#SHE MUST ANSWER FOR HER CRIMES

[demonwebs-a]

if u cast tasha's hideous laughter on him you are his n1 enemy

[driftcompatible]

[gripping the edge of the sink and staring at my reflection in the mirror] i will not rewatch the magicians. I will not rewatch the magicians. I will not rewatch the magicians —

[lemonlover1110]

Toji Fushiguro

Summary: Megumi needs help after committing a crime.

Warnings: Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Papa…” Megumi looks at his father with glossy eyes, ready to shed a tear at any moment. It’s very rare for Megumi to seek his father for help, so Toji is willing to drop anything to tend to the child. Toji gets off the couch and crouches down to be at Megumi’s level.

“What is it?” Toji asks, ready to fight just about anyone. Whoever did something to his son is going to pay, one way or another.

“I broke mama’s vase.” Megumi is nearly sniffling as he confesses to his grave crime. Something that’s barely a crime, Toji hated that hideous vase anyway (he still loves you, even with your bad taste in furniture). However, Toji is confused why Megumi comes to him to confess.

“Alright… Do you need me to tell her?” Toji responds, and Megumi shakes his little head frantically. “Then what?”

“I need help cleaning it up.” Megumi responds, and Toji begins to look around. Is there any police nearby? The little guy must be wired up. Toji lifts up Megumi’s paw patrol shirt and checks to see if there’s a microphone taped to him. You’re trying to catch him committing a crime… But when he realizes Megumi is being genuine, Toji sighs.

“Let’s get the broom.” Toji says, a frown on his face as he thinks about why Megumi ran to him and not to you. You’re usually so sweet and comforting, why would the child seek out Toji of all people? 

Megumi follows behind like a little duckling, hoping to be of help to his father. Toji grabs the broom, and before he heads over to the mess that Megumi made, Toji can’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you ask mom to help?”

“She’s scary.” Megumi doesn’t hesitate before answering, and Toji’s eyes widen. Did Megumi seriously just say that?

“Your mom is scary, so you come to me for help?” Toji sounds offended– Because he is. Megumi nods in response, and Toji bites down his tongue. He won’t scare the child, there has to be one parent that Megumi can tell everything to. Somehow, someway, Toji ended up with the role. 

“You know what?” Toji begins as he sees the mess that Megumi made. He can’t blame the little guy, “I’m scared of your mom too.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[smutoperator]

Like a Demon

Bae Joohyun (Irene) x Male Reader

Tags: begging, crime, creampie, dungeon, (lots of) edging, female domination, facesitting, handcuffing, kidnapping, nymphomaniac, riding, sex demon, supernatural, table sex, worshipping

Word count: 4378

It just seems like a regular night. You go to the bar, order a cocktail, and watch the most recent onslaught of bad news coming from the TV. The drink arrives; you enjoy it—just another day.

There is until a woman occupies the chair by your side.

"Hello," the 30-something woman starts talking to you. She wears a beautiful red dress. "You must be doing a lot of business," she says, looking at the suit you're wearing as she drinks her whisky while the news talks about the story of a woman that has been running over town kidnapping men.

"What a crazy story, don't you think?" you ask her as you try to talk to the woman on your side. "Definitely, I've never seen something like this before," she answers. "By the way, what is your name?" you then pivot. "Bae, but people prefer to call me Irene instead," she says.

"Alright, Irene," you say to her. "I'll be back soon; I need to go to the bathroom," you tell her. Irene patiently waits as you take your time, checking more news about the case you saw on TV out of curiosity, until you read the description of the woman.

"A very short, dark-haired, pale-skinned Asian girl."

You go back to the bar and look at Irene, who perfectly fits it. "I have to go now," you tell her as you move toward the car, but just as you are about to enter the door, you feel a vampire-esque biting on your neck that makes you suddenly collapse.

You wake up in a dungeon, completely naked with your hands tied. Irene is right there by your side as she starts running her soft hands over your legs. "I can feel your body craving for something," she says, the movement of her hands matching with your throbbing cock.

"Please, have mercy," you ask Irene, knowing that you are completely screwed. "Did you say something?" Irene asks, pretending not to hear you pleading. "Please, don't hurt me," you beg harder.

"Hurt?" Irene asks. "I'm not going to hurt you; quite the opposite, I want to please you," she continues, touching her soft hands on your shaft and running circles around the tip of your cock. "Follow my orders, and I won't hurt you," she says.

"Alright," you say, panting as Irene starts edging you. Her face is insanely gorgeous, but the work her hands make around the tip of your cock is probably even more divine. "As long as you don't cum without my permission, I won't hurt you," she says.

You try to resist the magic touch of Irene's hands, but she makes it very hard for you. "If you cum, you're going to die," she tells you as she increases the heat on your cock.

Irene slowly starts using her tongue over your cock. "Oh yes," you tell her as her thirsty red lips make their way into your shaft. She puts your cock slowly in her mouth, tasting it very patiently as she runs her tongue over your shaft, enjoying your torso moving as you breathe loudly just to survive her sexy mouth.

"Oh yes, oh yes, I want you so badly, please," you moan as Irene does what she pleases to your cock, her beautiful mouth driving you insane and sucking the soul out of you like a demon. She closes her eyes and tastes your throbbing cock with lots of hunger, moving her tongue around your tips as she shoves it deeper and deeper in her mouth and enjoys you groaning and moaning.

"Oh my God," you say as Irene gives you her first deepthroat, stroking your shaft and watching it throb. "Look at you, baby, shaking so hard with my touch, begging for more," Irene says as she keeps going with the blowjob, getting louder with the movements of her mouth and faster with her strokes.

"More, please," you beg Irene as you look into her beautiful face. "Put it deep in your throat," you beg her. "Oh fuck," you then groan as Irene gives you a huge deepthroat. Irene smiles; she's got your cock completely under her control.

"Tell me what you want, baby," Irene says to you. "I want more," you answer her. "Louder," she answers. "I WANT MORE," you say with all your energy, Irene ready for more soul-sucking blowjobs, as she puts it in her mouth. "Oh my God, that's so good," you moan as she massages your balls and gets your shaft even more wet.

You keep telling Irene how good her cocksucking skills are as she moves faster and faster with your shaft. She touches your tip, toying with your cock. "Baby, please," you beg her. "Let me hear it," she says. "Please, I want more," you tell Irene, her licking your shaft and starting another round of cocksucking. "Just like that, please," you tell her.

"I want you so fucking badly, oh my god," you tell Irene. "Tell me," she says. "I want your mouth all over my cock; I want to feel your touch; I want to fuck you." You show your intentions to her as Irene now gives you a no-hands blowjob.

"Yes, please, just like that, fuck," you tell her, Irene now moving crazy fast and bobbing her head all over your shaft, enjoying every second of it. "Give me more," you beg her as Irene stops for more playing before getting away from you, walking across the room with her.

Irene massages your torso with her feet and then puts it in your mouth. You lick it, worshipping another beautiful part of her body. She puts a foot on your neck as she twists her hand once again all over your cock, stroking it quite hard this time while staring at you with sexy eyes.

"Oh yes, don't stop, you're going to make me cum," you tell Irene before she ruins your orgasm. "Fuck, you're edging me so good," you tell her as your cock pulsates. "Please, keep going," you beg her as the cock stroking continues, her laughing in your face as you almost lose your breath.

"Keep going, make me your little slave, take it," you keep begging Irene, who strokes your cock like a crazy demon before sucking it a little more with a hard head-bobbing. "Hmmm, delicious," she says with her right foot in your mouth as you try to survive her fast strokes.

"Do you want to cum, baby?" Irene asks you. "YES, FUCK," you scream as she pushes really hard. "Please, have mercy on me," you continue to beg. "Well, I told you the rules: if you cum right now, I'll kill you," she says.

"Alright, I won't cum," you tell Irene as she looks at you with hungry eyes, slowly taking off her dress and unveiling the sexy black lingerie underneath it. "How much do you want me?" she asks you. "I'd do anything to have you," you tell her.

"Would you eat my ass and my pussy to have that big fat cock inside me?" Irene asks. "Yes, of course," you answer her. Irene hears you and starts climbing on top of the table. "Oh my god," you say as you admire her beautiful, cute butt, and she takes her panties off, unveiling her already dripping wet pussy.

"Oh yes, please," you say as Irene slowly sits on your face. "Oh, I want it," you tell her as Irene starts moaning while you worship her pussy. "Ahhhh, baby," she says as she presses her hands on your chest. "YEAH," she celebrates as you start tonguing her folds, Irene grabbing your cock and massaging it.

"You're under my full control, ahhhh," Irene says as she turns into a moaning mess, your face all over her wet cunt. She grinds on your face, putting you under total submission while she edges your cock. "OH YEAH BABY," she screams.

Irene covers your face with her juices as you don't stop working around her folds. She looks at your wet face, kissing you and cleaning it up. "You did a good job with my pussy; keep going, baby," Irene says as you oblige, tonguing her clit and making her moan, working your mouth like crazy as you give her pink pussy the treatment it deserves.

Irene moans like a good slut. "OHHHH YEAHHH, DON'T STOP BABY," she screams, her tits almost popping out of her bra as you make her cum multiple times with your tongue. "OH FUCK, AHHHH," Irene groans as you keep working your magic, her now bouncing her ass in your face.

"Please, lick it, oh fuck," you beg for Irene as she gets out of your face and sucks your cock again. "I want more," you once again beg. "Do you?" she aggressively asks. "Yes, I do, please," you answer her.

"Then eat my ass," Irene orders as she gets back on top of you, leaning forward as she lets you bury your face in her butt. "Ahhhh," Irene moans. "Thank you," you tell her, savoring her asshole that smells like a flower while she strokes your cock.

"Ahhhh, fuck, yeah," Irene moans as she gets her ass eaten out, bobbing her head on your cock using her hands to muffle her moans. "Oh baby, you eat that ass so good," she tells you, moaning loud as she sucks your balls while you grab her waist to firmly grip her ass.

"OH FUCK," Irene moans as your tongue runs all over her asshole, trying to compete with more cock-sucking. She gets sideways, but you worship her feet. "Remember, you can't fucking cum until I tell you," she says. "Whatever you say, you're my master," you tell her.

Irene sits on your face and strokes your cock. "OH MY GOD, AHHHH," she moans, enjoying the work you give to her holes. "Turn around," she tells you as she starts massaging your cock from behind. You can feel her folds rubbing against your back as she moves. "You've got such a beautiful cock, so long and thick, throbbing for me," she says as she grabs your balls and runs her hands all over it.

"Your cock looks so big in my hand," Irene says as she strokes it, edging you while squeezing your balls in her right hand. "Fuck, this has so much length and girth; I can't wait to have it in my pussy. Such a big fat cock, I've been yearning for it for so long," she continues.

"I love how your cock feels in my hands, such a gorgeous thick cock," Irene says as you just close your eyes not to cum while she edges you, using the spit she left all over it to slide with ease, giving your shaft the best possible massage.

"Fuck, this cock is gonna feel so good between my legs; it looks so delicious," Irene says as she squeezes some precum out of your cock with her massage. "So much precum for me; you must be really holding strong for my pussy," she tells you.

"Lean on your back, baby, let me sit on this cock," Irene says as she takes off her bra, showing you her bare, perky boobs. "Do you want my pussy?" she asks you. "Yes, please, give it to me," you beg her. But Irene is in no rush, circling the tip of your cock in her entrance and teasing you.

"Oh my God, use me, please, use me, give me that pussy," you keep begging Irene. "Please, please, please," you say as Irene continues to tease, rubbing your cock between her cracks before she inserts it in her tight pussy.

"Oh my God, fuck, it feels so good," you tell Irene as she finally sinks your cock in her wet cunt. She runs her hands on your torso and starts very slowly, just putting half of your length inside. "Tell me how much you want that pussy," she tells you as your cock slides out of it. "My life depends on it; please, put it back in," you beg her.

Irene uses the accidental sliding out as an opportunity for more teasing, showing you she's in complete control. "Put it back in; I want it so bad. Your pussy is so good; yes, please," you keep begging as she slides back in, moving her hips very calmly as she kisses you. "Oh fuck," you groan as Irene kisses your neck.

"You're all mine, baby," Irene whispers in your ear as she grabs your neck. "Faster, please," you beg her as Irene sinks your cock deeper in her pussy. "Yes, please," you tell her.

"I'll make you scream," Irene says as she grinds on your cock. Pressing on your chest hard, she finally starts to pick up the pace. "I want you to use my cock for your pleasure," you tell her, Irene running her hands over her hair as she bounces on you, her erected nipples pointing hard in your direction.

"Want to watch that cock going in and out of my beautiful pussy?" Irene asks, spreading her legs and showing your shaft buried in her warm hole. "Yes, please," you tell her. Everything Irene asks you to do, you will. She slowly bounces up and down on your cock. "It feels so good inside me," she says, her moves driving you crazy.

Irene takes your cock out of her pussy one more time, sitting her folds on top of it and grinding on your shaft. "You said you wanted me to use that cock for my pleasure, baby boy," Irene says, enjoying your tip rubbing against her clit. "Teasing that cock, I love it," she says.

"Please, put it back inside; I want more," you tell Irene. "I don't think you want it; show me, baby," she answers. "I do, please," you keep begging. "I want your pussy, yes, Irene, please," you continue to plead.

Irene finally commits as she puts your cock back in her pussy. "Oh my god, just like that, bounce on my cock," you tell her, Irene suddenly flipping a switch and going really hard. "OH YEAH, AHHHH," she moans as your cock impales her tight hole, her legs shaking as her wet pussy doesn't take long to get on the verge of orgasm.

Irene briefly pauses her ride for you to beg more. "Let me hear you," she says. "Please, please, please," you keep begging. "How much do you want it?" she asks. "I want it so badly," you answer. Irene feels pity for you, turning around and grinding on your cock while she shows you her ass. "I need your pussy," you beg as your shaft seems so close yet so far at the same time, rubbing it against her folds like a toy she decides when she wants to play with it.

"Oh yeah," you groan as Irene makes good work of your cock. "I love to fucking use that cock," Irene says as she spins on your cock, finally showing her riding prowess to the fullest.

Irene picks up the speed, getting your cock all the way in her pussy while rotating all over it. "Let's see how strong you are," she tells you. "It's so fucking deep in your pussy; that feels so good," you tell her as she continues to move, pushing your cock to the edge with beautiful bounces as she opens and closes her legs.

"Oh my God," you groan as Irene now moves at full speed. "Yeah," she groans, moving her legs really fast and moaning loudly. "AHHHHH," you groan loudly. "OH FUCK, YES, YES," she moans, fingering her clit and getting herself ready to cum, her legs trembling as she gets your shaft all the way inside her.

"Yes, yes, baby, bounce on that cock," you tell Irene as she makes the table creak. "Fuck, baby, that cock is so good, I'm gonna cum," she says as she coats your cock full of her juices.

Irene pulls out one more time and turns in your direction, massaging your balls while she looks in your eye. "Look how I own this cock, I'm in full control of you, baby boy," she says, moving the massage upwards to your shaft, pushing it to the edge one more time. She looks at you one more time. "Keep telling me how much you want it," she says. "I want it so bad," you answer her again as Irene runs her hands on your torso.

Irene offers you her wet pussy for you to suck as you make her squirt, grinding it on your face while she keeps stroking your cock, covering your face with her juices. "OH YEAH FUCK," she says as you worship her pussy, eating it out like an animal as she closes her legs on your head. "OH MY GOD, YES, YES, EAT THAT PUSSY, BABY," she begs.

"I wanna touch you; I wanna feel you, please," you continue to beg as Irene now gets on top of you, the scent of her perfume all over your nostrils. She unties your wrists from the table as you keep kissing her body. "Are you ready to touch me further, baby boy?" she asks, setting you free.

You run your hands all over Irene's tiny, beautiful body, kissing her as she sniffs you. "Please, I want more," you say it again. "You want more?" Irene asks, putting herself sideways as you insert your cock back in her pussy. "Oh yes," you groan as Irene's tight folds wrap around your shaft one more time.

"Go nice and slow, baby," Irene tells you, and you initially oblige but quickly pick up the pace. "Oh yes, baby, fuck me," she says, moaning as she moves her hips in response to your thrusts. "Look at me giving that cock some long strokes with my beautiful pussy," she says.

"Speed it up, baby," Irene commands as you fuck her even harder, your balls smashing against her throbbing clit as you grab her waist. "I want all of it, deep in your fucking pussy," you tell her. "OHHH YESSS BABY," she moans.

"Fuck me, baby, fuck me until you cum inside my pussy," Irene tells you as you start fingering her clit. "YES, YES, YES, AHHH, FUCK," she moans, closing her eyes as her legs shake and she creams all over your cock. "GIVE ME MORE, PLEASE, OH MY GOD," she begs, the sound of your balls clapping her cheeks getting louder.

"YEAH, YEAH, OHHHH, FUCK," Irene moans even louder. "Oh my God, your pussy is so tight," you tell her. "Please, baby, make me cum; that's it," she says, louder sounds coming from you pounding her. "Put it back in," she is now the one begging as your cock goes out just for a bit before going back inside with full force.

You grope Irene's beautiful tits as the pounding continues. You intensely finger her clit. "OH MY GOD, YES, BABY, MAKE ME CUM," she begs as her pussy now gets stretched out hard. "THAT'S IT, THAT'S IT, RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, AHHHH," she commands.

"HARDER, HARDER, HARDER, I'M GONNA CUM," Irene says as she squirts hard. You push your face into her pussy, eating it all out as you kiss her, before putting it back inside her, drilling her in a hot missionary position as you grab your tie and wrap it on your neck, letting her choke you.

Irene puts the tie on your mouth as you increase the pressure in her pussy, moaning as you finger her clit really hard, laughing as you turn yourself into a crazy animal. "Worship me, baby, kiss my body," she says, getting herself on all fours.

You fuck Irene on all fours like crazy. "Fuck me hard, yes, yes," she says, you spanking her ass as her juices leak into the table as her cunt gets stretched out. "OH MY GOD, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YEAH, FUCK ME HARDER," she continues to beg, moving her hips in your direction.

"Right there, baby, don't stop; pound that pussy," Irene continues to command, her palms on the table as you fuck her hard. "OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEEP, AHHHH," she moans. You grab her arms, using her hard. "YES, YES, FUCK, THAT'S SO DEEP," she screams. You hit her pale pink ass, finally getting to dominate her as you let your animalistic instincts take off.

"Put it back in, keep going," Irene softly whispers as you pull out. You tease her pussy, giving it small thrusts before going back to a hard pounding, Irene spreading her legs over the table as you hit her ass but smiling at all times and showing you she's still in control.

You eat Irene's ass and play with your thumb on her clit. "Yes, baby, eat my ass," she commands as your tongue is all over her pink anal folds. "HARDER, HARDER, PUT YOUR FINGER IN MY CLIT AND YOUR MOUTH IN MY ASS, FUCKKKK," she says, you massaging her clit now very hard and making Irene squirt all over the table.

You insert your cock back in Irene's pussy, pounding her hard as you lick her feet. "Yes, that's what I want to see baby, worship every inch of my body," she says. You grab her tits too, sucking them as you pound her pussy. "YESSS, FUCK," she moans, fingering herself as you are more addicted to her pussy than ever, making her body bounce all over the table.

"Don't stop, baby, keep rubbing my fucking clit, yes, harder, don't stop, fuck," Irene commands as her body shakes with your thrusts. "I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, YEAHHH," she says, squirting as you kiss her and then worship her body one more time.

You lie on the table, letting Irene voraciously suck your cock, jerking it off nonstop as she bobs her head on it. "I bet the cum from your cock tastes so good," she says, deepthroating you and giving you a no-hands blowjob before sitting back on your cock and bouncing hard on it.

"Yes, yes, yes, baby, give me all of that cock," Irene says as she rides you like a maniac. "You like watching me being a slut and squatting all over that cock?" she asks, going at full speed.

"FUCK, YES, YES, YES," Irene moans as you suddenly push upwards into her delicious cunt. "OH MY GOD, FUCK, THAT'S IT," she says, you putting your legs up and attacking her pussy nonstop, clapping her cheeks hard. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she screams, you grabbing her body as her perky tits bounce all over her face.

Irene grabs your neck, retaking control as she rides you hard and makes you groan. You still push up, going crazy for her tight pussy. But despite her little frame, she's just too strong, squatting like crazy on your dick and pushing you to complete submission.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum, you fucking slut," you tell Irene. "Then I want you to cum in my pussy," she replies. "For real?" you ask her. "Yes, I'm going to take all of your cum. I want all that fucking cum inside me. Give it to me; cum inside my little fucking pussy," she begs you. "I don't know if it's a good idea," you hesitate. "Of course it is, especially because I'm not on the pill," Irene replies.

"Oh damn, I'm gonna cum," you tell Irene. "Yes, baby, do it just like I want it; give it to me," she says. "AHHHHHH, fuck," you start to groan as your cock prepares to fill Irene's womb with your seed. "Yes, baby, give it to me, every last drop," she says.

You cum inside Irene, with her grabbing a string of semen coming out of your cock and digging it inside her pussy before taking a bit of it to taste. "This is my cum," she says, tasting it and savoring it as she opens her tongue, looking at you very naughtly. "All of your cum belongs to me; are we clear?" she asks. "Yes," you answer her as Irene licks the last drop of cum that fell into the table.

"That's it, baby," Irene says. "You have been a good boy, but you already gave me all I wanted. After you feed me that cum in my pussy, you are no longer useful to me," she finishes, giving you one last kiss that sucks your soul out of you until you fall completely unconscious.

You wake up the next day still completely naked. But this time, it's not Irene that is there, but a bunch of cops, who give you some clothes as they take you out off her dungeon. It's all over the news now that the men kidnapper has been arrested.

As the cops take you to jail for an inquiry, you briefly cross paths with Irene, her now handcuffed as she's taken to her cell. They briefly ask you. "Is this the woman that kidnapped you?" "Yes," you answer, taking your revenge on Irene for her not finding you useful anymore, although deep in your heart you still have feelings for her, and just seeing her ethereal beauty in front of you gets you hard again.

"Ok, you can go home now," the cop instructs you, and you do just that. You check the news. Irene is all over it, but you're so bad at it that you start touching yourself and jerking your cock off to her pictures and videos on the TV and other sites, searching for every story about the kidnapper just to see her one more time.

The next morning arrives, and you come back to the jail, but as you get there, nobody receives you. The room is quite dark, and you can feel Irene's devilish energy all over the building. No one is around, making you quite scared. You go towards the cells with the prisoners, finding the guards unconscious on the floor, their pants unzipped, as you get closer to an open cell, the silhouette of a small, seductive woman appears in your sight as she takes her jacket off and gets herself naked in front of you.

"Did you miss me?"

[reiding-writing]

YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid�� You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

[haggishlyhagging]

In 1847 the stereotypes for male and female writers were very rigid. Critics expected from a male writer strength, passion, and intellect, and from a woman writer they expected tact, refinement, and piety. They depended on these stereotypes so much, in fact, that they really didn't know how to proceed, what to say, or what to look for in a book if they were unsure of the author's sex.

So Jane Eyre created a tremendous sensation, and it was a problem for the Brontës. The name Currer Bell could be that of either a man or a woman and the narrator of Jane Eyre is Jane herself. The book is told as an autobiography. These things suggested that the author might have been a woman. On the other hand, the novel was considered to be excellent, strong, intelligent and, most of all, passionate. And therefore, the critics reasoned, it could not be written by a woman, and if it turned out that it was written by a woman, she had to be unnatural and perverted.

The reason for this is that the Victorians believed that decent women had no sexual feelings whatsoever—that they had sexual anesthesia. Therefore, when Jane says about Rochester that his touch "made her veins run fire, and her heart beat faster than she could count its throbs," the critics assumed this was a man writing about his sexual fantasies. If a woman was the author, then presumably she was writing from her own experience, and that was disgusting. In this case we can clearly see how women were not permitted the authority of their own experience if it happened to contradict the cultural stereotype.

But even more shocking than this to the Victorians was Jane's reply to Rochester, a very famous passage in the novel. He has told her he is going to marry another woman, an heiress, but that she can stay on as a servant. Jane answers him thus:

"I tell you I must go," I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton, a machine without feeling and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I'm soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should've made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionality, nor even of mortal flesh. It is my spirit that addresses your spirit, just as if both had passed through the grave and we stood at God's feet equal—as we are."

This splendid assertion violated not only the standards of sexual submission, which were believed to be women's duty and their punishment for Eve's crime, but it also went against standards of class submission, and obviously against religion. And this sort of rebellion was not feminine at all.

The reviews of Jane Eyre in 1847 and 1848 show how confused the critics were. Some of them said Currer Bell was a man. Some of them, including Thackeray, said a woman. One man, an American critic named Edgar Percy Whipple, said the Bells were a team, that Currer Bell was a woman who did the dainty parts of the book and brother Acton the rough parts. All kinds of circumstantial evidence were adduced to solve this problem, such as the details of housekeeping. Harriet Martineau said the book had to be the work of a woman or an upholsterer. And Lady Eastlake, who was a reviewer for one of the most prestigious journals, said it couldn't be a woman because no woman would dress her heroines in such outlandish clothes.

Eventually Charlotte Brontë revealed her identity, and then these attacks which had been general became personal. People introduced her as the author of a naughty book; they gossiped that she was Thackeray's mistress. They speculated on the causes of what they called "her alien and sour perspective on women." She felt during her entire short life that she was judged always on the basis of what was becoming in femininity and not as an artist.

-Elaine Showalter, ‘Women Writers and the Female Experience’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)

[joshujin]

dude, nice try! [teaser]

joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.

as he gets tangled in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.

♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ is this love xg ⟡ why can’t i? liz phair pairing: joshua x fem!reader cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners-PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder hehe, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk a/n: this was a request for jealous!shua and i’m laughing bc i started responding to this anon and said i was going to just answer with bullet points bc if i didn’t, this would turn into a whole thing. and here we are anyway… with a whole thing lol. i know he doesn't seem super jealous here, but consider the joshua x jealous arc a slow burn haha. anyway, enjoy this teaser!

dividers by cafekitsune! cover by yours truly!

joshua's phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message went ignored.

he glances down and feels his stomach turn.

i have evidence.

an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.

at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was vexed jeonghan got to see too.

because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.

he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.

but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.

“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this dude, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”

joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?

“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”

he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:

“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”

his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.

he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?

no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.

and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?

if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?

“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”

he snorts. “i’m fine.”

“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”

“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”

“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”

joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”

jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.

“can i be there?”

he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.

he shrugs. “sure, why not?”

jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”

“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”

joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.

“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”

joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.

“ready?”

he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”

he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.

“what the—”

“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.

he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.

your instagram photos don’t really do you justice. your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.

prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.

“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.

he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.

“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”

jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”

“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.

his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”

“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.

joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos he himself is made of.

“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.

“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”

he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.

“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.

you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.

“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are any indication, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”

“who’s—”

“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”

joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.

“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.

“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”

joshua winces. your fury was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?

“are you hungry?” you ask joshua.

“what?” he asks dumbly.

“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.

“i am!” jeonghan announces.

you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.

“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”

“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.

"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."

"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.

"ment—?"

"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.

instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.

"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."

"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.

"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced."

"and now?"

"now what?"

"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."

"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.

joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.

so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.

he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.

"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.

"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"

"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.

you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.

his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"

"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"

you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.

“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”

joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i��m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”

kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.

“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”

he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.

your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.

“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast was any indication, you seem very loyal too.”

you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.

unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.

he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”

you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.

"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”

“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.

you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.

“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”

“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.

“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”

jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing after the first sip. he tries not to gawk when you finish the entire glass in one go.

joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.

and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.

he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develops a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.

“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”

okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.

“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.

his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.

“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.

“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”

that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.

“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”

“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.

“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.

“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n here like that has to look like ass.”

you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.

“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?

“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”

you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”

joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”

jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.

“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”

joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.

you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”

jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”

joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.

“ow, what the fu—”

“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.

you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.

“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”

the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.

“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”

you give them no chance to agree.

“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”

you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.

“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”

you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.

“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so now it's, like, what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”

the words come with even more disgust than “man.”

“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to make everything i had before i met him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”

his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.

“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”

jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.

“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”

joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.

“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.

it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.

“he turned me into a housewife without even making me a wife! and let me remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table with each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”

you seem to abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”

you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”

something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.

“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”

joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.

he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart learned something he, himself, didn't know yet: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that maybe, he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him, and there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her.

but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.

the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.

“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, i promise you he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”

[shy9-29]

❜ THE QUIET BETWEEN US ◟ 양정원

“sunshine x grumpy” - enhypen campus series

✘ Jungwon’s bright smile and sunny disposition make him the perfect foil to your grumpy attitude—until a sudden twist of fate forces you both to face feelings you didn’t know existed. ✉️ wc. 10.2k - pairing 양정원 x f reader (5/7)

🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @zerere @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize @flwwon @ziiao @heelovver @hoomin10 @soona-huh @tricky-ritz @starniras @dearestdreamies @tkooooop @xuevkim @deluluscenarios @starboy-library @melodiessvy @steddie-steddie @i-am-not-dal @nct-sticker-127 @elimelbe @wonbinceps @tunafishyfishylike @kitty-won07 @sxie-txt

The campus café buzzed with low chatter, espresso machines hissing, and the occasional clink of cutlery. You stood stiffly by the counter, arms crossed, glaring at your brother like this was the last place on Earth you wanted to be. Which, to be fair, it was.

“This is dumb,” you mumbled. “I didn’t even ask to be introduced to anyone.”

Sunghoon, forever calm and unreadable, simply ignored your protests and nudged your shoulder. “She’s been asking to meet you.”

“Cool,” you deadpanned. “Tell her I said hi.”

But it was too late. A blur of pastel and energy bounded toward you, ponytail bouncing and cheeks flushed. She practically skidded to a stop in front of you, a smoothie in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“Hi! Oh my gosh, you must be Y/N!” she chirped, eyes wide with excitement.

You blinked, then gave Sunghoon the what the hell is this look.

He sighed, giving you a subtle nod. “Y/N, this is my girlfriend.”

She beamed. “Wow. He wasn’t kidding. You really are the same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Same?”

“Yeah! All moody and mysterious. Like, no offense, but you two look like you walk through thunderstorms for fun,” she said, biting her cookie casually. “It’s kinda cute.”

You stared.

Sunghoon sighed. “I told you not to say that.”

“But it’s true!” she giggled, leaning against Sunghoon like he was her favorite pillow. “You even frown the same way. Look.”

She scrunched her brows, mocking your unimpressed expression. You couldn’t help it—you snorted. Just once. Barely.

She gasped. “Did I just make you laugh? Or was that a cough?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But she didn’t seem offended. If anything, her smile grew bigger. “You’re so grumpy. I love it. You’re like a cat someone tried to dress in a tutu.”

Sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle, and you turned to glare at him, betrayed.

“She’s been like this since she got here,” he said to his girlfriend. “Moved from Busan, acts like Seoul’s a crime against humanity.”

“Because it is,” you muttered. “Too many people. Too many couples. Too much sun.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was practically vibrating now. “Wait—you’re from Busan? That makes so much sense. You totally have the accent when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

She grinned knowingly. “Okay.”

You looked away, sipping your drink just to have an excuse not to answer. Sunghoon watched you with that usual quiet amusement, like he was used to your walls but also knew they weren’t as tall as you pretended.

“Anyway,” his girlfriend said, pulling out her phone, “I’m putting you in the group chat. The one with the rest of the girlfriends.”

Your eyes widened. “What? No.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You should. Jay’s girlfriend is in it. So is Jake’s.”

“Oh my god, and Jungwon!” she added. “You haven’t met Jungwon yet, right? You’ll love him. He’s sunshine in human form. Literally the opposite of you. You’ll hate him. And then you’ll love him.”

You shook your head. “Please don’t.”

But she was already typing. Sunghoon looked away to hide his smile, and for a moment, you considered throwing your drink at both of them.

And yet, despite yourself… a tiny part of you didn’t hate this as much as you thought you would.

You leaned back in your chair, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie as your brother quietly scrolled through his phone. The late afternoon sun poured through the campus café windows, golden and warm, but you were too busy sulking to care.

“So,” you started, voice flat, “do all of your friends have girlfriends now or what?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Pretty much.”

You scoffed. “What is this? Some campus-wide boyfriend recruitment initiative I missed?”

He side-eyed you. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped. “I’m just… observing. Like you always do.”

He hummed, which was the closest thing to a laugh you’d get out of him. You turned slightly in your seat to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend across the café. She was chatting animatedly with Jay’s girlfriend and giggling about something that involved a lot of hand gestures. You watched her for a second—so bright, so loud, so much.

You wrinkled your nose. “What’s so special about her, anyway? She’s so loud.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he finally looked up from his phone and met your eyes.

“That’s what I thought at first,” he said, voice quieter now, more sincere. “But… I don’t know. She’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Different how?”

“She makes everything feel lighter,” he said simply. “Like I don’t have to say anything and she still gets me. She’s chaos, but somehow it makes everything clearer.”

You blinked, surprised by how genuine he sounded. He wasn’t usually the type to say much about his feelings, let alone this kind of stuff.

You scoffed again, more defensive this time, and took a loud sip of your drink. “Ugh. I don’t like seeing you when you’re in love. It’s weird. Gross. I hate it.”

Sunghoon smirked and leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting across the café toward her again.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

The café was bustling with soft chatter, silverware clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter. You were already halfway through your iced Americano when the bell above the door jingled.

Your eyes flicked up just in time to see a familiar face walk in—tousled hair, clean-cut uniform, a soft frown like he’d already had a long day. Jungwon.

You blinked. “Wait, is that—?”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend practically bounced out of her seat, waving him over. “Wonie! Over here!”

You turned slowly to your brother, suspicion rising in your chest. “You invited him?”

Sunghoon shook his head with a deadpan expression. “I didn’t.”

His girlfriend was already scooting over, making room next to you on the bench. Jungwon hesitated, then offered a polite nod and slid in beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but clear. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You glanced at him, trying not to seem flustered. “Yeah, me neither.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend leaned toward your brother and whispered into his ear with a mischievous grin, “See? Don’t they look perfect together?”

Sunghoon recoiled immediately, his whole face twisting. “I don’t wanna picture my sister and my friend together,” he muttered under his breath, disgusted.

She just giggled, clearly satisfied with herself, while Sunghoon groaned into his drink and refused to look in either of your directions.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the way Jungwon’s leg brushed against yours under the table. He didn’t move away, and neither did you.

“Sorry if this is weird,” Jungwon said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, then quickly looking away. “Didn’t know they’d both plot behind our backs.”

You let out a soft scoff. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

From across the table, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was humming to herself while stabbing a piece of cake with her fork, clearly proud of her little matchmaking scheme. Sunghoon, on the other hand, was sinking further into his seat with every passing second.

“So…” Jungwon started again, trying for casual, “how are you liking Seoul so far?”

“It’s… different,” you answered, folding your arms. “Too fast. Too loud.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is. But not all of it’s bad, right?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess not.”

Your eyes flicked up just in time to catch your brother watching the two of you with a narrowed gaze. You raised a brow at him.

“What?” you asked, tone sharp.

He blinked. “Nothing. Just… watching you flirt.”

You nearly choked. “I’m not flirting—”

Jungwon, ever so collected, only smiled faintly and looked down at his drink, a soft pink coloring the tips of his ears.

“I swear, if you try to date one of my friends,” Sunghoon muttered, pointing a finger at you, “I will transfer schools.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered under your breath.

But then you glanced back at Jungwon, who was still smiling, looking perfectly content with how the conversation was going. You couldn’t help the sarcastic edge that slipped into your voice. “Especially someone like him.”

It wasn’t meant to be as harsh as it came out. But when you saw the way his smile faltered, the subtle hurt flickering in his eyes, your heart did an unexpected twist. You hadn’t meant to hurt him—yet, there it was, hanging in the air between you.

Sunghoon nudged you roughly with his elbow, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Careful,” he warned in a low voice.

You flushed and immediately looked away, suddenly feeling guilty. Jungwon’s expression had gone unreadable, and you could practically hear the thoughts swirling in his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled, softening your tone, “sorry.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything right away, just gave a small nod. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with something quieter, more distant.

The tension at the table had definitely shifted, but you didn’t know how to fix it.

Sunghoon just sighed, looking between you two. “Can you two stop making it weird?” he muttered under his breath, though it was more for your benefit than anyone else’s.

His girlfriend, ever the optimist, grinned and fed him a bite of cake. “It’s okay. They’re both just shy. But they’ll work it out.”

You barely heard her, though, because your thoughts were focused on the look in Jungwon’s eyes.

Sunghoon and his girlfriend were in their own little world, laughing and exchanging little inside jokes, completely oblivious to how their playful banter was making everyone else at the table squirm.

“I swear, if you ever stop smiling like that, I’ll—” His girlfriend’s voice was light and teasing, but Sunghoon only smiled softly, clearly used to her rambles.

“You’ll what?” Sunghoon asked, nudging her playfully.

“Make you watch another one of those romantic movies you love so much,” she threatened, a bright grin lighting up her face.

“Ah, anything but that,” he teased back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m practically drowning in romance.”

His girlfriend only laughed and reached over to adjust his glasses, and Sunghoon simply let her, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. The exchange was so natural, so effortlessly affectionate that it felt almost like they were living in their own bubble, too caught up in their little world to notice anyone else around them.

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” you muttered under your breath, not at all interested in hearing about how “adorable” they were being.

Jungwon chuckled awkwardly, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So, uh… what’s your favorite thing to do around here? Any hidden spots in the city I should know about?”

You barely looked at him, instead fiddling with the straw in your drink, the sound of Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s laughter making your ears buzz. You really didn’t feel like talking, not when the couple next to you was being so… couple-y.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the table. “I don’t know. Just the usual stuff. I’m not really one for sightseeing.”

Jungwon pressed on, clearly not giving up yet. “But surely there’s something fun you’ve found? You seem like you’d know the best places to hang out.”

You let out a small, dismissive sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’m really not interested in showing you around, Jungwon.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was still on her own tangent, going on about something utterly trivial while Sunghoon nodded along, his smile barely faltering as he glanced back at you and Jungwon.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You’re being awfully quiet today,” she said in her bright, ever-optimistic voice.

You tried to force a smile, but it was tight, and you could feel your irritation simmering just under the surface. “I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just… tired.”

Jungwon seemed a bit taken aback by your mood but didn’t press it further, instead focusing back on his drink. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend were still wrapped up in their own bubble of cute moments, exchanging playful glances and quiet words that only seemed to make the atmosphere feel even more suffocating.

You didn’t understand how they could be so effortlessly happy, so comfortable with each other. Sunghoon was always so calm, so distant to everyone, but with her, he was… different.

“Don’t you think they’re a bit much?” you muttered under your breath, barely audible, but enough for Jungwon to hear.

Jungwon hesitated, looking between you and the couple before shrugging. “Maybe,” he said carefully, “but if they’re happy, then what’s the harm?”

“Right,” you muttered, trying to hide the bitterness creeping into your voice. “Good for them.”

Jungwon gave you a sideways glance, his smile a little more unsure now. “You seem really upset. Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling the discomfort in your chest grow. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jungwon seemed to understand that you weren’t in the mood for more conversation, but his quiet attempts to make small talk were starting to feel more forced as the minutes dragged on. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s voices only grew louder, completely lost in their own happiness as they continued their affectionate back-and-forth.

You felt a twinge of jealousy. You hadn’t been able to experience that kind of closeness or affection with anyone—certainly not with Jungwon, and not with anyone else before. It irritated you how easily Sunghoon seemed to slip into that comfortable, happy state with his girlfriend, making you wonder if you could ever find something like that yourself.

But for now, you were stuck here, watching them, and avoiding any attempts at real conversation from Jungwon.

As Sunghoon and his girlfriend stood up from the bench, her hands instinctively finding his as they gathered their stuff, she glanced one more time at where you and Jungwon sat—him politely sipping his drink, you staring pointedly at anything that wasn’t him.

“We should get going,” she murmured to Sunghoon. “Didn’t you say you had that meeting thing later?”

Sunghoon nodded, throwing one last glance toward you before gently tugging his girlfriend toward the exit. The two of them walked side by side down the garden path, the sunlight catching in her hair and the breeze tugging at the sleeves of Sunghoon’s hoodie.

Once they were a little out of earshot, his girlfriend turned to him, voice low and curious. “So… is your sister always like that?”

Sunghoon sighed through his nose, glancing over his shoulder before answering. “Yeah. Especially around people who are in love.”

His girlfriend blinked, then tilted her head, genuinely concerned. “Why? Is she, like… bitter about it or something?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not really supposed to be telling you this,” he muttered. “But someone she really loved cheated on her. Like, full-on betrayed her. She’s never really been the same after that.”

His girlfriend’s eyes softened. “Oh…”

“And the other half of it?” he added, smiling faintly. “She’s like me. She keeps things in. But instead of being quiet and polite about it, she turns into a little grump.”

They both laughed softly at that, their steps in sync as they neared the sidewalk.

“But I mean…” she nudged him lightly, a playful glint in her eye. “What about Jungwon? I don’t know—don’t they look kinda cute together?”

Sunghoon groaned immediately, dragging a hand over his face. “Babe, please. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“What?” she laughed, looping her arm through his. “I’m just saying! Come on, they just met, but—”

“They just met in person today,” he emphasized. “They don’t even know each other.”

“Exactly! That’s how it starts!”

Sunghoon gave her a dry look. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I know. And I know love when I see it, Hoon. Trust me.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the slightest upward tug. “Just don’t play matchmaker. I don’t think either of them would survive it.”

“Noted,” she grinned. “But if they fall in love on their own, I will say ‘I told you so.’”

Sunghoon groaned again, tugging her along as they disappeared down the street. First day of school and you already wanted to go home.

Everything about the campus felt off—too bright, too noisy, too… full of people smiling for no reason. Sunghoon’s girlfriend had insisted on showing you around, practically skipping through the corridors like this was her favorite place in the world. You trailed behind her like a raincloud, unimpressed by every building she pointed out.

“And this is the student center! Oh, and that’s the little garden where Sunghoon and I first—”

“Don’t care,” you muttered, eyes flicking away.

She just laughed, clearly used to your deadpan tone by now. “You’re going to love it here. Promise.”

You already knew you wouldn’t.

By lunch, you were desperately scanning the cafeteria for any possible corner to disappear into. You even spotted an empty table by the window—peace, solitude, the dream. But before you could escape, Sunghoon materialized out of nowhere and threw an arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said flatly. “Sit with us.”

“I’d rather swallow a fork.”

His grip tightened just slightly. “Let’s go.”

So now you were here, wedged between your brother and an empty chair, staring blankly at the loudest table on campus. Jake and his girlfriend were whispering and giggling over some inside joke. Jay’s girlfriend was mid-rant about something academic while Jay leaned back smugly, looking like he invented confidence. Heeseung was playfully bickering with his girlfriend over bubble tea flavors. Jungwon sat across from you, awkward and quiet, stealing glances your way like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite.

You glanced sideways at Sunghoon.

He glanced at you.

Same expression. Blank. Mildly judging. Deeply unimpressed.

The only sound from your side of the table was the soft tap of chopsticks and synchronized sighs.

Sunoo blinked at the two of you from across the table and dramatically clutched his chest.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “That’s actually kind of terrifying. You two look like serial killers at brunch.”

Jake snorted into his drink. “No, for real. Why are y’all staring like that?”

Sunghoon answered without even blinking. “We’re trying to understand how you all function.”

You didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow, slowly picking at your food.

Jungwon coughed into his hand. “So… do you like the school so far?”

You didn’t even bother looking at him. “No.”

Silence fell over that end of the table while everyone else resumed their conversations. You and Sunghoon returned to your synchronized eating and judging.

Sunoo whispered to Jake, “This is my favorite horror movie.”

Jake nodded. “Same.”

Jungwon tried again.

“So, um…” he said, shifting a little in his seat. “What did you study back in Busan?”

You didn’t even lift your head. “Stuff.”

Sunghoon barely held in a snort beside you, and Jungwon let out a quiet breath like he’d just been elbowed in the ribs.

Jake, ever the peacekeeper, tried to help. “She’s just shy, bro. Takes a while to warm up.”

“I’m not shy,” you muttered. “I just don’t feel like talking.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “She’s like if Wednesday Addams and a sleep-deprived cat had a baby.”

You finally looked up at him with the blankest stare you could muster. “I will replace your shampoo with glue.”

Sunoo gasped, scandalized. “Sunghoon, your sister threatened me!”

“She does that,” he said calmly, sipping from his drink.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was busy telling Heeseung’s girlfriend about a new nail salon when her gaze flicked to you and Jungwon again. She nudged Sunghoon under the table.

He blinked. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I did. And it’s still no.”

“They’d be so cute together!”

“No.”

“You’re so grumpy sometimes,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re just loud,” he muttered.

“I heard that!”

You rolled your eyes and shoved a fry into your mouth just as Jungwon finally stopped trying to talk. He tapped nervously at his tray, eyes flicking down to his food. You could feel his awkwardness radiating in waves.

And you hated how it made your chest tighten a little.

The table broke into laughter at something Jake said, and you just sat there in the calm middle of it all—quiet, grumpy, unimpressed. But for the first time that day, you weren’t desperate to leave.

Which was weird. But maybe you could blame it on the way Jungwon kept sneaking glances your way.

Even if you didn’t return them. Yet.

Jungwon had that look again. The one that made you want to throw a pillow at his face and storm out of the room for no reason other than how… bright he was.

“Let’s go camping,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to where you were curled up, minding your own business with a book you were only half-reading. “Like a group trip. All of us.”

You blinked at him, slowly. “Why would I voluntarily spend a weekend in the woods with mosquitoes, uneven ground, and people?”

He grinned, undeterred. “Because it’s fun. And because you clearly need to loosen up a little.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always cooped up in your dorm or hiding behind Sunghoon or glaring at everyone during lunch,” he said matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just signed his own death warrant. “It wouldn’t kill you to try being part of the group.”

Sunghoon, from the kitchen, muttered, “She only goes to lunch because I drag her there.”

“Exactly my point!” Jungwon exclaimed, pointing at your brother like he’d just proven something. “C’mon, Y/N. It’ll be nice. Campfire, s’mores, nature… friends.”

You stared at him. That smile of his, the one that curved just a little more on the right side, the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he was so annoyingly earnest—it made something in your chest itch.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You can bring a portable fan and three cans of bug spray. I’ll even carry your stuff.”

“I said no.”

He tilted his head. “Are you scared you’ll actually have a good time?”

You shut your book with a snap. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“You’ll take it as a no.”

“Sunoo’s going.”

You hesitated.

“And Jake. And Jay. And Sunghoon and his girlfriend. Heeseung and his girlfriend said they’ll come if there’s a real bathroom.”

You looked at him, unimpressed. “You planned this already.”

Jungwon smiled, victorious. “I had faith.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, flopping back against the couch. “Fine. I’ll go. Just to get you off my back.”

“Yay!” he said, like you’d just agreed to world peace.

“But if there’s a single spider—one—I’m leaving.”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout.”

“Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips when he wasn’t looking.

Spring break hit with the kind of anticipation that had the entire campus buzzing. People were packing bags, coordinating snack lists, fighting over which playlist to use for the drive. It was chaos—in a way that made you want to crawl back under your blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist. But unfortunately, Jungwon’s persistence and your impulsive “Fine, I’ll go” had landed you a spot on this cursed trip.

Everyone was gathered in front of the parking lot early that morning, chattering, yawning, stretching. The two rented vans were parked side by side, engines rumbling quietly as everyone shuffled around trying to load their bags.

You crossed your arms and looked up at Sunghoon. “I’m riding in your van.”

He barely looked up from where he was loading his girlfriend’s duffel into the trunk. “No, you’re not.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He finally turned to face you, already exasperated. “Y/N, we’re each sharing a van with our girlfriends.”

You gestured to yourself, deadpan. “I am your sister.”

“Not the same thing.”

“You’re telling me you’d rather spend three hours crammed in a van with Jake and Sunoo talking about anime character types while your girlfriend sings along to every song off key—”

“Yes.”

You scowled. “Wow. What happened to blood being thicker than water?”

His girlfriend popped her head out from the side of the van, smile already in place. “Don’t worry, Y/N! I already packed snacks for you and I think you’re with Jungwon anyway.”

“What?”

Jungwon appeared behind you like some overly peppy ghost. “Morning! I put your bag in our van already. We’ve got good air conditioning, just saying.”

You turned to glare at him. “You what?”

Sunoo clapped dramatically from a few feet away. “Ooooh, you’re sharing with Jungwon? This is either the start of a rom-com or a disaster film.”

“I vote disaster,” you muttered under your breath.

Sunghoon gave your shoulder a pat as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Try not to murder anyone.”

You huffed, trudging toward the second van where Jungwon was already opening your door like some boy-next-door prince. He even had a thermos in hand—probably green tea or some healthy crap. You didn’t ask.

“I didn’t agree to share a van with you,” you grumbled, climbing in.

Jungwon just buckled in and smiled. “Well, you didn’t not agree either.”

You stared out the window, jaw tight. This trip was already feeling too long… and the engine hadn’t even started yet.

The vans were all packed, the skies were mostly clear, and it almost felt like things were going to go according to plan. Keyword: almost.

Jake stood beside Van 1, arms crossed, lips pursed as he eyed the group assignments one last time. “Okay, but I still think it’s a terrible idea to put Heeseung and Jay in the same van.”

Jay’s girlfriend, ever the chaos advocate, waved her hand dismissively. “They need to make up. This is the perfect chance. Think of it as forced bonding.”

Heeseung snorted from behind her. “More like forced suffering.”

Sunoo popped his head up from the back of Van 1, cheeks stuffed with snacks. “Can I switch vans? I’ll go with Jungwon and Y/N. I’m great company!”

“No,” you and Jungwon both said at the exact same time.

Sunoo blinked, then smirked. “Wow. Okay. Guess I’ll just keep my charisma to myself.”

You shot Jungwon a glare, but he was already climbing into the driver’s seat of your van—Van 3, aka the loner van. AKA you and him, stuck together for a few hours while the rest of your brother’s chaotic group pretended to function like normal humans.

You didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Sunghoon before Jungwon was already pulling out of the parking lot.

The ride started out in silence. Then music. Then more silence.

It was about twenty minutes into the drive when Jungwon finally broke the quiet.

“So… you probably feel a little out of place, huh?” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

You shrugged, arms crossed. “You think?”

He chuckled. “Okay, fair. I just mean… they’re a lot to take in.”

“You don’t say.”

“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat, “you’ve probably figured out who’s dating who, right?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Alright. So Van 1—Sunghoon, Jake, their girlfriends, and Sunoo. The stable van.”

You raised a brow. “Sunoo’s the stability?”

“Don’t underestimate Sunoo,” Jungwon said seriously. “He knows everything. I’m pretty sure he could run this school if he wanted to.”

You snorted. “Next.”

“Van 2,” Jungwon said with a grin. “The drama van. Jay, Heeseung, their girlfriends. Basically a soap opera on wheels.”

You glanced at him. “Why? What happened?”

He glanced sideways, then said, “Well… Jay and Heeseung used to be close, until Jay kissed Heeseung’s girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Twice,” Jungwon added helpfully. “Once before she and Heeseung were dating, and once after. But Jay swears she kissed him the second time, and she admits to it, but Heeseung won’t let it go.”

You blinked. “And now Jay is dating someone else?”

“Oh yeah. She’s just as chaotic as he is. They’re the perfect match. But she’s also childhood best friends with Heeseung, so it’s awkward all around.”

“Yikes.”

He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why Jake wanted to separate them. But Jay’s girlfriend was like ‘they need to make up’ and dragged them into the same van anyway.”

You let out a low whistle. “No wonder Sunoo wanted to escape.”

Jungwon laughed, and the air settled into something a little more comfortable after that. He explained more as the road wound on—tiny dramas, moments of laughter, stories you’d missed being the new one in the group.

But about an hour in, things took a turn.

The sky darkened suddenly, clouds rolling in like something out of a horror movie. The rain started slowly—just a patter on the windshield—but quickly turned heavy, pelting down so hard Jungwon had to slow to a crawl.

“Uh,” you said, glancing out the fogged window, “should we… pull over?”

“We’re almost at the rest stop,” Jungwon muttered, eyes squinting against the blur. “Just a few more minutes—”

Thud.

The van jolted.

You both froze.

“…Please tell me that wasn’t a tire,” you whispered.

Jungwon sighed, already pulling over. “That was a tire.”

He hopped out into the rain, grabbing his jacket as the wind howled. You stayed in the van, cold seeping into your skin even as the heater ran.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Finally, he ducked back inside, soaked and shivering.

“It’s too dark,” he muttered. “I can’t see anything, and my phone’s got no signal. We’ll have to wait till morning.”

You stared at him. “You’re telling me we’re stuck here? In a van? In the middle of nowhere? Alone?”

He looked sheepish. “Pretty much.”

You sat back, heart racing.

And for the first time that day, you were truly terrified.

You were shaken. Even though you sat with your arms folded tightly across your chest, eyes glued to the pitch-black forest outside the rain-speckled window, your body was stiff—too still. You didn’t say anything, didn’t make a sound, but Jungwon noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he shifted beside you in the front seat of the van, then gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders. His touch wasn’t overbearing or awkward. It was quiet, like him. Patient. Warm.

“You’re not okay,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“You’re lying.”

You didn’t argue, because he wasn’t wrong. But you didn’t respond either.

A silence stretched between you, filled only by the steady tapping of rain on the windshield and the occasional creak of the van shifting under the wind. The dark had settled in deep now, wrapping around the vehicle like a second skin.

“I hate being stuck,” you finally said, your voice low. “I hate not knowing what’s going to happen. I hate not having a signal, not knowing where we are—feeling like I’m not in control.”

Jungwon gave your shoulder a soft squeeze. “Yeah… I figured.”

You fell silent again, until he nudged you gently and said, “Okay. Tell me something your brother did that was so extroverted and humiliating that no one else besides you knows about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on. Distract yourself. Something Sunghoon did. Spill.”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of you, and Jungwon’s grin widened.

“He once got on stage during orientation week and did a full dance cover of Love Divebecause someone dared him,” you mumbled. “And he actually nailed it.”

“Love Dive? Seriously?” Jungwon tried to suppress a laugh, and failed. “No way.”

“He practiced for three days. I have a video.”

He let out a sharp breath of laughter and leaned his head back against the seat. “Okay, yeah, that helped. I’m feeling better already.”

You smiled, just barely, the tension starting to melt off your shoulders. You almost forgot about the storm outside, the flat tire, the cold. Almost.

Until a sharp crack of thunder split through the sky.

You jumped—physically flinched—and before you could stop yourself, you scooted closer to Jungwon, pressing into his side like instinct. His arm immediately tightened around you, steadying, grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, softer this time. “You’re okay.”

And somehow, sitting there with him in the dark, you believed it.

After a while, the front seats of the van started to feel cold and cramped, and Jungwon, sensing your growing discomfort, suggested quietly, “We can pull out the bed in the back… might be warmer there.”

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, following him as he climbed out of the front. He moved slowly, giving you space but also staying close enough to reach if you needed him. Together, you helped tug the folded bed out from its compartment, laying it flat and spreading one of the extra blankets over it.

You sat beside him on the makeshift mattress, legs tucked underneath you, hands buried in your sleeves. The van wasn’t exactly spacious, but the bed was wide enough to sit shoulder-to-shoulder without brushing—barely.

The rain still drummed steadily on the roof, creating a rhythm that was both soothing and unnerving. You hated storms. Always had.

Then, like the sky had waited for your guard to come down, lightning struck again. Closer this time—followed by a crack so loud the whole van seemed to rattle. You gasped sharply and before you even knew what you were doing, you threw yourself toward Jungwon.

Your hands gripped his hoodie, your body curling into his lap as if you could disappear there, your breath coming in short, panicked puffs. You hated this—how vulnerable you suddenly felt, how raw and open your fear was—but your body didn’t listen to your pride. It just needed safety. Warmth. Him.

Jungwon didn’t say a word. He didn’t tease, didn’t even shift awkwardly. His arms came around you immediately, holding you close like he’d done this a thousand times before. One hand rubbed gentle, soothing circles into your back while the other rested lightly on the back of your head.

Then you started crying.

Not the messy, heaving sobs you’d always imagined people cried when breaking down—but the quiet kind. The kind that slipped down your cheeks without permission, burning and soft. You couldn’t remember the last time you cried in front of someone else.

“I hate this,” you whispered into his hoodie. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But you don’t have to pretend with me, okay? Just for tonight… it’s okay to be scared.”

You don’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in Jungwon’s arms, eyes closed against the world, tears drying slowly. The storm eventually began to calm. The thunder faded to distant rumbles, and the rain softened into a drizzle.

Then, with an almost comical sputter, the van’s power flickered back on. The dashboard lights glowed faintly. The heater whirred to life. And just like that, reality came rushing back in.

You blinked and pulled away slowly, only to freeze as you realized where you were: practically curled in Jungwon’s lap, your arms still wrapped around him, your cheek resting against his chest.

You moved quickly, almost too quickly, scooting back and wiping your face with your sleeve. The silence that followed was heavy—awkward and thick and way too loud now that the storm had passed.

“I—sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “That was… a lot.”

Jungwon shifted too, but not far. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Really.”

But you didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t used to people seeing you like that. Especially not someone like him.

And now, sitting side by side in the faint light, with your tears still damp on your skin and the ghost of his touch lingering on your back, you suddenly weren’t sure what scared you more—the storm outside… or the one happening inside you.

The rain had finally stopped, but that didn’t mean you were out of the woods. Literally.

It was 2:07 AM, and the van was still parked on the side of some empty, winding road surrounded by nothing but trees and thick silence. The air inside was warmer now thanks to the heater, but that didn’t fix the flat tire—or the awkwardness hanging heavy between you and Jungwon after what had just happened.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, facing the window, pretending to be way more interested in the foggy glass than the fact that you were very much aware of Jungwon’s presence just a few feet behind you. He was still sitting up against the back of the van, legs stretched out, fiddling absently with the zipper on his jacket.

Neither of you had spoken much since the power came back on. A few quiet “you okay?”s and mumbled “yeah”s, but beyond that? Just tension.

He glanced over at you for what felt like the hundredth time. “So… uh. Still no signal.”

“Shocker,” you muttered, not turning around.

“We’ll fix the tire at sunrise. I can’t see anything in the dark without messing it up more.”

“Mhm.”

Silence again.

You hated this. Not just the situation, but how… exposed you still felt. You hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. You hadn’t meant to let him hold you. And now, it was like that moment had cracked something open, and you didn’t know how to patch it back up.

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Do you want the bed to yourself? I can sleep sitting up or something.”

“No. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You finally turned to face him, eyes meeting his. “Can you just… not make it a thing?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Earlier. The crying. The whole… mess. Just don’t make it a thing, okay? I don’t need you looking at me like I’m fragile now.”

Jungwon’s expression softened. “I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you’re human.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the window. “Great. Even worse.”

He let out a quiet laugh, barely audible. “You know, for someone who pretends not to care about people, you sure care a lot about what I think.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t wrong—but you weren’t about to admit that.

“It’s late,” you said instead. “We should try to sleep.”

You heard him shift behind you, and then the quiet rustle of blankets as he laid down on the far side of the bed, careful to leave space between you.

But even with the silence returning and your body exhausted, sleep didn’t come easy. Not when your brain was still replaying the way his arms had felt around you. Not when every beat of the clock brought you closer to morning—and whatever would come after this strange, vulnerable night you never meant to share.

The hours ticked by slowly, stretching the night into something that felt endless.

The space between you and Jungwon wasn’t very big. The bed was narrow, the van cold despite the heater humming faintly, and somewhere between turning to face the wall and trying to ignore how your thoughts spiraled, you realized you weren’t sleeping at all. Neither was he.

You could tell by the way he shifted every few minutes, quietly clearing his throat or sighing like he was trying not to seem restless. Finally, at around 3:15 AM, his voice cut through the stillness—soft, careful.

“Hey.”

You turned your head slightly. “What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“When you said you’re scared of being emotionally dependent on people… was that about someone specific?”

You stared at the ceiling. You weren’t sure why your chest tightened at the question. Maybe because you’d let that confession slip too easily earlier. Maybe because this was the first time someone actually followed up instead of brushing it off.

You swallowed. “Not just one person. More like… a pattern.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, gently: “Like what?”

“Like I used to trust people. I’d let them in, even when it hurt. And each time, it ended with me being the only one trying to fix things.” You paused, fingers curling slightly into the blanket. “At some point, I just stopped trying.”

Jungwon shifted closer—not enough to touch, but enough to feel it.

“I’m not trying to ‘fix’ you,” he said quietly. “I just want to understand you.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

“And I know you don’t like being seen,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “But you don’t have to hide around me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you turned your body slightly toward him. Not enough to close the distance completely—but enough that he’d know you weren’t shutting him out.

Minutes passed in silence again. But it wasn’t awkward anymore.

At 4:00 AM, the sky outside started to shift, a faint grey creeping into the edges of the horizon. You were still awake, and so was he.

Jungwon sat up first, running a hand through his hair. “It’s almost light enough. I’ll check the tire.”

You nodded sleepily, rubbing your eyes. “Okay. I’ll… come with you?”

He turned back to look at you, his gaze soft but steady. “Only if you want to.”

You gave a small nod, pulling the blanket tighter around you for a second before kicking it off and sliding off the bed.

It was quiet again, but something had changed between you—like a wire had loosened. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to the way they were. Maybe you didn’t want them to.

The air was crisp when you stepped out of the van, the ground still damp from the night before. Dew clung to the grass and your shoes squelched lightly against the earth, but the storm had passed. A faint mist curled in the distance, and the sun hadn’t quite broken over the trees yet—just a soft blue-gray glow painted the horizon.

Jungwon crouched by the flat tire, flashlight wedged under his arm as he examined it. You stood beside him with your arms crossed tightly, partly from the chill and partly because… well, what else were you supposed to do? Last night had been—something. Too much, maybe. And even though he hadn’t brought it up, you could feel the weight of it still lingering between you.

“Looks like it’ll hold until we get to a service station,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “I just need to switch it out with the spare.”

“Need help?” you offered, voice still hoarse from barely sleeping.

He looked up at you and smiled—not that smug, teasing smile he usually wore around you, but something small and warm. “You offering to actually help me instead of glaring at me? Must be a special day.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Still, you knelt beside him and passed him tools when he asked, watching him work quickly and efficiently. By the time the spare tire was secured and you were both sitting on the bumper catching your breath, the sun had finally peeked through the trees.

“Thanks,” Jungwon said quietly.

You glanced over. “For what?”

“For… trusting me,” he said. “Even a little.”

You looked away, watching your breath fog in the cool morning air. “Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled, not pushing further. “Okay.”

Another pause, then he added, “Do you think they noticed we were gone?”

You groaned. “Probably.”

Jungwon smirked. “Should we lie and say we were attacked by bears?”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s so specific.”

He shrugged. “You never know. Might make us more interesting.”

“You’re already interesting,” you said before you could stop yourself.

You both blinked.

Silence.

“…Forget I said that,” you mumbled, turning away.

But Jungwon was smiling again—bright, proud, but not teasing this time. “Too late.”

And when you both climbed back into the van and started the engine, there was still silence—but it was softer now, like a thread connecting the two of you had finally begun to tie itself together. Not forced. Not rushed. Just… a start.

The campsite buzzed with the sounds of life when you and Jungwon finally pulled in. Laughter echoed through the trees, smoke curled lazily from a fire pit where someone was trying to get breakfast started, and Jake was playing some acoustic guitar on a log while his girlfriend swayed beside him.

You had barely stepped out of the van, stretching your stiff limbs, when Sunoo boltedacross the campsite like a heat-seeking missile.

“Oh. My. God,” he gasped, eyes bouncing between you and Jungwon. “You guys were gone all night. ALL NIGHT. I swear to God, if this is a slow-burn friends-to-lovers enemies-to-lovers surprise-romance situation and you didn’t tell me, I’m going to explode.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Did you guys fuck?” Sunoo blurted, voice way too loud.

Everyone turned.

Jungwon nearly choked on air. “SUNOO!”

You grabbed the nearest camping chair and flung a towel over your face. “We did NOT!”

“Well,” Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. “With that much chemistry, I’m just saying—”

“Sunoo,” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop. For now.” But the sparkle in his eyes said he absolutely would not be letting it go.

While you tried to pretend you didn’t just become the headline of the group’s gossip board, Jungwon drifted over to the edge of the campsite where Sunghoon was helping his girlfriend unload a cooler from the car.

Sunghoon noticed him coming and immediately groaned. “No.”

Jungwon blinked. “No what?”

“No to whatever you’re about to say.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jungwon said, exasperated. “I just—look, I really like your sister.”

“Ew.” Sunghoon looked genuinely distressed. “Ew, stop. Go away.”

“I’m serious,” Jungwon said, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “I’m not messing with her. I just… I want your blessing to ask her out.”

Sunghoon paused. Stared. Then deadpanned, “No.”

Jungwon nodded slowly, lips twitching. “Okay. Well… I actually don’t need your blessing. I was just being polite.”

Sunghoon stared harder. “You little—”

But his girlfriend came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and whispering something into his ear. He grumbled under his breath, scowled at Jungwon one more time, and then turned away.

Which Jungwon took as his cue to walk off, hiding the satisfied smirk on his face.

You, meanwhile, were still dodging Sunoo’s very detailed reenactment of how he imagined the night went down.

Yeah. Spring break was off to a great start.

The rest of the day moved in a weird haze of tension and pretending like the night before hadn’t happened.

You avoided Jungwon. Not in a dramatic way—just enough that you didn’t have to look at him for too long. Just enough that when he laughed with the others by the fire, your eyes would skip past him like he was just another log in the pile. Just enough that every time he glanced your way, you quickly turned back to your marshmallow, pretending to be way too focused on roasting it to golden-brown perfection.

Sunoo didn’t make it any easier.

“You know,” he said, flopping down beside you with a very loud crunch of gravel, “for someone who didn’t do anything, you two are acting real suspicious.”

“Sunoo,” you warned, “if you say one more thing—”

“I’m just saying!” He threw up his hands dramatically. “If I were trapped in a van during a thunderstorm with someone as emotionally constipated as Jungwon, I’d cry too.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward.

Meanwhile, across the fire, Jungwon was deep in conversation with Jay’s girlfriend, who was nodding enthusiastically while pointing toward a picnic table. He looked more relaxed now, laughing softly, shaking his head at something she said.

And still, he glanced over at you.

Again.

You turned away, heart twisting a little.

When the sun began to dip, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky, someone suggested games. Charades. Then Uno. Then some weird camping version of spin the bottle that you absolutely refused to play.

Heeseung and his girlfriend were the first ones to bow out, heading toward their tent after a playful argument about who knows what. Jay and his girlfriend were in their own world, laughing so loudly it echoed through the trees. Jake and his girlfriend cuddling by the fire. Sunghoon was trying to keep his girlfriend from jumping into the lake at night.

And you?

You were sitting beside Sunoo again, who had finally—finally—gone quiet, head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off.

That’s when Jungwon walked up.

His voice was quiet. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t move at first. Just stared at the fire.

Then slowly, you stood. Gently nudging Sunoo off you, you followed Jungwon toward the edge of the clearing, just far enough away to not be overheard, just close enough to still feel the warmth of the group.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So… are we just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said softly. “That wasn’t— I just knew you were scared. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hold it all in.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to be someone’s challenge.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “I swear, you’re not. I don’t want to fix you. I just… I like you. Grumpiness and all. You don’t have to act okay around me. I’d rather have you yell at me and mean it than smile and fake it.”

Your eyes met his. He looked… honest.

It scared you.

So you said the first thing that came to mind. “Sunghoon’s gonna kill you.”

Jungwon smiled. “He already tried.”

You didn’t smile back—yet—but the corners of your lips twitched.

After the camping trip, everything seemed fine at first. The days passed, and you and Jungwon were a little less awkward around each other. You both would talk here and there, but it wasn’t like before—when you could barely stand being in the same room without pretending to not notice his gaze. It was comfortable in a way, like the distance between the two of you had shrunk a little.

The trip had brought something out of you that you hadn’t been ready for, but at least it wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. You’d even laughed a few times, exchanged some stories, and you might’ve even caught yourself smiling—genuinely smiling—when he said something funny.

But as soon as you heard it, it felt like all the progress you had made came crashing down around you.

You were in the common room of your dorm, just finishing a group project, when you overheard a conversation between Jungwon and Sunoo.

“I think I’m finally getting through to her,” Jungwon said, his voice lighter than it had been the past few days. “She’s not as cold as she used to be.”

Sunoo’s voice responded, teasing. “Well, it’s about time. She’s hard to crack, but you’ve got this.”

Your heart sank. The words hit harder than you expected. It was a stupid thing to be hurt over, but it felt like you were just a project to him. Another challenge to overcome. Just another box to check off, another thing to fix. Like you were something he needed to conquer and not someone he was genuinely trying to understand.

You thought you had found something real in the small, quiet moments between the two of you—when he’d make you laugh, or when you’d share stories that made you feel a little less like a closed-off puzzle. But now, it all felt fake. You weren’t a challenge. You weren’t his damn project. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what had made you start pulling away in the first place. You weren’t ready to be the thing he worked on. Not when it felt like you were just part of his “I need to fix you” list.

You turned away quickly, trying to push the sting out of your chest as you grabbed your things and walked to your room. The tightness in your chest only grew as you closed the door behind you. You didn’t even give yourself a second to think before you did it: you took your phone out and deleted his number.

You couldn’t look at it anymore. Couldn’t keep seeing his name lighting up your screen. You stopped answering his texts. Ignored his calls. Every notification from him felt like a weight on your shoulders, reminding you that you were just another challenge, just another project to him.

And as much as you hated it, you did the same with everyone else. You didn’t reply to Sunghoon’s texts about your plans for the day, didn’t show up for the usual hangouts with your brother and his friends. You couldn’t bear the idea of seeing them and having them ask where Jungwon was. Where things stood. You didn’t want to answer any of their questions. You didn’t want to be reminded that you had let yourself fall for someone who had probably never taken you seriously.

You didn’t even bother showing up to the study sessions anymore. Every day felt like it was getting harder to keep pretending everything was fine when your mind was so tangled with anger and confusion.

Spring break ended, and with it, the brief but quiet connection you had with Jungwon. He was busy now, the semester starting again. But even as the first day of uni came, you found yourself missing the comfort of those small moments. The awkwardness. The laughs. His presence. But it was too late now. It didn’t matter.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time you ignored his message or silenced his call. 

You hadn’t expected Sunghoon to show up at your dorm. Not with his hoodie half-on and a scowl already forming between his brows. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped inside like he owned the place and dropped his bag on your bed with a thud.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, not accusing—just concerned. And that somehow made it worse.

You didn’t mean to say it, not right away. But it all came spilling out anyway. The overheard conversation. The words Jungwon had said. The way it felt like you’d been nothing more than a challenge to him. Something to break through and fix. The way you hated how it hurt.

Sunghoon sat through the whole thing, jaw clenching tighter with every word you said. When you finally fell quiet, his hands were already fisted at his sides.

“He said what?” he snapped, already standing. “That idiot. I swear—”

“Hoon, don’t—” you started, but he was already out the door.

It didn’t take long for him to find Jungwon. He always had a radar for people he wanted to scold.

Jungwon blinked when he saw Sunghoon marching toward him across the quad, his voice sharp before he even fully reached him. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Jungwon’s face fell. “Wait, she heard that?”

“Oh, so you did say it.” Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Jungwon said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say she was a challenge—God, no. I was telling Sunoo that I finally felt like she was starting to trust me. I was happy. I wasn’t—”

Sunghoon didn’t look convinced.

“I like her,” Jungwon said, more firmly now. “Not because she’s hard to read, not because she’s a mystery or whatever. I like her because… she makes everything make sense. She’s quiet, but when she talks, it matters. And when she looks at me like I’m not completely annoying, it makes my day.”

Sunghoon exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. “Just fix it. And don’t make her cry again. I mean it.”

Later that evening, there was a knock at your dorm door.

You weren’t going to answer it—until you heard his voice, low and quiet.

“It’s me.”

You opened the door a crack. Jungwon stood there holding your favorite snack in one hand, and in the other, a worn-out poetry book you had mentioned once when you were half-asleep in the van during the camping trip.

“I know you’re mad,” he said softly. “But can I come in? Just for a second?”

You let the door swing open.

He stepped inside, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. For what I said to Sunoo. For how it sounded. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. I didn’t think you’d hear it, but that doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

You stayed quiet, arms crossed, watching him.

“I talk about you because I like you,” he continued. “Not because I want to win you, or fix you, or prove anything. I talk about you because… I want to understand you. And I want you to trust me enough to let me in. That’s all.”

You glanced down at the poetry book in his hand, and your chest tightened.

After a long pause, you sighed and shook your head. “You’re so annoying.”

He cracked a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

“…You can walk me to class tomorrow.”

He perked up instantly, smile blooming like the sun breaking through clouds. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes and turned around so he wouldn’t see the way your lips threatened to smile. “But don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t,” he said, already grinning. “Totally casual. Just two classmates. Walking.”

You shut the door behind him, heart racing in spite of yourself.

The next day, you found yourself back in the cafeteria, still sporting your signature scowl and the sunglasses that hid most of your face. You weren’t exactly thrilled to be sitting with the others again, but at least you had coffee. And you weren’t going to admit it, but you were kind of okay with Jungwon walking beside you—just a little bit.

As soon as you took your seat, Jungwon slid into the chair next to you with a big, goofy grin on his face. He handed you your coffee, still beaming like a dog who had just learned how to fetch.

“Still grumpy?” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You shot him a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. “Always,” you muttered, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the best thing he’d seen in a while—that made it hard to keep the edge.

You couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. Jungwon’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. He looked way too proud of himself.

Sunghoon, who had been sitting across from you, groaned dramatically. “Please don’t do that in front of me ever again,” he said, scrunching his nose as if he’d just watched something gross.

You smirked, giving him a little shrug. “What’s your problem?” you shot back, still amused.

Sunghoon’s girlfriend, who had been chatting with Jake’s girlfriend, turned her head and raised her eyebrows. “Hey, you and I are way worse than that,” she said with a mischievous grin.

Jay, who had been in his own world, suddenly looked up at the mention of “worse.” He nodded in agreement, casually leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, don’t pretend like you and Hoon aren’t way more obnoxious than them,” he added with a smirk, looking at his own girlfriend.

Sunghoon shot him a look that could’ve killed, but Jay only grinned wider, clearly enjoying his role in messing with Sunghoon.

“Can you not?” Sunghoon groaned, resting his head on the table like he couldn’t deal with his friends anymore. “I’m not even here for this. Seriously.”

You chuckled under your breath, feeling a little more at ease with the group around you. It was nice, in a way, to be surrounded by people who weren’t as exhausting as you’d initially thought. But as you sipped your coffee, you felt Jungwon’s gaze on you again, making your chest tighten in that way only he seemed to manage.

“So,” Jungwon started, his tone shifting slightly, “when are you going to admit you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips said everything.

You were walking down the hall, scrolling through your phone, when you heard a loud voice—sharp, gruff, and full of irritation. You looked up just in time to see a girl backing away, holding her hands up in apology. She was drenched in some kind of drink, and standing opposite her, was a tall figure with his arms crossed.

It was Niki.

His dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl, his voice cold and direct. “You better be more careful next time,” he snapped.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl stammered, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to—I’ll clean it up!”

He grunted, not looking all that bothered, though the tension in his posture didn’t exactly scream forgiveness. “Whatever,” he muttered, before turning to walk away, leaving the girl still frozen in place.

You couldn’t help but watch as he strode off down the hall, his expression as nonchalant as ever. But there was something about him—something sharp and guarded. It made you curious.

Maybe this would be an interesting story for later. 

Enhypen campus series || wanna read my short drabbles? check out @lynbels

[fluentmoviequoter]

Chemistry Partners

Requested by anonymous but I lost the full request

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!PO!reader

Summary: Tim and Lucy assist you in locating a parolee in violation of his conditions. Lucy notices the undeniable chemistry between you and Tim, but doesn't expect Tim's response when she points it out.

Warnings: fluff, mention of prostitution, threat against r

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“CDCR, probation. How may I help you?” you say to answer the phone.

With the receiver tucked between your ear and shoulder, you look at your current list of parolees. The spreadsheet shows three red lines, and you frown as you read the names.

“Hi, I’m calling about Dexter Wheeler,” the woman on the phone says. “I believe he’s one of your parolees.”

Sitting up straighter, you reply, “Yes, ma’am, he is.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you and I’m sure it’s nothing, but he hasn’t been to work in three days. His conditions for employment allow him sick time and personal time, but he hasn’t notified us, and he isn’t answering the phone.”

“Okay, I am supposed to have a check-in with him tomorrow,” you read from your screen. “I’ll look into this and let you know. Thank you for the call.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Nothing specific, no. Is there-  Did you notice any unusual behavior before his absence?”

“He had been a bit distant,” she answers. “Unwilling to answer questions, easily agitated.”

“Did he make any threats or become overly belligerent?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just figured he was tired or maybe he wanted another job.”

“I’ll certainly find out what has been going on with him.”

“Thank you. Would you mind calling me back after you speak to him? I want to be sure he’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated. Thank you.”

You return the receiver to the phone cradle and navigate to Mr. Wheeler’s parole file. He hasn’t checked in with you recently, and he hasn’t filed any change of employment or violated any conditions of his parole in the past. He’s never been overly kind, but he was trying to stay on the straight and narrow when you first met him. You think your parolees deserve a second chance, but they must be willing to do the work and prove that their second chance won’t be wasted.

With your phone on speaker, you call Mr. Wheeler. It rings repeatedly until an automated message alerts you that Dexter’s voicemail is full. That’s not a good sign.

You log out of your computer, gather your things, and tell your supervisor you’re doing a surprise visit. She encourages you to alert the police, and you nod before you leave the office. There’s no reason to think Mr. Wheeler will do anything rash, but it is still a good idea to have the police on standby.

“My favorite podcast buddy!” Nell exclaims when she answers your call. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Nell,” you reply, hitting your blinker. “I’m going to a parolee’s house; he hasn’t been at work for three days and he isn’t answering my calls. Any chance you could put some officers on standby for me?”

“Of course. What’s the address?”

You recite it from memory, then thank Nell. With the promise of another true crime party, you end the call and approach Mr. Wheeler’s apartment complex. It’s neither the safest nor the most dangerous in Los Angeles. You survey your immediate surroundings and exit the car to walk up the cracking concrete walkway.

The buzzer echoes in the dim hallway before you exit and look toward Mr. Wheeler’s balcony. One of his neighbors comes down the stairs and says your name.

“Mrs. Ritter,” you reply with a smile. “How are you? How are the kids?”

She sighs and clicks her tongue. “Still wilder than Tarzan.”

You laugh at her unusual analogy. She was one of your first parolees, and you’re proud of her progress in her personal and professional life.

“You here for Mr. Wheeler?” she inquires after hearing you’re doing well. “He has been holed up in that little pigsty since Friday night.”

“Really?” you ask. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“Still makin’ noise and it don’t smell no worse, if that’s what you’re askin’. Come on in, honey.”

She opens the gate for you, wishes you luck, and walks to a freshly detailed but clearly used BMW. You wave to her, then walk up the steps to Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“Mr. Wheeler!” you call after your knocks go unanswered. You say your name before you add, “I need to talk to you about your job.”

“I quit!” he yells from inside.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Dexter. Open the door and we can talk.”

“I open this door, and we won’t be talking!”

At that, you step away from the door and move back down the stucco hallway.

“Last chance to work with me,” you call.

He throws something against the door, which rattles on its hinges, and you pull your phone from your pocket. With a quick text to Nell, you have backup on the way. Hopefully, you can talk to Mr. Wheeler after the situation is de-escalated.

Less than five minutes later, a police car parks behind your sedan and two officers exit it. You meet them at the bottom of the stairs and open the gate to let them into the apartment complex.

“Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” you say as you lead them up the stairs.

“No problem,” Officer Bradford replies.

“I’m Lucy Chen,” Lucy introduces. “And this is Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

“Nice to meet you,” you respond. “So, my parolee, Dexter Wheeler, lives in apartment 34R. His employer called me earlier because he violated his agreement with them and stopped showing up three days ago. He wasn’t answering my calls, so I came over and knocked on his door. He told me that if he opened the door, we wouldn’t speak, and then threw something at the door.”

Tim nods, then looks around the small hallway. “Any of the neighbors say anything?”

“One of the women who lives downstairs implied that his apartment is – for lack of a better word – disgusting, and that he’s been locked in it since he returned home from work four or so days ago.”

Tim’s eyes remain locked on yours as you speak, and he mirrors your movements as you turn slightly to face Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“You want us to take him into custody or just assist in getting inside?” Tim asks.

You sigh, then ask, “What do you recommend?”

“We lock him up,” he answers. “He threw something at you and threatened you.”

“But not in that order,” you remind him with a small smile.

“That’s worse, that’s practically carrying out a threat against a government official.”

“You know this guy,” Lucy points out. “What do you think would benefit him the most?”

“If you’d be willing, I think one more chance might nudge him toward the right decision. If he decides to go the hard way, do whatever you need to do.”

Tim nods while Lucy agrees. He steps to the side and gestures for you to pass him, moving you farther from the door. While your back is turned, Lucy raises her brows and looks between you and Tim. He shakes his head once sternly, then leads Lucy to the door.

Tim knocks with the side of his closed fist and calls, “LAPD! Open the door, we’ve got a few questions for you.”

Dexter doesn’t answer, so Lucy tries, “We just need to see that you’re okay, Mr. Wheeler.”

He still doesn’t answer, so Tim wraps his fingers around the door handle. It turns about halfway, then stops.

“Mr. Wheeler, we know you’re in there. Because you’re on parole, we can come inside without a warrant,” Tim explains. “Last chance to comply.”

“I’m not on parole!” he finally replies.

Tim raises his hands and drops them back to his sides as you deadpan, “Oh, I must’ve been mistaken.”

“We’re coming in, Mr. Wheeler,” Lucy says.

Something else hits the door with a thud, and Tim steps back before bringing his foot up. He kicks the door beside the lock and rushes inside when it splinters and swings open. Lucy lays her hand on her taser and follows Tim while you wait in the hall. A door opens farther down, and someone leans out to see the cause of the commotion.

“Everything’s under control,” you assure them. “Stay inside.”

Lucy returns to the door and steps out before taking a deep breath. “Tim’s bringing him out.”

“Is it bad?” you ask.

Lucy’s eyes widen as she nods. You message your supervisor that Wheeler’s living conditions are unsuitable, and he’s being taken into police custody.

“What?” Dexter asks as Tim shoves him out of the door.

As he closes the door, you catch a whiff of the interior and fight the urge to cover your nose. Tim clears his throat as he looks at you.

“Mr. Wheeler, why haven’t you attended work this week?” you ask.

“I quit,” he tells you.

“Well, you have to tell me that. It’s a violation of your parole.”

“You don’t need to know my every move. I’m not a child.”

“Is that why your home is so dirty?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, it is. You also failed to answer my calls earlier or open the door for me. Two more violations.”

“I was busy!” he defends.

He attempts to step toward you, but Tim keeps a tight grip on his handcuffs and yanks him back. Wheeler falls, grunting when he hits the concrete landing.

“He was indeed busy,” Lucy tells you.

Your brows raise, and Tim rubs his jaw before he says, “There’s a prostitute in there.”

“He took a prostitute in there?!” you exclaim.

You’re not surprised that he engaged in a criminal offense but by the prostitute’s willingness to go into such a residence. Lucy takes a deep breath before she knocks and reenters the apartment. Almost immediately, she exits again with a scantily-clad woman in handcuffs, closes the door, and exhales.

“Well, Mr. Wheeler,” you begin. “The good news is, I’m not your parole officer anymore.”

He smiles up at you, and Tim ‘accidentally’ knocks his boot against Dexter’s side.

“Bad news,” Tim continues. “You’re going back to jail for numerous parole violations and engaging in prostitution.”

“You’re on parole?” the woman asks.

“That is what’s bothering you?” you and Tim ask simultaneously.

While she attempts to justify her actions, Tim radios for another unit to meet them at the apartment complex and transport the two arrested individuals before you.

As you end a call with your supervisor, Tim and Lucy talk to the officers escorting Mr. Wheeler and his female companion to lock up. You slide your phone into your pocket and wait for them to finish what they’re doing.

After the door closes and the other officers drive toward the main road, Lucy turns to Tim with a wide smile.

“What?” he asks, waving you over.

“Hello?” she exclaims. “Chemistry what? You and the parole officer are like a perfect match!”

“Chemistry?” Tim repeats just as you reach them. “With my wife?”

“Chemistry?” you say, just as Tim had. “Tim Bradford, do you have a crush on me?”

Tim sighs as Lucy looks rapidly between you and Tim.

“Careful,” you warn, while Tim snaps, “You’re going to get whiplash, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.”

“I have to get back to work,” you sigh. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Lucy replies. “I- you’re married?!”

Tim rolls his eyes, pats your shoulder, and follows you to your car. Lucy watches as he opens your door for you and leans forward to tell you something that makes you smile.

“Tell me everything,” Lucy requests as they return to the shop.

Tim doesn’t reply while he follows your car out of the apartment parking lot. Of course, he knows you are perfect for him, but something about hearing it from someone else makes him love you even more.

“Why don’t we get attached to all of her calls?” Lucy asks instead.

“Why are you still talking?” Tim counters.

Lucy purses her lips, then decides, “The sarcastic comments are more enjoyable when your wife is around.”

Most things are, Tim thinks. He’s glad to know you’re safe, and as Lucy continues asking questions he won’t answer, he thinks about you and what you should do this weekend. It will probably be easier to create a plan after he gets the smell of Dexter Wheeler’s apartment off him and his shop and his wedding ring back on his finger.

[biancabi]

Dick: *Forcing a smile* Being an older brother is a wonderful and surprising thing. You can always find yourself in situations you never thought you would happen!!!

-

Dick: *Freaking out* What was the only thing I said not to do??!!

Duke: *Guilty* Create a cult for the second time.

Dick: AND WHAT WAS WHAT YOU DID???

Duke: ....Create a cult for the second time.

Duke: ....

Duke: In my defense it was completely accidental.

-

Dick: Hey Dami, have you seen-WHAT IS SO???

Damian: Grayson keep your voice down, your screams will alert everyone.

Dick: *Deep breath* Dami, babybat, my little brother. Why is there a giraffe hanging out on your balcony?

Damian: Her name is Macbeth and I think that's obvious, she's too big to come into my room.

Dick: Where did you find a giraffe in damn Gotham???No, don't answer that. Does Bruce know about this??

Damian: No Grayson, you're the first to hear about Macbeth joining the family.

Dick: Okok, This is all Bruce's fault and I refuse to deal with this now.

-

Jason: Hypothetically speaking, how bad would it be if during the patrol I dropped my bombs that explode when touched on the wrong side?

Dick: ....I'm sorry? What?

Jason: Just a hypothetical situation, it doesn't mean he dropped bombs there.

Dick: What the fuck, Jason!? Really What the fuck?!

-

Tim: *With zero hours of sleep and 5 boxes of red bull*. I HAVE DISCOVERED IT!!

Dick: I don't want to ask, god knows nothing good comes of that, but what have you discovered, Timy??

Tim: *Jumping with excitement* I have discovered the identity of the criminal mind we have been investigating.

Dick: I take back what I said, that's good news. Who is it??

Tim: IT'S BRUCE WAYNE!!

Dick: ...

Dick: Did you know?? I said nothing. What made you think it's Bruce Wayne?

Tim: *Fretically moving hands* Just think about it, whenever Bruce Wayne leaves events early there's some big crime or breakup of Arkham, plus he always reappears with suspicious injuries and attributes them to his clumsiness. One part of his money mysteriously disappears from his boxsafe, his segurity is too good to be a theft or mistake, it must be your financing at evil ends and-

Dick: Tim, Don't you forget that Bruce-

Tim: AND YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE BEST PART.

Dick: What could-

Tim: HIS CHILDREN ARE TRAINED KILLERS AND RUN HIS CRIMINAL EMPIRE.

Dick: *Looking for the sedative and sleeping pills* Are they?? Tell me more.

-

Dick: Everyone should feel the joy -suffering- of being an older brother -it's all Bruce's fault, I must have been an only child-

*Voices of Tim and Damian fighting in the background with Jason cheering them on*

Dick: Above all I love my brothers.

*Sound of breaking glass and Duke's surprised scream*

Dick: *Trying to convince himself* I really, really love them.

*Gliter bomb explosion*

Dick: ....

Dick: *Whispering* I don't get paid enough for this. Damn Bruce.

[wonderjanga]

billy is a thief shenanigans Letting a caught burglar go right in front of batman because "they were only stealing and they didnt hurt anybody" Freaking out during a meeting when he finds out what the punishment for shoplifting is in some places

has past champions who were also thieves creating even worse answers to any interrogative questions

Marvel is very, very lenient when it comes to theft for some reason. None of the heroes he’s friends with know why.

Marvel: “So you were stealing a cat statue?”

Catwoman: “Yes.”

Marvel: “Why?”

Catwoman: “Because it’s my motif. I love cats. I’m Catwoman.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid second* “You got me there.” *shrugs and lets her go*

Batman: *confusion*

Catwoman: *also confused but runs*

Batman: “Captain, why did you just let her go?” *starts to run after her*

Marvel: *flies after them* “She was just stealing.”

Batman: “Yes, which is a crime.”

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir, it’s a cat statue. Most people won’t miss it.”

Batman: “That doesn’t change the fact it’s a crime.”

In the end, Selina got away. With the cat statue must Bruce add. He chastised the heck out of Marvel for letting her go. He was also super annoyed that Marvel could’ve just flown a little faster and re-caught her.

Anyways, most heroes were just baffled he had the audacity to do this in front of Batman of all people cause it’s literally Batman you just did this to. This somehow led to the heroes discussing thievery in general.

Marvel: “Huh??” *sounds extremely concerned* “What do you mean you could get like twenty years in Turkey?! You’re lying!

GL: “I’m not man! Google it.”

Marvel: *frowns* “You know I don’t like using computers.”

GL: “Tough luck then.”

Marvel: *frowns harder and leaves to go find Batman* “Mr. Batman Sir! I have to ask something!”

So that’s how Bruce got to rant about international shoplifting and larceny laws to Marvel who listened very intently.

Batman: “Why’re you asking this anyways?”

Marvel: “Me and GL were talking about it. I thought it was stupid because back in my day, they’d just cut off your left hand and let you run along.”

Batman: “Where was this?”

Marvel: “What’s now modern day South Africa.”

Batman: “I see…”

Bruce was a little relieved because that probably meant this happened a long while ago. He’s not wrong because Billy pulled that from a Champion that used to be alive around 13000 years ago.

Batman: “You sound rather nonchalant about that punishment. Surely that’s worse than spending time in prison.”

Marvel: “Uh… No it isn’t. Trust me I’d know. I’ve gotten my hand chopped off for that reason.”

Batman: “What?”

Marvel: “Multiple times.”

Batman: “What??”

Marvel: “It’s actually quite painless when you’ve had it happen before.”

Batman: “What???”

[lipstick-and-libraries]

New Dorm, New Chance? PT. 1

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: You are Kitty's new Roommate, after she decided to switch Rooms to avoid Yuri and Juliana, and it's not long until you get the opportunity to meet her first roommates.

𓋜 Notes:

Hey <3

I don't know if anyone is gonna read this at all, but I decided to get back into writing, and due to Season Two coming out, I have an unhealthy obsession with XO, Kitty. So, I sat down, saw the lack of XO, Kitty fics and created a little something, I hope you enjoy! I'd be grateful for any kind of feedback

The second semester at KISS was off to a chaotic start, as usual, but for Kitty Song Covey, things were finally starting to settle down. After pleading with the principal, she’d managed to switch dorms and move in with a close friend of hers, (Y/N). It was a decision that made perfect sense—Kitty needed a break from the awkward tension of her old room, and (Y/N)’s calming presence was exactly what she needed to focus on her whirlwind of romantic and academic entanglements.

(Y/N) had been nothing short of the perfect roommate. She was effortlessly chic, deeply intuitive, and, unlike most students at KISS, refreshingly down-to-earth. Kitty often marveled at how (Y/N) could command attention without even trying. The girl had a natural elegance that seemed to enchant everyone she met.

One Saturday afternoon, Kitty left their shared dorm to meet up with Yuri to continue the search for her family. “Dae, Minho, and Q might stop by later,” she called over her shoulder. “I told them they could hang out until I’m back.”

“Got it,” (Y/N) replied, lounging on the kitchen counter with a book in her hands.

When Minho, Dae, and Q arrived at Kitty’s new dorm, Minho was mid-rant about his latest gym mishap.

“Who even uses the elliptical when the treadmill’s free? It’s practically a crime—”

“Minho,” Q interrupted, rolling his eyes. “You’ll live. Just knock on the door.”

Minho sighed dramatically before rapping his knuckles against the door. When no one answered, he opened it cautiously.

“Kitty? We’re here—”

But it wasn’t Kitty who greeted them. Instead, they were met with the sight of (Y/N) sitting on the kitchen counter, one leg crossed over the other, a book perched casually in her hands. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to frame her like a painting, catching the soft waves of her hair and the slight smirk on her lips.

Minho stopped mid-step, his usual self-assured demeanor faltering.

“Oh,” (Y/N) said, glancing up from her book. Her voice was smooth, effortlessly composed. “You must be Kitty’s friends.”

Dae offered a polite smile. “Yeah, I’m Dae. That’s Q, and… Minho.”

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes flickering briefly to Minho, who was still standing frozen by the door.

“Kitty mentioned you might drop by,” (Y/N) said, closing her book and hopping off the counter with a grace that made Minho’s heart stutter. “She’s out snooping with Yuri again, but you’re welcome to wait here.”

“Cool, thanks,” Q said, settling onto the couch. Dae followed suit, but Minho hesitated, still trying to gather his thoughts.

“She’s—” Minho started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He coughed, trying to sound casual. “She didn’t say her new roommate was…you know, you.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She wasn't exactly popular by any means, but she also wasn't completely unknown. She leads a couple of language and study courses, and word spread that its not only brains, but beauty too that convinced people to visit her student courses.

As the afternoon wore on, Minho found himself increasingly distracted. While Dae and Q scrolled through their phones and chatted, Minho’s attention kept drifting to (Y/N). There was something about her thsn threw him off, and not in a bad way. Where most people at KISS seemed eager to impress or compete, (Y/N) seemed content just to exist in her own world.

She didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk or flashy gestures. Instead, she moved with an easy confidence, offering the occasional witty comment that left Minho scrambling for a clever response.

At one point, she caught him staring.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Minho flushed. “Uh, no. Just…trying to figure out what book you were reading before.”

(Y/N) held up the cover—an old, leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights.

Minho blinked. “You’re reading…that? Isn’t it, like, super depressing?”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) countered, a faint smile playing on her lips. “And complicated. Kind of like people. You should borrow it sometime”

Minho didn’t know how to respond to that, so he settled for an awkward nod.

After an hour, Q and Dae decided to head out to grab food. “You coming, Minho?” Dae asked, already halfway out the door.

“I’ll catch up,” Minho said quickly, waving them off.

(Y/N) lead the two boys to the door, giving them the spare key Kitty had told her to give to them, and apologizes for Kitty being this late. Once the door closed, the room fell quiet.

Minho shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“So…how do you know Kitty?” he asked finally, leaning against the back of the couch.

“We met at orientation,” (Y/N) replied. “She’s…unlike anyone else. In a good way.”

Minho chuckled. “That’s one way to describe her.”

(Y/N) grabs her book and puts it away on the small shelf standing in the living room and looked at him, her gaze steady but not intimidating. “And what about you? How do you know Kitty?”

“She’s…” Minho hesitated, then shrugged. “Complicated.”

(Y/N)’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “You should know a thing or two about that, based on what i've already seen from you”

For the first time, Minho felt like someone had peeled back the layers of his carefully curated persona. Most people saw him as the charming, confident playboy, but (Y/N) seemed to see through all of that.

The turning point came when (Y/N) decided to make tea.

“Want some?” she asked, holding up a kettle.

“Sure,” Minho said, joining her in the kitchen.

As they stood side by side, he found himself relaxing for the first time all day. (Y/N) handed him a mug, her fingers brushing against his. The brief contact sent a jolt through him, but he played it off, sipping his tea like nothing had happened.

“This is good,” he said, gesturing to the tea.

“Thanks,” (Y/N) replied. “It’s an old family recipe.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” she said, her smile teasing.

When Kitty returned later that evening, she found Minho still in the dorm, sitting on the couch with (Y/N). They were deep in conversation, their laughter filling the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” Kitty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Minho said quickly, standing up. “I was just—uh—leaving.”

As he walked past (Y/N), he hesitated for a moment. “See you around?”

“Maybe,” (Y/N) replied, her tone light but her eyes warm.

After Minho left, Kitty turned to (Y/N), a knowing grin spreading across her face. “What was that about?”

(Y/N) shrugged, but her cheeks flushed slightly. “Nothing. Just talking.”

Kitty didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

(Y/N) gives her a grin of her own and links her arm with Kitty's.

"While we're on the topic, how'd your little date with Yuri go?"

Kitty's eyes go wide, nudging (Y/N) playfully while laughing

"Hey! I'm the one asking Questions, not you!"

That night, as Minho lay in bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N). The way she smiled, the way she seemed to see right through him, the way her laugh made his chest feel lighter.

For the first time in a long time, Minho felt something real—something that scared him but also excited him.

Part 2

[nickfowlerrr]

something good and true - part 2

part one / part three / part four

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 5k

notes: i’m so happy people are enjoying the first part, hopefully you’ll enjoy the rest too! lol thank you in advance for reading, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

You wake up to the sound of your daily alarm going off, grumbling as you search your sheets for your phone. When you have a grasp on it, you press the ‘stop’ button and make yourself sit up. You reach for your mouth guard case on the night stand as you take out your night guard, putting it in its case and placing it down momentarily. You rub your eyes, sighing as you try and really wake up. You went to bed early last night, somehow slept longer than usual, and are still tired. Great.

You finally force yourself out of bed and get started on your usual morning routine.

It’s Valentine’s Day but you don’t have a place to be until tonight so you take your time, enjoying the pleasure of a slow morning knowing you don’t have to be at work at all today.

When you’re done getting ready in the bathroom you find yourself dilly dallying in the closet. You don’t know what you should wear. Would dressing up be weird for a dinner/crime confessional? Or would it be more rude to show up to the regal Barnes’ home in casual clothes?

Finally you decide to meet in the middle of the two. You grab your fitted long sleeve purple top, the asymmetric off the shoulder style upgrading the otherwise basic top without being too much, and look for your nice figure hugging pants.

You don’t dress right away, wanting to save the outfit for before you’re set to be picked up in case of a mess. In the meantime, you do your usual makeup routine and style your hair for the day. It’s getting close to noon and your stomach growls, reminding you you’ve yet to eat. You head to the kitchen, still in your pajamas, prepared to start on a quick lunch when you hear a knock on the door.

You freeze for a moment before you walk toward the door, completely unsure of who it could be. You aren’t expecting anyone and the only person you’d be worried to answer the door to would be nothing more than a spector today.

You look out the peephole and see a delivery woman. With a quirked brow, you unlock the door and pull it open.

“Hello,” you greet.

“How are you, sweetie,” she returns with a bright smile. “Got a nice little delivery for you today,” she gestures to the long box she’s rested against the wall. “Just need a signature.”

You smile and take the pen from her, signing quickly, and probably illegibly.

“I’ll tell you, this is probably the biggest box for a bouquet that I’ve delivered since I started,” she laughs, “someone must really want you as their valentine.”

You laugh in return, trying to hide your confusion. There’s flowers in that box?

���Thank you,” you say as you hand her pen back.

“Have a nice Valentine’s,” she says as she turns and walks back toward her truck.

“You, too,” you say after her.

You turn your attention to the box and are careful as you bring it inside. You get it on the table and open it up.

You’re stunned at the bouquet that it holds. You never would’ve guessed the contents of this if she hadn’t mentioned it. The company name is on the inside of the box along with instructions for removing the bouquet without damaging the flowers. You follow the guidance after removing the glass vase packed safely next to the flowers.

It’s gorgeous, and surely expensive. A bouquet this beautifully arranged, with these varieties of flowers and fillers, you don’t know a whole lot about flower prices but you know arrangements like these cost a pretty penny, especially when they’re this size.

You don’t have to do much to the bouquet but again follow the care instructions as you put them in their vase.

At the very bottom of the box is a small card, it appears to have fallen from its stick that still resides among the stems. You can think of only one person who would be sending flowers, but you’re still a little struck when you read his initials on the card.

Forgive the surprise, but it’d be a shame for a woman as special as you to not be gifted on Valentine's.

I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.

- J.B.B

You try and quell the butterflies taking flight, try and tamper down the renewed nerves, but… He sent you flowers.

You bite your lip, not wanting to break a full smile. It was nice. But was it too much, and too soon? And no way you should feel this giddy with everything you’ve been going through. You don’t even think you’ve really cried since that day. You know better than to bury emotions, to try and move on without dealing with them. With the - you hate to call it what it is - trauma.

The truth is you don’t feel traumatized. You just don’t like to think about him. You don’t like to think about the pain, or the bruises, or the blood, or the knife. You don’t like remembering the fact that you saw a man die.

You shake the thoughts away, like you always do. No.

He’s ruined enough in your life, you think. You won’t let him ruin this new found light, too.

-

6:30 and you’re only now changing out of your pjs. You put on your pants and your top, checking in the mirror that it looks the way you envisioned it would. You slip on your black heeled mules and touch up your hair and makeup before putting on some simple jewelry. This isn’t a date, you remind yourself. This is dinner and the truth.

Your heart races at the thought of having to recall that day but you ignore it. It’ll be good for you, finally telling someone the whole of it.

A knock on your door startles you and you check the time on your phone to find it’s fifteen til.

You do one last check before turning off the lights and coming out into the front room, shutting the other lights off on your way. You double check the peephole and are reassured of Bucky’s presence on the other side. You have your phone in one hand and your small purse in the other, keys dangling from a finger as you open the door to him.

“Hi,” you muster up the greeting as you try to keep from staring at him. He looks sharp and you suddenly feel a little underdressed. Maybe a dress was the right way to go… You want to compliment him but then you’re unsure he’s dressed for you specifically.

“Hello,” he returns, a small smirk on his lips. “You look lovely.”

“Oh,” you look down at yourself, “thank you.” In the same moment, you remember the flowers and repeat yourself, looking to meet his eye. “And thank you, for the flowers, I- they’re beautiful.”

“Not more than you,” he says smoothly, “but I’m glad you liked them. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” you nod, stepping out. You turn to lock the door and slip the keys and your phone into your purse before turning to him again.

Bucky holds his arm out for you to take and you falter for just a split second before you do. He leads you to his car, the same blacked out Jaguar as before, and helps you in.

You try to settle in and buckle yourself before he gets in on his side.

He starts the car and after adjusting the temperature, takes off to his place.

“You like Italian?” he asks out of the blue a couple minutes into the quiet ride.

You glance over at him, “Uhm, yeah. I do.”

“The chef is making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner,” he says with a side glance to you. “Is that alright for you?”

You raise your brows unexpectedly, the question surprising you, “Yes. That ah, sounds good,” you nod.

He looks over at you again, one hand on the wheel as he drives smoothly. You clear your throat nervously.

“How’s your day been?” you ask, your nerves clear in your voice despite your attempt to hide them.

His lips quirk in a half smile, huffing a laugh through his nose.

“Relatively uneventful, until now. Had lunch with an old friend, made some business calls but aside from that I tried to keep my day clear.”

“Oh,” you hum, suddenly feeling bad about having to intrude on his day - though he was the one who didn’t give much of an option at all.

“Truthfully, I’ve just been looking forward to seeing you.”

Your eyes start slowly looking up from your lap as you take in his words until you turn to meet his gaze.

“Me?”

“You.”

You swallow thickly and avert your eyes, you’re once again at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” he chuckles softly, “was that too much?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't think I’ve made myself or my intentions clear enough,” he says, turning onto a desolate street and driving up what you now see is a long, winding driveway. His home comes into view and your eyes widen. It’s like Wayne Manor. The Neo-Georgian style is oddly fitting for the man beside you.

You’re brought back to the conversation as Bucky pulls into the large garage and parks the car. You look at him fully once more, his bright blue eyes already on you.

“I don’t want you feeling scared or nervous, or like you’re in any kind of trouble here. Tonight is really more selfishly motivated on my part than anything. I just wanna talk over dinner. In part to get the whole story about what happened, but also just to be able to have dinner with you without any prying eyes. I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, I should’ve made that clear to you before.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “you should’ve.” You breathe deeply but steadily as you look at him, his eyes never leaving yours, “I would’ve worn a dress.”

His lips twitch as he blinks at you; he lets out a titter as he opens his door and gets out, walking around to get your own.

He helps you out of the car and takes your arm in his, “You look beautiful no matter what.”

Your skin burns at his compliment and you can’t help your admiration. You don’t think you’ve ever been treated so nicely before.

“You’re like a real life gentleman,” you muse shyly.

“My mom didn’t raise me any other way,” he says, leading you into the house.

The aroma of marina and garlic fills your nose as you walk through the space and you suddenly feel very hungry.

“I can give you the tour later, but for now, this is the entertainment room,” he gestures to the room as you continue walking through, coming to a door and going out into the hall. “Bathroom,” he points to the door on the left of you. “Kitchen,” he points to the hinged doors the smell is emanating from, continuing down the hall to the open space it lead to. “This is the entrance and sitting room, and on the other side, just there,” he points across the way, “is the dining room. And there’s another bathroom down on the left, too.”

“You have a beautiful home,” you compliment, eyes wandering the space. It’s really like something out of a magazine or a movie. Funny to imagine people actually live in gorgeous homes like this.

“Dinner shouldn’t be too long,” Bucky starts but pauses when he sees the contemplation on your face. “What is it?” he asks.

You look to him, brows furrowed as you think before you fix your face. “Uhm, can we just talk about it now,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “Get it all out and over with.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Please.”

“Sure,” he says after assessing you for a long second, leading you to the couch to sit down.

You set your purse on the coffee table and take a seat, hands trailing down the fabric of your pants as you smooth them out of habit.

Bucky sits down beside, but leaves some space between you and him.

You aren’t sure how to start.

“Uhm, what is it that you want to know again?”

“Everything,” he says firmly, but without being too harsh, keeping his eyes on you. “What happened, how it started, how it ended. The whole story.”

“Right. Okay, well uhm, it started I guess with us getting together… it didn’t last all that long, really. Freddy and I were seeing each other last year for about six months before I ended things. Or, tried to, at least. He was moving really fast and I didn’t have all that much interest in taking our relationship further than just casually dating. We had an argument about moving in together that ended with him… slapping me,” you force the confession, “we were at his place and I just grabbed my bag and keys and left. I thought that’d be the end of it, I said as much on my way out, but he didn’t wanna accept that, I guess. And so the next six months he was…stalking me?” You weren’t sure what qualified. “I dont know, he’d just always show up places, act like nothing was wrong, kept up a front until we were alone. And I was stupid, I didn’t even bother trying to tell anyone we weren’t together after the first few times. No one believed me, anyway. So, outside looking in it seemed like a typical on again off again situation.

It got to the point where I just accepted whatever it was that was happening. I didn’t really know what else to do. How to stop it. He’d show up at my job, be waiting for me in my car sometimes. I didn’t have much of a choice of letting him in, or driving him home. He’d always end up inside, one way or another, and I… didn’t know when to shut up,” you laugh humorlessly. “I’d tell him to leave, that we weren’t together. He was crazy and wasn’t welcome anywhere around me. I’d yell and scream and the fighting was just, god, maddening. I felt like I was going crazy half the time. It didn’t escalate every time, but when it did,” you wince without noticing as you mindlessly wring your hand. “Anyway, about a month before the last time, I had found him in my house and I was just exhausted. I looked at him while he sat at the counter eating a sandwich and I asked him to leave. I told him there wasn’t anything here for him. That I didn’t love him, and I never would. And that he didn’t love me, either, and deep down that he knew it. Which is all true,” you add, chancing a glance at Bucky who is still next to you, listening intently, eyes locked on you. “I mean, we’d been seeing each other pretty casually for six months, and I knew after the first that we weren’t going anywhere. I thought we were just having fun, I just don’t know why he thought anything different…

But, uhm, yeah anyway, he actually listened that time. There wasn’t an argument, he just threw his food in the garbage, and, well, he pushed past me on his way out but he didn’t look back. Slammed the door on his way and I, I really thought that that was finally it. I thought maybe he’d moved on or something, I don’t-“ you pause, taking a needed breath as you shake your head. “I was wrong though. Because two weeks later he showed up again. Out of the blue. I was in the kitchen, making dinner because my dad was coming over to see if he could fix my heater later. I thought maybe it was him at the door so I didn’t even bother to check before I opened it. And when I did, and it was him, I immediately tried to close it. He looked… I don’t know. Bad. Like, really bad.” You can feel your eyes prick with the beginning of tears as your voice tightens at the memory. “I’d seen him in some pretty bad ways, but I never,” you swallow hard, ”I’d never felt that scared of him before. Even with the pushing and slapping and all that he’d put me through me before. This was just like, unhinged. The look in his eyes when he stared at me,” you force a breath at the recalling.

“I wasn’t able to close the door on him, he shoved it open, didn’t even say anything, just shoved me as hard as he could. I fell against the side table I had by the door, caught myself. I was freaking out, telling him to stop, to leave, and he wouldn’t.

I tried to get to the kitchen to grab my phone and call my dad but he caught me by the back of my shirt and yanked me back. He was going on and on about how stupid I was. How I ruined everything. Calling me every expletive under the sun. He shoved me forward and I went straight into the counter, that hurt,” you monologue, recalling the feeling sharply. “He kicked me while I was leaning against the counter but I got my phone and called my dad. I didn’t even wait for him to answer, I just put my phone back on the counter and hoped Freddy hadn’t noticed. Hoped my dad picked up. He kicked me again, in my back and I kinda fell into the chair there. Was holding it because I didn’t wanna be on the ground but he’d knocked the wind out of me and my chest hurt so badly I wasn’t really able to do anything but try and force myself to breathe. And then I felt him closer, he kneeled down, still over me but more on my level and he just, uh, he smashed my head into that back side of the counter. I tried to elbow him away but he did it again. And then I don’t know what I did,” you try to recall, “but I did something that hurt hit, must’ve hit him somewhere somehow because he backed off while calling me a stupid bitch. The whole time I’m like grunting and trying to be as loud as I can just praying my dad answered and could hear and would be on his way.” You have to stop for a second, regaining control of your voice. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky is beside you as you narrate what you remember.

“I pushed myself up then, got to my feet, but he was already standing too. He shoved me back and back until I hit the wall just next to the kitchen. And then his hands were on my throat and he was choking me. Just forcing me into the wall over and over. I was clawing at him to let me go. I had to shut my eyes because the look on his face,” you cringe. “I kind of stopped listening to what he was saying at one point because it was just an endless stream of blame and anger. I couldn’t breathe,” you squeeze your hand so tight as you speak, “and then I thought, just try to kick him. And so I did. I kneed him, actually, right between his legs and he let go and I kinda dropped. My throat hurt and my head hurt and I was coughing trying to get a good breath in. And then, I didn’t even notice it happening, didn’t even try to dodge it or deflect it, but he just hit me right in the face. Like, boom.

I’d never been punched in the face before,” you chuckle dryly. “Things get blurry around this point. But I remember falling to my hands and knees at some point. He stepped on my hand and kicked my wrist and that hurt like a bitch. Everything was hurting actually. The part I really remember is the kicking. He kicked me in my ribs and I kinda collapsed on my side. Then he kicked me in my back. A few times. Just, as hard as he possibly could it felt like. He started to like, pace around me, and he was still talking but honestly, I have no idea what he was saying. I started to go out of it and I guess he didn’t like that because I remember hearing his voice get louder and then he kicked me again right in the stomach. I was curling up like getting into fetal position basically just trying to not get more hurt. But he just kept kicking me. Over, and over,” your voice shakes as your voice gets breathy, “and over.” Your eyes are misty with unshed tears welling as you stare at your wringing hands. It’s starting to hurt and as if Bucky himself could feel it, he gently reaches to take hold of your hand, stilling your anxious self soothing and giving it the gentlest squeeze, waiting for you to continue as he listens. You glance quickly his way, but don’t look at him. Your eyes instead focusing on your hand in his. You’re not sure you can look at him. You just need to finish telling him what you know about what happened, and then you can face him again.

“We were in front of the kitchen when my dad came in. The door was open, so he got in right away and, most of this is blacked out for me, but I remember hearing my dad saying my name, and,” you feel the tears begin to slip as you sigh in that same relief, “and I thought, thank god,” you titter tightly. “It’s okay now. I’m gonna be okay.” You reach with one hand to swipe at the tears on your cheeks as you sniffle a bit. “There were a lot of loud sounds, I didn’t see anything but I could hear them. I think when my dad first came in he just charged right for Freddy to get him away from me. And my dad, he just saw red. I don’t think anyone would’ve been able to stop him once he got his hands on Freddy. He had been listening to everything that was happening as he drove to my house so I mean, I can only imagine what was going through his head. And then seeing me like that…” you take a pause.

“I really think he saved my life,” you say, finally looking up to Bucky. He looks tense, jaw squared and something dark swimming in his eyes before he recognizes you looking at him - immediately trying to soften his hard gaze. You know innately that he isn’t angered by you, but rather, what happened. And the delicate way he still holds your hand assures you of that.

“And, well, they ended up in the kitchen, and considering only the few defensive marks on my dad after everything, I think he was just pummeling him. I finally got myself to try and get up and made it closer to the kitchen. I wanted to make sure my dad was alright, and right when I saw them, I saw Freddy trying to get the knife I had been using that was still on the counter. My dad noticed, hit him again, and then grabbed it himself. And then, he, uhm,” you try to clear your throat, “he stabbed him. A few times,” you add, turning closer to Bucky without realizing. “And I guess I don’t really have the stomach for that stuff because after that I just passed out. Scared the hell out of my dad. He saw me and immediately left Freddy, let him fall. Let him… die. I really don’t think he meant to, necessarily. But I know he didn’t really care either way if he did or not. Which is, ya know, I’m not mad or upset at my dad for what he did. At all. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it myself, and at the end of the day it was either gonna be him or one of us.” You bite your lip as you fidget with Bucky’s hand. You take a moment, taking a breath before getting back to the story. It comes a little easier now, like the hardest part of remembering has passed.

“I woke up in my old bedroom at my parents house, my mom was there. I could tell she had been worried. She told me my dad brought me home and that he went to go clean up and ‘get rid of the trash’. You know, take the trash out and all that,” you allude, giving Bucky a look, eyeing him and hoping to lighten a little bit of the tension around him. He lets the smallest hint of a smile tug on his lips as he stares at you.

“I know,” he confirms, then waits for you to go on. You blink away from him, playing with the silver signet ring on his pinky.

“I really don’t know what he did with him,” you tell him. “He wouldn’t tell me. He didn’t want me to know, or to worry about it. He said if anything happened, if police got involved, he didn’t want me to have any part in it.”

“Good man.”

You smile at Bucky’s words and nod slightly. “Yeah. He is,” you look back at Bucky, hoping to explain better that the trouble this whole thing caused wasn’t his fault. “He was just trying to take care of me, keep me safe. So, I know Freddy worked in your organization, and if his…going missing, caused problems for you, I’m sorry. It was neve-“

“Woah, sweetheart,” Bucky cuts you off almost right away, brows furrowed, “That was never an issue. Freddy had been a problem for business for a while, actually. My only regret is not having handled him myself, and sooner;” he says, his voice low and his agitation at the regret clear in his tone and in his eyes. “I owe your father a thank you.”

Another relief washes over you. You had wanted to believe before when he said you and your dad had nothing to worry about, but hearing that now, you fully do. Especially seeing the raw emotions swimming in the blues of his eyes. He means what he says, you know it.

“The only reason I bothered to look into his absence at all was because of the information and money he had in his car the last time he had a job. We got footage of your dad from that night, parking and abandoning the car, a couple weeks after I first met you. We got what we really needed then, got the car and found the inventory. Thought maybe he was going rogue, went into hiding or something, but then, some of my guys actually found him - and I figured we should know what went down if we wanted to make sure getting rid of him for good would be the end of it. And I knew, somehow, this had you all caught up in it. You’re not the best liar,” he smirks teasingly before he gets serious again, “and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to make sure you were okay. And now I know, so it's done. I promise you aren’t ever gonna have to worry or think about that scumbag again.” He moves his hand from yours and instead takes both in his, holding them as he looks at you sincerely. “I know that wasn’t easy for you to have to talk about, but I appreciate you telling me. I’m sorry you ever had to go through any of that. None’a that should’ve happened. And you deserve a hell of a lot better than the likes of him, even at his best, ya know that?”

You look at him, a little taken aback by his sincerity and care. People talk a lot about Bucky Barnes, but clearly not many know him - not like this. You’ve seen the exterior, the hardened, cocky front. But this caring, attentive and protective side is something you’d never have expected. Though it’s more than welcome. You warm at his words but don’t answer, instead looking down at your hands for a second before he takes his back. He lifts his touch to your chin and tilts until your eyes meet his again, a breath caught in your throat when you do.

“You do know that, don’t you, doll?” He repeats, the softness you find yourself growing ever fonder of back in his intent gaze as he seems to try and peer into your soul.

You can’t get your tongue to work but your hand moves to hold his wrist gently and you manage to nod your head. Then your body seems to move without thinking. You pull his hand away and he lets you, but you don’t drop your touch, instead guiding his hand to his side. You then find yourself moving into him without a word. You couldn’t resist the urge to hug him if you’d wanted to. Your arms go around him as you lean into him, his own arms readily coming around you in return. Your eyes fall shut at the feeling the warmth of him sends through you, your body relaxing, the tension that had been coursing through you relieving more and more.

“Thank you,” you murmur before pulling away. “And sorry,” you breathe a slightly embarrassed laugh as you look at him.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, a hint of a smile curving his lips, one arm still around your waist. You aren’t sure he even realizes and truthfully, you don’t mind at all. In fact, you like the feeling.

A moment passes as you both just look at one another until you hear his name and his hand falls fully on your hip.

“Mr. Barnes,” a man speaks as he enters from the hall in the direction of the kitchen. You both give him your attention as you turn to look at him. “Oh, excuse me, my apologies,” he smiles at you as you catch his eye. “Dinner will be served shortly, and I can bring your salads out momentarily if you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Grant,” Bucky dismisses before turning his full attention back to you. “Are you hungry?”

You turn to Bucky and nod, a soft, small smile pulling at your lips, “Very,” you answer honestly.

His touch slips away as he stands but he holds his hand out for you to take. You do just that and let him lead you to the dining room.

[when42-0fallasleep]

Tim, in his Red Robin suit, with a lead-lined box by his side, secured by a strap across his shoulder, rechecked the address Poison Ivy gave him- to a flower shop with no name.

Normally plant problems in Gotham can be associated with her, but since she and Harley Quinn became official, they have promised to try not to harm the citizen. (Well, Harley promised, and Ivy didn't really gave her words, but everyone and their mothers now know she would never let her girlfriend down for life, so yeah.) But this is still her specialty, so questions are fine, hopefully.

"Plants is my specialty, yes," Ivy let out a sigh of disappointment, oh no- "But these types magiacal plants unfortunately isn't mine, nor Swamp Thing's if you are about to ask," Great, double sucks, "But I know someone. Normally she- well, normally her type of people keeps to themselves, but I think she would be interested in this."

And that was how he ended up here, a flower shop too close to Crime Alley for his liking, and well... Ivy vouched for her, but stranger danger never has an age limitation around here. And also he was still wondering how had he never notice the shop before in his life-

And the door to the shop suddenly openned.

There stood a girl with midnight black hair with a little olive tint under the light, lavender purple eyes with black eyeliners, black nails, and a black dress- the whole gothic vibe and all that. She raised her eyebrow at him, and, "Well? You've been standing here for like, 15 minutes. Come in."

He has been standing there that long?

"Oh, sorry, just, well-" Tim tried to calm himself. "Er, I have some questions related to a plant problem, and Ivy said I should come here to ask you."

"Ah," The girl nodded, "Okay, come in. And call me Phalya."

Phalya took Red Robin to a small room behind the counter, going pass the various pots and bouquets of various types of flowers under dim light, then sat him down next to a little table.

"Tea or coffee?" Phalya asked, to which he shook his head, "Well okay, your lost."

At the corner of his eyes, some vines then reached out to grab a teapot, and poured her a cup of some sort of brownish red liquid, to which she whispered a small "Thank you" and settle the cup down on her table.

"So, plant problem," Phalya started after a sip of her cup, "Pamela didn't told me much, just that you will come seeking answers soon. What kind of plant problem are we talking about now?"

"Pamela?" Tim thought, they must be close. Another question for later then.

"We found an unfamiliar type of radioactive plant suddenly appeared at 17:53 yesterday and released a type of weird gas that affected the citizens around Amusement Mile," It wasn't a pleasant scene at all, as the image popped up in Tim's mind: the dead quiet park, the green air, the people lying everywhere.

"The effects started with nausea, then fainting, according to a witness. We had to quarantine the place. We need help to make the antidote for it, but the plant didn't come up on any of our scan," Tim then pulled out a picture of the plant on his wrist computer, then showed it to Phalya, "This familiar?"

The goth girl put her cup down and studied the image a little, then raised a corcerning eyebrow.

"I know these plant, but the problem is that they shouldn't be here, at that large quantity too," She mused with another sip, "They are a type of plant belonged to the Infinite Realm, so it would affect the livings in a negative way. It's curable, don't worry, just let them rest in bed for a couple day. They should be all fine before..." Phalya stopped to think a little, "Right on midnight tomorrow, or if they don't, there will be the antidote for it delivered to you. I will ask someone to cleanse the place too."

That was... oddly specific.

Phalya must understand his confusion then, "Okay, I know you have a lot of questions, you lots of Bats and Birds always do," She put her head on one hand, and waved the other a little at him, "I can't answer them for you right now, since anyone that might have placed these babies here in the living realm might be trouble. I know you have a plant sample in that box there, so I'll take that. There might be some clues."

At that, a vine came out from somewhere and take the strap off the box from him. Tim instinctly hold onto it, but the vines seemed to be stronger.

"Oh don't be like that, you won't find out what kind of plant it is anyway," She sipped her tea again, as the vine took his lead-lined box away, "I- well, we will find you later if there is anything to share... or not."

Tim didn't like her grin at all.

"Until then, Birdie."

Suddenly, a force pulled him out of the shop's waiting entrance to the ground outside. Tim landed with an "Ooof", then,

Then when he looked up, the flower shop disappeared.

[just-aake]

Criminal Temptation Part 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha went undercover to dismantle a crime empire—getting close was just part of the job. Years later, the one she betrayed is out of prison, and now Natasha must decide what’s more dangerous—the woman rising through the criminal world, or the love she thought she buried years ago.

Warnings: slight violence, suggestive themes, light fluff

Words: 4171

The thump of bass fades as Natasha steps out of the club, leaving behind a blur of neon, perfumes, and heat. The heavy door slams shut behind her, muffling the pulse of music into a distant throb. 

The cold hits immediately, sharp but not unfamiliar. Russia’s winter is worse than where she is now. Still, it slices through the false warmth she’d borrowed from the crowd inside.

Natasha exhales into her hands, breath curling like smoke in the night air, and pulls her leather jacket tighter. It’s well-worn but hers—actually hers—not issued or borrowed. 

A rare luxury for someone like her.

New York’s skyline looms in front of her like a question she hasn’t figured out how to answer yet.

She came here to breathe, to forget the rules written into her blood. But freedom is quieter than she expected, and the silence leaves too much room for doubt. 

SHIELD had offered her a lifeline—structure, purpose—but sometimes it feels like a cage disguised as a choice.

What if this isn’t it either?

Her shoulders tense as the wind slinks down her collar. She squints up the street, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time until a loud voice cuts through the hum of the city. 

“Leave me alone!”

The club door slams open and then closes again.

Natasha’s body stills, trained instinct waking as she turns her head slightly to the commotion. A man and a woman are now arguing near a sleek black car just a few feet away. 

The tone isn’t drunken bickering—it’s edged and tense. 

Natasha narrows her eyes as she observes the two from the corner of her eyes.

“Look, it’s getting late,” the man says, gesturing toward the open car door. “Just get in.”

The woman doesn’t budge. Her arms are crossed, chin lifted in open defiance.

“I’m not going with you. What part of that don’t you understand?”

The man’s mask of patience cracks. He mutters something low and harsh under his breath, then reaches for the woman’s arm. 

Natasha is already moving.

Her hand snaps out, fingers clamping around his wrist before he can touch you. 

“She said no.”

Her voice is quiet, but the threat laced beneath it is unmistakable. She shifts subtly, positioning herself just enough to cut between you and the man.

But you don’t shrink behind her like she expects.

Instead, you step in beside her. One hand glides to rest at the small of her back, fingers brushing the leather of her jacket with unshaken calm.

That catches her attention. The angle of her jaw shifts in suspicion.

But before she can examine you further, the man sneers at her. 

“Mind your own business—ah!” 

He cries out in pain when Natasha twists his wrist, sharp and controlled. It’s not enough to break anything, but it’ll bruise. Her face doesn’t flinch as she meets his eyes.

“This is my business now.”

She turns slightly toward you, ready to tell you to go, to let her handle this.

But you’re already moving. You pivot smoothly, heel turning just enough before your elbow drives neatly into his ribs. 

He doubles over, the wind knocked from him in one clean hit. Before he can recover, you step in, hooking your leg behind his and sweeping him down with practiced elegance. 

He crashes to the pavement, groaning.

Natasha blinks.

She wasn’t expecting that. The lines she’d drawn—civilian, protector—blur instantly. 

Maybe you didn’t need saving. Maybe she got involved too soon.

Then your hand grabs hers.

“Come on!” you urge, already pulling her forward. 

There’s no time to ask questions. Not with the club door slamming open and multiple additional shouts echoing faintly behind you. 

Natasha’s instinct kicks in a beat after her mind. Her fingers tighten around yours as she matches your pace, then overtakes it, naturally slipping into the lead.

Together, you dart down an alley, weaving through shadows and empty side streets. She crosses the road without looking, moving like muscle memory is all she needs.

The adrenaline hasn’t worn off by the time she finally slows, stopping in front of a sleek black motorcycle parked neatly at the curb. 

Your hand slips from hers, and Natasha instantly feels the loss of your warm touch against her skin. 

You’re breathless, grinning as your fingers trail along the leather seat with an almost curious awe.

“This yours?” you ask, glancing up at her.

Natasha nods, pride flickering in her expression. It’s quiet. Earnest. This isn’t just a vehicle—it’s hers. One of the first things in her life she’s chosen. Not earned through obedience or mission reports. 

Just hers.

You hum softly, your gaze shifting into something unreadable even for Natasha, as you reach into your pocket.

The soft jingle of metal makes her spine stiffen.

She narrows her eyes as you dangle a familiar set of keys in the air. 

Her hand darts to her jacket pocket. Empty. Her glare sharpens as she realizes what happened. 

You flash her a grin, infuriatingly calm. 

“You really should keep better track of your things.” 

She steps toward you instinctively. The air around her crackles, half-warning, half-challenge.

But you just tilt your head and take a step back, holding the keys out of reach with a taunting ease.

“Mind giving me a ride, stranger?”

She should be annoyed. Honestly, she should just take the keys from your hand and leave from what is clearly trouble.

But instead, Natasha pauses.

The chill of the night presses in again. So does everything she has been feeling—the uncertainty, the doubt, the ache of not knowing if she’s made the right choice, by joining SHIELD, by trying to be someone else.

And here you are. Grinning at her like a dare.

Offering her another decision to make.

She huffs a laugh—quiet, surprised, almost disbelieving. And maybe, in that moment, it’s the clearest she’s felt all night. 

Natasha reaches for the keys again.

This time, you let her take them.

“Get on,” she says.

And for once, Natasha doesn’t need to know where she’s going. Only that, for now, she’s not going alone.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She was right.

You were trouble.

After the two of you sped off into the night, Natasha didn’t ask where to go. She just drove.

Your arms had slipped easily around her waist, your chin resting comfortably on her shoulder, so natural that nothing about your touch felt uncomfortable. There was a relaxed confidence in your hold, like the chaos you left behind didn’t bother you in the slightest.

​​The city stretched around you, lights glittering like a thousand open windows into lives that made more sense than hers. Cars drifted past in flashes of red and gold. Music spilled from passing stores and venues. 

Even this late, New York refused to sleep.

She weaved through it all, carving her path through the noise.

Then your voice, low, warm, and far too close, broke through the wind and into her ear.

“Stop near that park up ahead for me, would you?”

Another suggestion disguised as an option. She caught the subtle tilt in your tone, the way you made things sound like it was her choice.

And yet...she still chose to turn off the road.

Now, she leans back against the railing of the bridge that cuts through the heart of the park, arms crossed, watching as you balance along the narrow ledge that runs beside it. Water sparkles below, black and still, reflecting the city lights.

You walk the edge like it’s nothing. Like a fall wouldn’t mean a thing. Arms behind your back, gaze light, steps easy.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Natasha tenses slightly. The question is not threatening. It’s casual more than anything. Still, instinctively, she considers brushing it off with a lie. 

But then again, she didn’t come to this city just to start another life built on falsehoods.

“Just moved here,” she responds evenly, not a lie but also not the complete truth.

You stop, pivoting on the thin concrete strip with effortless grace. That grin of yours appears again, sharp and knowing.

“Russian, right? Your accent’s subtle, but I can still hear it.”

Her eyes narrow. Not many people notice that. Not unless they’re listening closely.

Too closely.

But you don’t back off. You keep walking the ledge, turning your attention to the stars she can barely see above the haze of city light.

“What brings someone like you to a place like this?” you ask, tilting your head slightly at her. “And sticking your head out for a complete stranger? Trying to be some hero?”

Natsha doesn’t answer this time. Silence wraps around her like a second skin. 

You’re too observant, too casual with truths that cut a little too close. It’s not your charm that unnerves her—it’s the fact that she can’t get a clean read on you.

You don’t press at her silence. You just keep walking, and somehow, she finds herself moving after you, drawn forward by something she’s not sure she understands.

“Let me guess,” you say. “Looking for a fresh start?”

That lands too accurately.

Her step falters. 

You don’t even look back. You just keep talking, your voice calm and sure, like you’re reciting a story you already know the ending to.

“Life didn’t go the way you thought it would. So now you’re here, hoping maybe this place will help you figure out who the hell you’re supposed to be.”

Natasha stops.

And you do, too.

You turn around slowly, meeting her gaze across the short distance. Your head tilts.

“Am I close?”

Her jaw clenches, but she says nothing.

Your smile curls again—quiet, not smug. Like you already know the truth.

You drop into a seat on the ledge, your legs dangling over the water below. The wind toys with your hair as your eyes drift to the skyline.

Natasha studies your profile.

The way your posture is loose, but your eyes are full of ghosts. Something about you doesn’t match the ease in your smile.

Before she realizes she’s speaking, the question slips from her lips.

“What about you?”

You turn to her, the shadows in your gaze vanishing instantly behind your grin.

“Me? I’ve been here all my life. Family’s rooted here. Generations deep. Not much reason to leave.”

There’s a softness to the way you say it. 

But underneath, she hears it—the heaviness. The quiet resignation.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay.” 

The words are out before she can stop herself.

Your smile shifts—tilting wry and bittersweet. You wave her closer.

And without thinking, she steps forward.

Your hand lifts, hovering near her face. 

Then your fingers gently brush a lock of hair behind her ear as your eyes search hers, and Natasha freezes at the way you look at her, like you can see her entire soul with just a simple gaze.

“You’re the one who should go,” you murmur. 

She frowns, confusion flashing across her face.

You shift over the ledge and stand, and the space between you evaporates. Your bodies nearly brush, your breath ghosting against her skin.

Your hands come up, cradling her cheeks now with the lightest touch, and her heart kicks hard against her ribs.

“Contrary to what people say,” you whisper, “this city isn’t built for new beginnings.”

“Why’s that?” Natasha asks, but her voice is softer now.

You lean in, your lips nearly touching hers.

“Too many temptations.”

And then you kiss her.

Natasha freezes for a heartbeat, caught in the gravity of your touch. 

But then—inevitably—she responds. Her hand slips around your waist, her mouth pressing back against yours with slow, consuming heat.

The kiss deepens as you part your lips for her.

Natasha leans further into you like she can’t get enough of your touch. 

Her breath catches as your fingers trace the line of her jaw, your other hand curling around the back of her neck as she presses you to the ledge, your mouths moving in perfect, fevered sync. 

But then—

You smile against her lips, a slow curve that draws Natasha’s suspicion immediately before you suddenly pull the both of you backward.

The world flips. 

Her gasp is swallowed by the rush of air and adrenaline, and then cold crashes over her like a slap.

The lake envelops you both, icy and breath-stealing.

She breaks the surface in a flash, sputtering, turning in the water in search of you, hair slicked against her cheek as she glares murderously in your direction when she finds you nearby. 

You’re already laughing, wading through the chill with a grin that could melt glaciers. 

“What the hell was that for?” she snaps.

You shake your head, water dripping from your lashes. 

“You looked like you needed to cool off.”

Natasha stares at you—utterly soaked, half-livid, half-stunned—and then, despite herself, her lips twitch.

It’s infuriating.

You’re infuriating.

And it only makes her want you more. 

You’re both still damp and breathless when the two of you stumble through the door of her apartment.

Her temporary home, courtesy of SHIELD, is impersonal and minimalistic in every detail. A bed, a couch, a kitchen stripped of personality. 

But right now, it’s all she needs to have you.

You barely get the door closed before she pushes you against it, her mouth crashing into yours again with wild, wet urgency. Her fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, and you’re tugging at the zipper of her jacket, laughter mingling with the soft drag of mouths and gasps.

Boots thud against the floor. Socks abandoned. Shirts peeled off with impatient tugs. The slap of fabric hits the ground in quick succession as you trail backward down the hall, bumping into walls and doors, breathless and ravenous.

By the time you hit the bedroom, her damp tank top is somewhere on the floor and your jeans are half undone. 

You push her back onto the bed and crawl atop her, straddling her hips with soaked denim clinging to your skin, your hair dripping trails along her collarbone.

Natasha looks up at you, chest rising and falling, eyes darker than the sky outside. Her hands grip your thighs like she can’t decide whether to pull you closer or flip you beneath her.

But then your hands find her face, cupping her jaw as you lean down.

Your voice lowers into a whisper that brushes her lips again like a warning wrapped in want.

“I told you,” you murmur, “too many temptations.”

Your mouth claims hers again.

This time slower, deeper.

Natasha melts into it. She knows she should think about this more carefully, but she doesn’t, not because she’s careless, but because something in her wants to choose, choose this. 

Just for a night. 

Just long enough to forget who she was. 

To forget who she’s supposed to be.

And with you—unpredictable, wild, impossible—you make her feel like she can.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The sound of the front door slamming open rips Natasha from sleep.

Her eyes snap open, instincts kicking in before full consciousness. In one fluid motion, she rolls off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. She reaches under the bed frame and pulls the hidden pistol from its holster just as the bedroom door bursts open.

A gun is already aimed at her.

Natasha’s own weapon comes up instantly, sights locking onto the intruder. 

Both women freeze—each assessing the other in a heartbeat.

The woman across from her is statuesque and lethal. Jet-black hair pulled into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail. Sharp features. Her lean build is wrapped in dark tactical wear. Her stance is textbook—controlled and efficient. Professional and deadly.

“Where is she?” the woman demands coldly, voice like ice.

Her eyes flick briefly across the room, noting the bed, the rumpled sheets, and Natasha’s lack of proper clothing. 

But her focus remains unshaken, locked squarely on Natasha with military discipline.

“Who the hell are you?” Natasha shoots back, steady, despite the way her heart drums against her ribs.

The woman’s expression doesn’t shift.

But then the bathroom door opens.

Both women’s attention pivot, eyes tracking the movement.

You step out, casual as anything, still towel-drying your hair. 

You’re dressed in her clothes, Natasha realizes—one of her oversized T-shirts hanging off one shoulder and a pair of shorts that fit just a little too well. 

You pause at the sight of two guns drawn but don’t flinch.

Instead, your voice cuts clean through the tension.

“Vivienne. Stand down.”

The black-haired woman—Vivienne—doesn’t move. Her grip on the gun doesn’t shift, her posture tense with controlled fury. Her gaze flickers to you, then back to Natasha.

You sigh, stepping forward, slow and deliberate, until you’re between them.

Right in the line of fire.

“I said,” you repeat, firmer now, “stand down.”

Natasha’s grip falters slightly at you standing before her gun, but she doesn’t lower her weapon yet. She watches the other armed woman for her choice of action to your command.

Vivienne’s jaw ticks. Her eyes slide between you and Natasha again, and this time she really looks. 

Her expression darkens as she registers your state of dress, the mussed sheets behind you, the intimacy written all over the room like fingerprints.

She knows. She doesn’t say it. But she knows.

The silence stretches thin, tight like wire.

Then, finally, Vivienne lowers her weapon. Slowly. With visible restraint.

She holsters it with a practiced motion, but the tension doesn’t leave her frame. It’s etched into every line of her body. Her eyes never leave Natasha.

You nod, calm but commanding. 

“Wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Vivienne stares for a beat longer, a final flick of icy disdain aimed Natasha’s way—silent judgment and thinly veiled resentment—and then she turns without a word and disappears through the doorway.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Only then does Natasha lower her gun, though she doesn’t relax.

Her breath leaves her in a slow exhale. She doesn’t look away from you when you turn back to her.

“You want to explain what that was?”

You pause for a second like you’re considering it. Then shake your head softly. 

“No.”

You walk to her slowly, barefoot and still damp, the shirt hanging off your frame as your eyes find hers.

“I told you,” you say, voice quieter now. “This city’s not made for clean slates.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything.

Your hand reaches up, brushing a strand of red hair from her face with a surprising tenderness. Then you lean in and press a soft kiss to her mouth—chaste and final.

“I hope you’ll make the right choice.”

You pull away before she can say a word, leaving only the scent of her own shirt on your skin and the ghost of that parting kiss as you step out the door.

Natasha stares after you, lips parted slightly. She is still gripping her gun like she hasn’t fully decided if she should follow or forget you.

There’s something dangerous about you. Reckless. Elusive.

But she can’t deny the way you’ve gotten under her skin.

What kind of person are you really?

The ring of her phone cuts through the silence.

She tears her gaze away from the door and fumbles for the device on the nightstand.

“Barton,” she answers, voice still edged from the adrenaline.

“Where are you?” Clint’s voice filters through, calm but puzzled. “Briefing started fifteen minutes ago.”

Natasha glances at the clock and swears under her breath.

“I’ll be there soon.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits rigid in the glass-walled conference room at SHIELD headquarters, posture straight, eyes forward, but the reprimand from across the table pierces straight through her composure.

“You’ve got some guts, Romanoff.”

Director Fury’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, calm but heavy with disappointment. 

Agents passing by outside slow just slightly, casting curious glances through the transparent walls at the newly turned agent earning a lecture from the director of SHIELD himself. 

“It’s your second week. Second.” Fury’s eye narrows. “You think you can show up whenever it suits you? You think that’s how you prove you belong here?”

Natasha says nothing. She doesn’t flinch. But her silence is tight, clenched in her jaw and the slight twitch of her fingers resting on the table.

Seated beside her, Clint leans forward with a half-sigh, trying to diffuse the tension with a flicker of charm.

“Come on, Fury—cut her some slack. She’s still adjusting. And plus, you weren’t exactly here at the top of the hour either.”

Fury’s gaze snaps to him, unimpressed.

“That’s Director Fury,” he says flatly. “And unless you’ve got something helpful to add, I highly suggest you don’t speak right now, Barton.”

Clint lifts both hands, backpedaling with a wry grin. 

“Just offering context.”

Before the moment spirals further, Natasha finally speaks, her voice firm and low.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

Fury studies her—long enough to make her wonder if he believes her—then finally straightens, rolling his good eye with a huff.

“It better not. Not if you want to stay here.”

With that, he gestures to the far end of the room.

“Agent Hill. From the top.”

Maria Hill steps forward smoothly, placing folders before Natasha and Clint as she begins the briefing.

“These are the files for your next mission. There’s a shipment coming in—”

The conference room door bursts open with a loud slam.

“You.”

The single word ricochets through the glass like a bullet. Natasha’s eyes flick up sharply, immediately recognizing the man storming into the room.

It’s him—the aggressive one from outside the club. The one you’d refused to go with.

Except now, he’s wearing a SHIELD uniform.

“Agent Grant,” Fury says slowly, brows lifting. “You’re not scheduled for this meeting. Step outside and wait your turn.”

Grant doesn’t move. His eyes are locked on Natasha, brimming with restrained fury.

“You don’t get it, sir,” he growls, stepping closer. “This woman ruined everything. I invested months of setup in this op, and she blew it all to hell in one night.”

Clint’s posture stiffens beside her. He starts to move, but Natasha subtly reaches out under the table, brushing her fingers against his arm to stop him. Her gaze remains cool and even as she regards Grant.

“Explain,” Fury commands flatly.

Grant drags his eyes off Natasha, jaw tightening.

“I’d just been assigned with the target. Working as her bodyguard. I was this close to learning more about the family’s operations. Then she—” he gestures angrily toward Natasha “—intervened last night. She took the girl, and I got fired for losing track of her.”

Fury turns to her now. “Is that true?”

Natasha folds her arms. 

“I didn’t know she was being watched by SHIELD. It looked like she was being harassed. I stepped in.”

“And you left with her?”

Natasha nods once. 

Fury’s tone sharpens. 

“What did you two do after that?”

“We went for a ride. Talked.”

“That’s it?”

Natasha hesitates, her mind briefly flashing with the memory of you under her before turning away and mumbling under her breath.

“Among other things.”

Fury’s expression doesn’t change, but his eye drops to the faint purplish mark peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

A bruise just barely visible against her skin.

“You slept with our target,” he states flatly.

It’s not a question, so Natasha doesn’t dignify it with a response. She simply stares back.

Fury turns sharply toward Hill.

“Pull the file on Grant’s operation.”

“Sir—” Grant protests, already catching on to where this is going.

Fury ignores him as Hill taps at her tablet, sending the information to the room’s display. It flashes on the screen behind her—surveillance shots, field notes, timelines. And you.

Natasha’s eyes land on one of the many images and stay there.

You’re leaning against a railing, hair tousled by the wind, half-smiling like you know something no one else does. The candid ease of the photo of you disarms her, and Natasha forgets, for a second, that anyone else is in the room.

“Months,” Fury mutters as he scrolls through the report. “Months of effort. Asset placement. Surveillance. Of just trying to get someone close enough to her. And you…”

He glances back at Natasha.

“You did it in one night.”

Natasha’s jaw sets, and a flicker of unease tightens the corners of her mouth at his implication. Still, she meets his gaze without blinking.

“That wasn’t the point.”

“It is now,” Fury counters. 

He tosses the physical file onto the table. It lands with a dull thud, opening to papers and photos spilling in front of her.

“Congratulations, Agent Romanoff,” Fury says coolly. “You’ve just been assigned your first official solo undercover op.”

Natasha’s brow furrows, caught off guard. 

“Wait—what?”

Fury nods toward the file.

Natasha glances down. Your photo stares back at her again. She reads the line beneath it, heart skipping once.

Target: Y/n Manfredi.

Daughter of Silvio “Sivermane” Manfredi, the current head of the Manfredi Family and leading contender to take control of the Maggia crime syndicate.

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a/n : new series release even though I probably shouldn’t 😅 but this has been sitting in the drafts for so long that I just need to get it out so I don’t have to keep thinking about it.

This one’s connected to Chasing Shadows which is technically considered to be the prequel. And I just want to give a heads up about the series, it’s gonna be a little complicated because the story’s going to weave between two timelines, jumping between the past and the present. If it ever gets confusing, I'll add some sort of indication or label in the future.

Thanks again for reading!