, kissing the surface.

"Just love my time with you, that's all." He smiles softly. Yunho looks at you, and he just feels love. He feels lucky to have found someone again who understands him, takes him for him and is willing to love him and all that he comes with. 

He doesn't want to lose that.

Even though he knows it'll be tough, he doesn't want to lose that.

The ride back to work is quiet besides the tiny kisses shared before hopping out to get back to your offices. You've got a few hours left in your workday, and for Yunho, it's a little longer in comparison with all the tickets he's helping the team with. He's also got a check-in meeting to finalize the plans for the new unit before he can wrap up and call it a day.

All in a day's work.

"Hey." He hears a familiar voice as he straps in his backpack and throws his hat on before heading out for the afternoon.

"What's up?" Yunho looks at Seonghwa with a small smile. "You look beat."

"I am." 

"Didn't you see Yoori earlier?" Seonghwa walk alongside of his bestfriend as they head out to the staff garage.

"Yeah. That didn't go all that well."

"Well, how do you expect her to act?" Seonghwa shrugs.

"I don't know, but quite frankly, I'm getting kinda tired of it."

"What?" Yunho snorts. "You wanted the casual, lowkey thing."

"Yeah, but things were kinda changing. Now, we barely even do anything. We don't go out, we don't have fun. Nothing. It's usually a quick outing to eat or else we stay at each other's places."

"Isn't that the point of lowkey and casual?" Yunho looks at him. "What's making you second guess? Noeul and the whole club thing?"

"Maybe?" Yunho shakes his head.

"Figure it out first. Don't get Noeul wrapped up in this even more if you aren't sure."

"I feel bad, I brushed her off earlier."

"Exactly, Hwa. Don't do that. Not only cause she's Y/N's friend, but you don't string someone along because you want a fun backup." Hwa sighs.

"It's not even just that."

"Then?" Yunho unlocks his car and tosses his backpack in the trunk.

"I don't know."

"Figure it out, my guy. Wouldn't hurt to get expedited shipping on that either. Someone's gonna end up real hurt if you aren't honest about what you want and need right now." Hwa sighs. "Can never be simple with you, can it?"

"Anyway. Did you see Y/N earlier?"

"Mhm. Of course." Yunho chuckles.

"Are you still planning to tell ace tonight about you two?"

"I think so, yeah. I kinda just wanna rip the bandaid off."

"Goodluck. I'm sure she'll be fine eventually. But, let me know how it goes."

"Deflecting." Yunho teases making Seonghwa roll his eyes as he starts to back away towards the direction of his car.

"Fuck off, alright? Tell ace I said hi." Yunho chuckles before sliding into his car and heading out to pick up his daughter and his tiny-but-not-so-tiny bestfriend. He parks in the school's lot, walking over to the gym to catch the tail end of practice. He watches as they run their last play of the evening, running a few minutes over time. Coach calls it, yelling out the play until the girls run it all the way through in perfection. Yunho nods, loving these moments when he can see his baby girl in action. He greets a few of other parents before watching Seora drag herself to the locker room to grab her things and head home. "Hey ace." Yunho says when he sees Seora dragging her huge duffle bag along. He laughs and takes it from her, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "How was practice?"

"God, awful. We ran so many of the plays just to get a feel for it for the next playoff game."

"That's good."

"Not good. My legs are beat." She looks up at him as she sips her water bottle. "What's dinner?"

"Was thinking we could just do kimchi-jjigae."

"Mm. Yum!" She says, throwing her backpack in the trunk once it's popped open. "Sounds good right about now."

"Yeah, doesn't it?" When the trek home begins, Seora starts to tell her father about her day and how much of a good day she had. None of her friends were out sick, and they got to watch movies in a couple of her classes. The more he hears her talk about her day, the more he feels the guilt building in the pit of his stomach.

Because he would be the reason that would change.

The reason why her day would ended on such a dramatic, life-changing note.

But, he keeps himself strong— keeps his decision firm because he knows he just has to do it. He looks at her and cherishes her smile and her laugh, hoping he could still see those same bright features once he lays it all out for her. For the future.

He hopes he doesn't lose his baby girl.

When they get home, they greet your parents through the kitchen window and more guilt settled into the pit of his stomach realizing that would be the next step.

You, handling your parents. Hoping they'd support you in this relationship.

Yunho kicks off his shoes and Seora races to the bathroom to shower and get comfy. He decides to get the kimchi-jjigae and rice going before washing up for the night and getting into some pajamas. By the time everything's finished, Seora is already sitting at the table watching her show while Yunho brings over the hot pot of kimchi-jjigae to the center of the table. He grabs their bowls to put some rice inside before setting them down next to the pot They say their grace before digging in, Yunho indulging in the show she has on. She explains the current plot, keeping her father up to date on all the drama that's happened so far. They talk about other shows and upcoming movies in between, Seora basically planning one of their dates as another movie date.

This time, at a different theater. One that has different themes in each theater room, and it switches out almost every month. 

Yunho just agrees, wanting to take Seora anywhere just so she could be happy and they can spend time together outside of the house. When dinner is done, Yunho and Seora clean up the dishes and close out the kitchen, but Seora finds it a good time to dig for some dessert to balance out the savory meal they've had.

Yunho also finds it a good time to just cut to the chase.

Let her know what's been going on.

"Ace."

"Hm?" She digs through the fridge.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"If it's about me being head deep into the fridge to find dessert, I'm sorry dad, but I have no regrets." Yunho chuckles.

"No. Listen to me." She shuts the fridge emptyhanded.

"We need more desserts."

"Noted." Seora senses the shift in his tone. The dip.

"What is it, daddy?"

"I've... been seeing someone for awhile now."

"Like friends? I see my friends all the time?"

"No, dating. As in a relationship."

"Dating? Relationship?"

"Yeah." Yunho swallows the lump in his throat when he sees the smile on her face die and turn into a frown. Here it goes.

"Dating?" She repeats in utter disbelief. "So, what was the weekend all about?"

"What does the weekend have to do with what I'm telling you, baby girl?"

"Mom? Visiting her?" She scoffs. "Do you even remember Mom like that, or are you just replacing her with someone because it doesn't even matter anymore? Replacing her with someone who knows where the freaking juice is in the fridge—"

"Seora." Yunho furrows his brows. "Hey, stop that. You do not say that to me. I never said she was replacing your mom. I could never. I just wanted to tell you when the time felt right—" He falters. She stares back at him— expression unreadable at first, then her eyes flicker. "It isn't about forgetting her at all."

"It's about you. It's all about you!" Her tone raises. "You moved on. You moved on and didn't think I'd notice. You're clearly forgetting about her and moving on. You literally don't even care—"

"Seora, that's enough!" She scoffs again, rolling her eyes as she turns to head towards her room. "I thought you'd respond better than that."

"What do you expect me to say, dad? Congrats?!" She pauses and shakes her head. "Whatever. Have fun playing house with your new girlfriend."

"Seora!" She slams the door to her room, leaving Yunho dumbfounded in the living room. His jaw ticks, and he's not sure how to navigate this. Seora has never been this mad at Yunho and vice versa; sure, he's had to calmly discipline her before and correct mistakes, but they've never had this big of an argument.

Whenever they'd disagree, he knew it could easily be salvaged. They'd talk about it, Yunho would fix things patiently. They'd get back to the way they were. Seora would take her lessons to heart and wouldn't make the same mistake again because she'd never wanna disappoint her father, the most important man in her life. Her bestfriend.

Now, it doesn't feel so easily salvageable. Yunho has never seen her so mad. He's never felt this much anger and disappointment. He's not sure how long it'll take to blow over, or how they'd even move past this.

All he can do is sigh, running his hand through his hair before he mutters a short 'fuck' to himself. He cleans the living room and shuts off the lights for the night, sadly heading to bed when Seora doesn't come out for the rest of the evening. No goodnight's, no 'I love you's,' no hugs. And Yunho knows he shouldn't let them go to bed like this, but he knows she needs time. He needs time. He doesn't wanna make this worse, and he doesn't wanna do anything to hurt her more.

But, he expected this. He should've known. So, why doesn't he feel prepared at all? 

Where does he go from here?

"Hey babe." Yunho feels himself relax a bit as he settles into his sheets, letting out a small sigh. "You okay?"

"I don't know. Definitely did not go as planned." You feel your heart beating against your chest, anxiety slightly rising. Of course it didn't go well. You also expected it, so why don't you feel prepared at all? 

What a silly question to ask, Y/N.

"I'm sorry." You respond softly. "Maybe she really just needed time, Yu."

"I guess. Maybe it is my fault." He says defeatedly. "I don't think any other time would've been the right time, and I think she would've reacted this way regardless." He sighs. "But, part of me really hoped she'd be open to it. I don't know what to say to her, I don't know what to do. We've never been in an argument like this."

"Don't push her any further on this, okay? Let it settle and talk about it with her when things feel better."

"Yeah."

"We'll get through this, remember?"

"Mmyeah." He tries to be positive, but it's already killing him how upset Seora is. The silence on the phone is telling, and the silence is enough to scare you. It only makes you fear telling your mom even more, knowing she won't be supportive of it either.

You've talked about the possibilities, so why don't the both of you feel prepared?

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf @jaytheatiny @lucid-galaxys-world @chaotic-floral @sofkloster @honeyrecommends @hwashua-luv @luvv4bby @spicxbnny @pandyandy71 @sanniesaurus @angel-hyuckie @wolviejex @purpleyou7x @honeyhotteoks @woovalin @piecessoull @prodsh00ky @seesawsaredangerous

[str4wb3rrysw3etheart]

Hii I didn’t know if you take requests or not but if you don’t just ignore this 🙏

I think a Pete dinunzio x reader where they’re already in a relationship but it’s Pete being a nerd to his partner would be cute.

(he definitely likes to wear a mask with a fake replica weapon and chase the reader around the house and when they’re caught it’s either sfw or nsfw stuff happens) This can be imagines or a one shot it don’t matter 🙏 I LOVEEE your writing!

I love request #send is as many as you want

BUT THIS IS ADORABLLEEE

Sfw, fem reader!

Cw: mentions of decapitation and gore (from a horror movie..) , Pete is a little freak, reader sucks at lying (it moves the plot I'm sorry), Pete is an ass, blood

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆

It was halloween night, and your boyfriend, Pete, was making watch horror movies, but no, his movies could never be normal. You were only thirty minutes in and some girl was already being decapitated. Pete had walked away to go get snacks. You grimace a bit at the gore. As you turn around, feeling a presence behind you... you scream as you see a masked figure behind you. As you run out of the room, it didn't even cross your mind that this was 100% pete.. you pause as you hear him laughing from the other room..

"Oh shut up asshole! You scared me for real!" You say annoyed at his behavior, walking back and sitting back on the couch, crossing your arms as you sit back down.

"Awh come on sugar tits, it was funny" he snickers, not feeling bad at all.

As you two watch the movie, he pulls the the 'fake yawn' to put his arm around his shoulder. Grinning at you. Eventually, you start to zone out, not paying any attention to the gore fest in front of you, or your boyfriend talking about why this one gore scene was actually revolutionary for the horror industry .. Next thing you know, and Pete is staring at you..

"Are you even listening?" He asks mock offended

"Uh... yes?" You try to lie.. even you can tell you're failing..

"Uh huh .. what movie am I even talking about?" He asks, not believing you for a second

"Uh.. halloween two?" You guess

"THAT CASH GRAB? NEVER." he sounds genuinely offended at that. "I was talking about saw, and how this line in...."

You start to zone out again. Not trying to be mean, you do like listening to your boyfriends rambling, but you are too tired to listen to it right now..

"I'm gonna go get some water" you tell Pete, and kiss his forehead as you get up to leave

Little did you know he was following you. As you got some water, he stood behind you. Excited to scare you for the 2nd time tonight.

As you start to pour the water, he grabs his mask and walks up behind you. This time, just grabbing a realistic fake knife. As the water drips, you glance down and see the glimmer of the cold 'metal' on your skin. You scream and drop the glass on the floor. It shatters and cuts your knee. You then slap Pete

"Asshole! Now I'm fucking bleeding" you try to hold in a few tears since there's some glass shards still in the wound..

"Oh fuck I'm sorry baby" he says, sounding.. genuinely worried for once, picking you up and bringing you to the bathroom. He leans the wound carefully, each time he knows it'll hurt. He'll squeeze your hand. Look, he's all for cutting his partners in bed, but this was different, it was an accident!

Eventually he bandages it up, and lays with you in bed, him cuddling you better. A few tears still threatening to fall. He rubs them away, mumbling something about "Sorry women" as he looks away, guilty. Kissing your face, and of course, as soon as it looks like something could be happening, his older brother walks in.

"GET OUT, ASS" Pete throws a shirt at him

"Oooh, someone's getting lucky" his brother teases, and leaves

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆

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