#and he goes through like 5 first officers in a year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 4 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when an unsub hunts their victims in a casino, choosing couples that fit a specific pattern, spencer has no choice but to once again ask his friend for a little favor.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!female reader, undercover as a couple, reader wearing a dress, header and summary FAKE AF bc literally casino scene is like 5% of a fic, the rest are just preparations, kind of like this friends episode where they're just getting ready lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @mggslover <33 u don't know this about me, but that ep with reid in the casino had me barking like a pack of german shepherds, so i just couldn't stop myself from adding it

"So, we already have a profile. The unsub is a man between twenty-five and thirty years old. A gambler who has lost his entire fortune, yet he still plays, desperately trying to surround himself with luxury, refusing to accept his reality. His victims are men just like him—young posers, living beyond their means. They all had partners, attractive and confident women who belonged to the social group they dreamed of, unaware of who they were really dating. The unsub probably used to date someone like that as well. By getting rid of them, he experiences a deep sense of purification. He believes he is killing the part of himself that he sees as false, when in reality, that part is his true self," Morgan recited, pacing in circles around the office, gripping a black marker in his hand—the same one he had just been using to write on the whiteboard.

Suddenly, he stopped and let out a chuckle. "I think I know what we need to do to catch him. It's actually pretty obvious."

Everyone watched him with intrigued expressions. Usually, it was another team member who had these sudden bursts of verbosity, but that didn’t mean the others were immune to them from time to time. For the sake of maintaining balance in the universe.

"Enlighten us, then," Prentiss urged him, perching slightly on the edge of the table with her arms crossed over her chest.

Morgan spread his arms as if accepting a challenge. He paused for a moment, as if building suspense, then stated simply:

"Undercover agents who fit the profile of his victims."

His gaze swept over the team members, observing their reactions. Everyone focused on his idea, weighing the chances of success.

Reid noticed the concentration on their faces—right at the moment when his eyes accidentally met Morgan’s, who had been watching him for quite some time. He didn’t even have the chance to sigh before his friend asked the question Spencer knew was coming.

"You know how to play poker, right, Reid?"

"Well, turns out I’m banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump for card counting..."

"So that’s a yes," Morgan cut him off, nodding in satisfaction. He looked fully committed to his plan—determined to see it through and catch the unsub. "Alright, great. That leaves us with two things."

He paused dramatically. Prentiss arched a brow.

"Go on, enlighten us again."

"One of them is money," Spencer guessed without difficulty.

Morgan waved a hand dismissively. "Rossi’s got it covered."

"Oh, do I now?" Rossi leaned back in his chair, giving Morgan a pointed look. "Did it ever occur to you to ask me first? Do I look like some random ATM to you?"

"So Reid goes in as a potential target, looking for the unsub among the players," JJ cut in, slowly and logically summing everything up. "Makes sense. But there’s still one problem. Every victim had a partner. Without one, he won’t fit the profile."

It looked like he had been waiting for this to come up. The moment it did, he locked eyes with Reid without a word, certain that his friend would immediately understand what was going through his head.

Spencer remained still for a moment before shaking his head as realization hit him.

"I need to ask you for a favor."

“No way,” he scoffed. “No. Just no, this is—”

♠

Just some subtle foreshadowing.

Before those words were even spoken, Reid had to catch up to her first. And that was no easy task—she was making her way to her lab at an incredible speed, her elegant heels clicking sharply against the floor as she walked, nose buried in a stack of papers she was analyzing with deep concentration. She wasn’t even looking where she was going, something Spencer noted with a tinge of jealousy. If he attempted the same maneuver, he’d undoubtedly trip over the most random object right before the stairs, tumble down ten flights, take twenty people with him on the way, and, at the very end, someone would accidentally kick his broken body and spill their coffee on him. Black. No sugar.

She was walking so fast that he had to break into a light jog just to stay a step behind her.

"Hey," he tried to get her attention.

He was already embarrassed by how out of breath he was.

She didn’t stop, but she did slow her pace significantly. Instead of responding, she simply raised a finger, signaling for silence, and continued analyzing whatever it was she was analyzing.

Spencer sighed, irritated as always by her sense of superiority, and simply took the documents from her hands.

It was so unexpected that a startled, deeply offended sound escaped her lips.

"Can’t you see I’m a little busy?"

"This won’t take long. I just need to talk to you."

They both came to a halt. She folded her arms across her chest, raising a perfectly arched brow. Beneath her white lab coat was, as usual, an elegant outfit, and the rest of her appearance hardly needed describing—stunning, as always. Spencer would never admit it, not even for unlimited access to the Library of Alexandria, but every time he was within her orbit and his eyes landed on her, he had to blink and remind himself she was real. Even if they’d already seen each other multiple times that day.

She pressed her lips together, visibly impatient.

"You’ve got a minute. Two, if it’s something sufficiently interesting," she said, waiting for him to get to the point.

And the moment she did, Spencer’s slightly labored breathing from his earlier exertion became embarrassingly audible.

The corners of her lips curled into a smirk.

"Someone chasing you?"

"Actually, I need to ask you for a favor." He ignored the comment, hiding his embarrassment behind a mask of irritation. He sighed, partly to calm his breath, partly to prepare himself for the next words. While he thought the first part of Derek’s plan was good, the second, in his opinion, left much to be desired.

Any other agent could’ve gone with him—there were two or three in the team, counting Garcia. And she wasn’t even accustomed to fieldwork. She just happened to fit the profile they’d created. Incredibly attractive and confident to the point of being borderline cocky. Morgan had insisted on her, but when it came to convincing her, he’d passed it off to Spencer.

"If I remember right, and I’m pretty sure I do, you already owe me for checking that last piece of evidence. You really want to add another one to that?"

"No, but I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice. So...would you pretend to be my partner while I play poker at the casino, and try to spot our current suspect among the other players?"

He figured it would be easier if he just said it outright.

The woman didn’t even flinch.

"Can you play poker?" she asked, eyeing him carefully. She scoffed. "I want to see that. Fine, let's do it."

Spencer's eyes went wide. He had a hundred arguments ready, but he didn’t expect her to agree so easily.

"What?" she asked, noticing his reaction.

"Just like that? No questions? Doesn’t it bother you that you'll have to pretend to be...my girlfriend?"

He shook his head.

He tried to sound as if it were something completely natural, just another surprising element of the job he encountered all the time. However, he couldn’t help but swallow at the end of his sentence, an entirely involuntary reflex, betraying the hint of nervousness that had settled inside him.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, stopping only when she was uncomfortably close, slightly tilting her chin up. Her expression remained unreadable, not even a hint of a mocking smile.

"I mean..." Reid began, but the thought he wanted to express got lost, his focus slipping. Of course, he got distracted. He broke eye contact, shifting his gaze to some random spot on the wall behind her, silently cursing his own reactions. When he looked back at her, he forced himself to maintain the illusion of normalcy. "What I meant is, this could be dangerous. After all, it's a serial killer. You don't have to agree to this if you're having doubts."

She didn’t seem at all disturbed or frightened. She barely shrugged.

"So what? You’ll be there too."

Deep down, he felt like someone had just handed him a medal for special services to the country and shaken his hand, congratulating him. He called himself an idiot and made a mental note to retake the IQ test sometime soon.

“So you trust me?” he asked, driven by some strange impulse.

She simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is there a dress code I need to follow?”

He felt like squeezing his eyes shut out of embarrassment. Instead, he just shook his head in denial.

“No…also…actually…no. Just be yourself.”

She nodded as well, and he had the feeling something shifted at the corners of her lips. A hint of a smile, maybe. Then she moved even closer. Surprised, Reid opened his mouth, and she reached for what he’d forgotten he was even holding—documents he’d almost torn from her hands earlier.

So that’s why she’d been so close.

“See you then,” she said, brushing past him toward the direction she’d been heading before he stopped her. The scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils as she did. “We’ll see what kind of poker player you are.”

The urge to turn around over his shoulder was overwhelming. And to speak up, almost painful.

“The best,” he added.

“Do we look natural? You know, like a couple?” Spencer asked with concern.

There was something sweet in her laugh.

♠

His hand was stiffly resting on her waist, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't relax it. She, on the other hand, standing right next to him, touching him and fitting against his body like a puzzle piece, didn’t have the same problem. She sighed and took his hand, guiding it lower down her body to make it look like a natural position.

“Not at all,” Prentiss said bluntly, shaking her head.

“You look like siblings who were forced by their mom to pose together for a picture,” Morgan added, watching them with a hint of dread. It was starting to sink in that this plan had way less chance of success in reality than it did in his head.

“So that means no?”

“Of course, it means no, idiot,” the woman hissed at him. Suddenly, she stiffened, as if surrendering, and pulled away from him.

Spencer raised his hands in a defensive gesture, looking at his teammates. They’d met in the office that evening, the day before the planned operation. The unsub always struck on the same day of the week, so they had to wait for the right time. Their task was simply to practice pretending to be a couple. Sounded easy enough, right?

"I don't get why everyone's so upset!" he said, looking at them. "Is it really that weird that groping a colleague doesn't come naturally to me? I think, honestly, it’d be worse if the roles were reversed—"

"Not in this case, man," Morgan replied, shaking his head. He rubbed his forehead and straightened up, as if washing his hands of the whole thing. "I’m exhausted. You two can practice this on your own. I don’t care how long it takes, you can sit here all night if you need to. Just remember, tomorrow you have to act like you’re dying to rip each other’s clothes off at any given moment."

Spencer felt warmth on the back of his neck. She rolled her eyes.

"And if it doesn’t work?" she asked. "What then? Can’t another agent take his place?" For a moment, she stared at Morgan before shrugging. "You, for example."

Spencer shot her a wounded look.

"Et tu, Brute…"

She glared at him.

"You want me to play Brutus with you?"

Meanwhile, Prentiss and Morgan had slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. Spencer sighed heavily. He was really starting to worry about the coming day and the undercover mission ahead. They both fell silent for a while, he rubbed his tired eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to rationalize it to himself.

"You know, I wouldn’t stress about it so much," he finally spoke up, glancing at her and her arms crossed over her chest. "I mean, tomorrow I’ll be sitting at the poker table, focused on the game, so I won’t be thinking about how to act natural. And because of that, it’ll be easier to actually act natural...you know what I mean?"

She probably knew what he meant, but that didn’t stop her from letting out a small snort at his convoluted explanation. Instead of answering, she stayed silent for a moment before slowly walking over to one of the chairs and dragging it to the center of the room.

She had to know Spencer was staring at her, completely puzzled by what she was doing, but she didn’t bother explaining herself. Letting go of the chair, she moved away and then gestured toward it with her hands, like she had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat during some magic show. Spencer felt like he was watching something exactly like that.

"Well, go ahead. Sit down," she said.

"What?"

"You said tomorrow you'd be sitting at the poker table and it’d be easier for you to focus. So, let’s see how true that is."

"That’s not exactly what I meant—"

"I’m not sitting here all night. I'm telling you that right now. So just sit down and let’s find out if this whole plan even has a chance of working. Because, right now, with your behavior, it doesn’t have any."

Reid remained still for a moment, almost holding his breath. She had hit a sensitive spot—the success of tomorrow's plan and catching the unsub. Reluctantly, he trudged over to the chair. He glanced at her. She urged him on with a look.

He sighed and sat down. As soon as he did, she settled herself—not anywhere else—but right on his lap.

Due to the surprise, he took a slightly too deep breath. Hearing this, she looked at him from beneath her raised eyebrows.

"Sure, keep reacting like that," she said, sarcastically. She adjusted herself, one hand resting on his shoulder. Once she was sitting comfortably, her soft body pressed against his, she moved her hand to the back of his neck, her fingertips brushing through his hair. "Very natural. Very convincing."

"We don't need to be that convincing."

"If we're going to draw the unsub's attention, then yes, we do. Otherwise, what's the point?" She scoffed. "So you can dig up your poker skills?"

"My poker skills are fine, I don't need to dig them up," he replied almost automatically.

"Confidence. I like it. Seriously. Just try to put it into something else. Into your partner, for example," she began, in a lecturing tone. As she spoke, her face was very close to his. She had an expressive face, moving it as she explained, and Spencer followed her every motion with his eyes, almost as if she were a medallion in the hands of a hypnotist. "According to the victim profile, you're supposed to be a bit insecure. And you know what insecure people do, especially in environments like this? They pretend to be confident. So do it. Hold me tighter, show those guys on the other side of the table..." She gestured behind her as if someone were actually there, "...that this beautiful woman is yours. And they can only look."

His own pulse was treacherous, thankfully she couldn't hear it. Spencer felt slightly dizzy, suddenly way too aware of how she was positioned on his lap, the scent of her, and the delicate brushing of her hair against his neck when she moved.

"There are no guys," he mumbled dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

She flicked him on the forehead.

"Then imagine them."

Spencer felt hyper-aware of the spot on his forehead where she had touched him. For a moment, he tore his gaze away from her, which was difficult when she was literally on top of him. He did it, though, to take a calmer breath before what he was about to do next.

He started by adjusting her on his lap. She might have been comfortable, but he certainly wasn't. He felt like she was about to slide right off him. He placed his hands on her waist—not like she was a delicate porcelain figure, though. Not that he grabbed her roughly or tightly. He just did it the right way. One of his arms wrapped around her for better stability. She watched him, almost without blinking, with genuine curiosity. The corners of her lips slowly turned upward.

For a moment, he disconnected from his thoughts, not worrying whether it looked natural for any imagined people. He just wanted them both to be comfortable.

"Is it better now?" he asked, not teasing, but with genuine curiosity.

He felt the muscle in her thigh move, the subtle tension rise as his hand rested on that part of her body. He relaxed his fingers, letting them cover most of its surface.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breath escaping in a soft, quiet rustle.

"Almost," she said.

Without breaking her gaze from his face, her hand found his, the one resting on her thigh, and guided it higher, increasing the pressure. Spencer had no idea how he was still managing to control his breath so perfectly. Maybe he was too dazed to focus on his own reactions. Maybe he'd surrendered to the situation, not overthinking it, just letting it flow. Where to? He didn't know. Where did he want it to go? He didn't know that either.

"Now," she began, releasing his hand from her grasp and sliding her fingers along his forearm. "Now it's perfect."

She shifted. Gently, probably an unintended twitch. The weight of her body lifted and then settled again, rising and falling on his lap, almost on his hips. The surface brushed against another surface. Body on body.

They were silent. Why were they silent?

If someone had asked him about the capital of Sri Lanka, he'd probably say Fidel Castro.

The emptiness that filled his mind almost embarrassed him, while she looked at him from under slightly raised lashes, her gaze as usual strong, seeming to pierce right through him. He had to break it, he had to stop this before the physical closeness pushed him into doing something foolish.

“So,” he began suddenly, throwing the words out before he'd even prepared the rest. He blinked, trying to focus. “Did you know that originally, poker was played with 20 cards, not 52 like it is now? In the earlier versions of the game, it was usually played with fewer people. It was only with the evolution of poker, and the rise in its popularity, that the full deck was gradually used, allowing for more variety in hands and more complex strategies.”

For a moment, she just looked at him in silence. He held her gaze, doing his best to stay composed. It wasn’t that he was denying his awkwardness—he was well aware of it. And he knew that if she didn’t get off him soon, things were going to get really out of hand.

She sighed and ruffled his hair, like she was petting a dog.

“It was almost perfect,” she murmured, shaking her head. She pointed at him with a warning finger before slowly moving off him. She didn’t seem affected at all, like the whole thing hadn’t fazed her one bit. At least not in the same way it had shaken him. “Tomorrow, no more talk like that, understood?"

Spencer nodded, completely agreeing.

The casino was a blend of intense red and deep gold, popping from nearly every corner. It also radiated from her—her dress and accessories made her look like a goddess dedicated to the place, reigning over it with authority.

♠

"So, there's something we forgot to discuss," she said as they made their way to the table. Spencer kept his gaze straight ahead, his arm around her, while she was looking at him, specifically his profile. She wasn’t watching her feet, clearly relying on his guidance. Lowering her voice, she leaned in. What from the outside might have seemed like a flirtatious whisper with a sly grin and fluttering eyelashes was, in fact, a serious question. "Do you want me to keep an eye out for your unsub while you're busy with the game?"

Reid shook his head.

"You’re not a profiler."

"Doesn't mean I can't tell when some guy's staring at me."

"Everyone stares at you."

She focused on his words, puffing her lips as if conceding the point.

"Fair point," she muttered, pulling her face away from his neck.

His words weren’t an exaggeration in the slightest. She really did have that effect on people, especially men, but not only them—like the sound of a siren, immediately drawing attention from all around. He felt almost strange walking arm in arm with someone like that. He didn’t know what kind of primal territorial instinct had awakened in him, but he felt the urge to pull her closer. He shook his head disapprovingly at his own thoughts, and she tilted her head at him, questioning. Nothing, he mouthed silently.

He didn’t need to do that, pull her closer, of course. They quickly took their seats at the table where the game was about to begin. She lowered herself onto his lap just as they had practiced the day before. Thank God they had done that. Otherwise, his mind would have started spinning like plates in a microwave, feeling it all somehow more real, then, under the watchful eyes of strangers.

She glanced at his face, a slight tension in her expression. He realized she was tense again. He took a breath and adjusted her position, lifting her slightly, holding her as if it were an established routine, following the instructions. When he thought of it that way, it was actually easier.

She gave him a gentle smile, weaving her hands together at the back of his neck. He responded, honestly.

And then, there were only the cards.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t afford for it to be just the cards. His job was to spot the one right face among dozens, not to win. That part had become her priority—she kept whispering hints into his ear, as if she still wasn’t fully convinced that he actually knew what he was doing.

“We should play against each other sometime,” she suggested.

“Don’t think for a second I’d go easy on you.”

“You think I’d need you to?”

Her question—well, more of a scoff—barely registered in his mind. Because just then, he caught an unfamiliar gaze lingering on them, watching for longer than the rest. And not just at them, but at one very specific spot.

She sat on his lap, completely at ease, not even noticing how the hem of her short dress was riding up a little too much.

It had caught the attention of the man sitting directly across from them—who was staring, shamelessly, at that very spot.

She must have sensed the way he tensed slightly because, within a second, her lips hovered near his ear.

“What is it? Did you spot the unsub?”

Spencer met the man's gaze and, with a natural movement, reached for the hem of her dress, tugging it down into place.

“I did,” he replied.

Then, without hesitation, he turned his head slightly to the side—locking eyes with the man who had been watching them from the very start.

by the way, happy women's day! <33 u are all incredible and invaluable (never forget that)

#criminal minds #criminal mind #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

1K notes · View notes

anorlondo00 · 8 months ago

Text

⛅ White Beard Pirates : Morning Routine Head Canons ⛅

Newgate’s Commanders are typically forced to wake up early. Here are my thoughts for how that usually goes.

Eddie Nuggs

7am.

In his youth, he was a chronic over sleeper. Through his years of being captain, he’s realized how much he can get done while the kids are still asleep.

He eats breakfast in his office with the windows wide open so he can feel the ocean breeze while he works.

It’s an unspoken rule not to bother Pops until after he’s eaten. It’s just seen as a bit disrespectful by the crew to do otherwise.

His morning routine almost always includes a fifteen minute chat with Marco while he takes his meds. Newgate refuses to discuss business during this time.

“Relax and share a damn cup of coffee with me. I’m still waking up.”

Thatch

6am.

This is solely because he needs to start working on breakfast.

Easily the most chipper. If you need someone to talk to, anyone is welcome to sit at the kitchen bar top and keep him company while he cooks. (You’ll certainly get first dibs on the food if you do.)

He often sends crew members on missions to deliver food to the chronic meal-skippers.

He’s only over slept once and after half the crew nearly formed a mutiny over the lack of breakfast and coffee— he swore to Pops it would never happen again.

Marco

4-5 am.

Regardless of what he has scheduled in the morning, he’s almost always the first awake. You can find him drinking coffee or tea on the upper most deck.

Before the sun has risen, Pops has been given his meds, the morning shift has been checked on, and their route for the day has been finalized.

Marco works like a god damn machine and nothing pisses him off like nonsense throwing off his precious schedule.

New crew members fear him the most in the morning. His focused face makes him look scary.

Forgets to eat breakfast 89.999% of the time.

Marco isn’t immune to a nasty hang over. The morning after a party will guarantee the First Commander sleeps through his alarm at least once.

Ace

Ace would call his wake-up schedule “vibe dependent.”

If he’s needed? Yes, he’ll be up at any time, day or night.

It isn’t a rare occurrence for members of the Second Division to wake him up because the currents very suddenly changed at 3am.

If he’s scheduled first thing in the morning, he’s gotta fight tooth and nail through his narcolepsy to wake up on time.

Sometimes he overcompensates so much, he’s up a full two hours early, drinking coffee, half conscious with Marco on deck.

If neither Pops nor the navigation team need him, Ace will happily sleep until noon.

Ace is the only crew member who can get away with falling asleep in the middle of the day. The newbies that don’t know about his narcolepsy just assume Marco plays favorites.

#one piece #marco the phoenix #portgas d ace #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard one piece #edward newgate #Thatch #one piece headcanons #headcanon

446 notes · View notes

sorryimananti-romantic · 21 days ago

Text

The Leaders | Chapter XII

"lies, control, rules, numb, hatred, emptiness."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of war/military, drugs, gangs and corruption, things get fluffy with jongho and even angstier with hj, mentions of y/n's mother and resemblance.

chapter wc: 12.4k

chapter synopsis: you meet assemblyman wi with hongjoong and jongho and fail to convince him to join you since he claims that his hands are tied by a threat. he tells you the president lee has his eyes on you and you interpret it as a warning. you ask winter to accept secretary park’s invitation asking you to meet him. at a business gathering at ju residence, you remind assemblyman kim of his friends and foes. president lee makes a surprise appearance and you overhear him saying something about your mother. hongjoong goes to sector 4 to follow a tip regarding tiffany and you meet inspector gong and trade information which opens a new path.

prev chapter recap: you continue to deal with clients at the warehouse with wooyoung and mingi and the two of you go to the beach to have a few moments of peace before you return to the main office. you meet ji chang wook of the sirens with hongjoong and he offers to help resume the weapons channel if you mess with the elites, starting by getting assemblyman wi on your side before president lee does so he does not get the military advantage. hongjoong has a private word with mr. ji and you wonder if he and seonghwa are hiding something from you. you meet the new informant renjun who reports that the drugs are ready to be transported to a safe location from the mx warehouse. when you meet seonghwa, he sees through you and assures you that they will tell you if the information they are hiding is worth something. while that doesn’t convince you, seonghwa’s romantic plans for the night sure helps with your peace of mind. when you return to the warehouse, things start to go wrong as mx warehouse gets bombed and the informants duo reveal that president lee has dispatched a troop for strictland.

You were about sixteen when you first heard the dreadful sound of the sirens that warned the citizens of Eden of a threat to their homeland.

Every day following that, you would sit in front of the television or grab the newspaper to read about the consequences of that siren. A lot of people left their homeland for good, immigrating to Wonderland or Utopia, or even going as far as Mist Island. Those who remained in Eden shifted sectors, moving as far away from Sector 5 and Sector 4 as possible since the entirety of Sector 5 bordered Strictland and a small portion of Halaland.

The north section of the Sector 4 border also met with Strictland, though separated by mountains. Anyone who thought that the mountains would not become a bloody warzone was proven wrong, for the mountains took the brunt of the war that lasted a period of about 4 years.

When the over-17 law was enforced by the military, you had just turned 18. You heard news and accounts of the army scrounging the streets of the eight sectors for anyone who was 17 years or older. You heard all about the broken families and the fear that spread across Eden. The fate of Eden rests on the shoulders of teens. You prepared yourself to receive the letter to announce your drafting in the military.

Every doorbell made you feel like a stray cat that had just been caught sneaking in places it should not be. It took you a few months to realise that no one was coming for you, and not for your brother Sunghoon who was older than you by 2 years. You were not going to receive any letters or soldiers at your doorsteps to take you away from your family.

No one was coming for the kids of the elites. No one came for the privileged Edenary citizens. These kids would not be facing the war or its consequences.

Upon digging, you learned that the only Edenary civilians who joined the war did so voluntarily. The rest were pardoned because of their connections. If not, a bribe was enough. Some parents went as far as to change their childrens’ birth years in order to avoid scrutiny from the rest. You confronted Secretary Park, your father, about this matter and he only dismissed your questions.

When you told him that you would like to volunteer in the war, he made you question your reasons. Did you expect to get some special treatment if you made it back alive? Were you joining because you felt guilty, or were you atoning for sins that were not even your own?

But eventually, Secretary Park gave in and decided to let you go, though he pulled some strings to have you be a member of Captain Yoon’s platoon which was serving to defend Sector 4– not the best option, but still enough to hopefully keep you alive. You received training for just a short period of time before eventually serving as a medical assistant.

A considerable amount of time had passed since that war, but in retrospect, it was starting to feel like yesterday. People had just recovered from the trauma of the previous war. Eden was still strengthening its defences. While the sirens did not ring in the air this time, you could hear them in the back of your head.

The panic that would have followed the sirens was starting to spread either way, with the people being restless and anxious. The public was aware that things were not looking good. This time, the Eden citizens were stuck here– no other country was willing to accept any more immigrants. At least not now when there was such ominous ambiguity in the air and the neighbouring countries had to pick their sides lest another war in the continent break out.

Most notably, this time the president of Eden was not fighting for its people. The people were on their own, deluded by the idea that President Lee was perhaps making the right decision by sending troops for Strictland.

Perhaps, they weren’t deluded. Perhaps, they simply hoped that that was the case.

“So it’s come to this,” Hongjoong announced with sobriety as he entered Room no.1 at the Crescent Bar where the rest of you were waiting. A chorus of sighs and mutters sounded across the room as he took a seat at the end of the table, appearing weary.

“I didn’t think we’d witness a second war in our lifetime, but it appears I might be wrong,” Seonghwa sighed deeply, rubbing his face.

“Can’t call it war right now,” San reminded the eldest. “But it sure is looking like it. I genuinely don’t think it’s going to be another war, but maybe I’m just being optimistic.”

“There might not be a battle, but it’s a war alright,” Hongjoong countered and San agreed. “And wars are not to be taken lightly. President Lee has made a stupid move cornering Halaland like this. It’s as if he aims to expose Eden to its enemies. First, he stops the weapons production and channels, and now he’s sent a declaration of war to Halaland.”

“I can’t tell what he’s planning,” Wooyoung’s expressions were taut. “If you really want a fight, you have to be well-prepared. President Lee does not seem well-prepared.”

“He is,” Yunho quipped, “Look at the order of the events. He met with Major Sung of Strictland. He’s obviously partnered with him to grant Strictland freedom– Major Sung is notorious for his ‘Free Strictland’ sentiments. Once Strictland is free, the nuclear base can run however the elites want it to with the loyal Halaland officials out of the story.”

“That makes sense,” Mingi agreed. “But then… why mess with the weapons channels? Even if he’s the president, he must be aware how much the channel has helped strengthen Eden’s defences.”

“I believe that was personal,” Hongjoong commented, exchanging a subtle glance with Seonghwa. “Perhaps, a warning. We strengthened Eden’s defences with the channel but also provided our allies with the weapons. It’s time to see if the allies remain loyal to us.”

“There are still missing pieces though,” you began. “If it was personal, that was awful timing. Is it only because of silver light?”

“Probably also because we’re on to the president’s real intentions regarding the recent events,” Jongho replied. “They’ve also got eyes on us. They know that we’re gathering allies and honestly? We’re a considerable force. President Lee is probably getting queasy, if deploying the police to quell the protests across all sectors isn’t a sign that he’s anxious.”

You nodded– perhaps, the Crescents were a considerable force in the president’s eyes now. At least with the recent alliances.

Yeosang cleared his throat. “President Son informed us that the Sirens would be taking an aggressive approach towards President Lee’s recent stunt. It could get ugly but they’re prepared. It’s going to serve as a distraction while President Son makes sure that silver light is transported and stored safely in the new location.”

“He also mentioned that we should try and contact General Wi,” San added. “His loyalty lies with power, and whoever can boost his presidential ratings and give him an upper hand earns his alliance. President Lee can only earn General Wi’s loyalty if he promises him his seat, and we all know now that he would never do that.”

“Okay, well, let’s plan then,” Hongjoong began, taking ideas and recommendations from the whole group and considering everyone’s opinions. There were probably things that only he and Seonghwa were aware of, seeing how they stuck next to each other and took breaks to discuss the course of action within themselves.

You were sitting between Yunho and Yeosang. Yunho and Jongho had just come back from Edenary for this meeting, which was originally to discuss the bombing at the MX warehouse but with the threat of the war looming over your heads yet again, you had a lot more to factor in. You got a detailed account of what happened at the MX warehouse from Yeosang, as well as his meeting with ex-President Son which happened a few days ago.

Hongjoong also warned everyone about the possibility of the mole being closer than they thought– really, it was a reminder. It left a heavy feeling in the room since nobody wished to doubt their closest friends but were forced to.

Seonghwa tapped on the table to catch everyone’s attention. Once the chattering died, he cleared his throat and got ready to reveal his plan.

“I think now is a great time to make unexpected allies,” he started and you agreed. “Especially in Edenary. Firstly, we need to try and get Assemblyman General Wi on our side. His alliance with President Son hurts everyone.”

“Agreed,” Wooyoung said. “Even if he does not shake hands with us, we just need to make sure he is not President Lee’s ally.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Hongjoong is our best bet when it comes to winning over General Wi, so he’ll be making a trip to Edenary himself. Luna, you should accompany him. You might want to see Assemblyman Kim again and see if he finally thinks it’s time to seek refuge in the shadows.”

“I can do that,” you agreed. “But I can’t guarantee he’ll be much help. He’s probably already seen a rise in his ratings with President Lee’s recent move.”

“As long as he knows we’re still here if he needs us, and he might need us now more than ever,” Jongho commented. “Now would be a nice time to start exposing the Strictland programme to the public and President Lee’s involvement in it. Not just rumours like we just did on our previous trip.”

“Make sure to lay low,” Hongjoong instructed. “You’re coming with us, by the way. We need you to grease some palms.”

Jongho smirked, making you chuckle lightly. It seemed to be something he was the best at, and you had heard that he had a lot of connections in Edenary. Probably because he had bribed most of them at some point in the Crescents’ career. Wooyoung, who was sitting next to him tried to smooch his cheek out of affection but Jongho smoothly dodged that, poking his stomach and making him groan loudly.

“I think now is also a good time to look into the Sirens and how they operate,” Seonghwa continued while the youngest two jabbed each other. One glare from Hongjoong had them straightening though. “The Sirens take their protests very seriously. I’ve heard that they basically raided the President’s recent address at Eden Hall. They had to deploy the police force and it got a little ugly, but it’s got people questioning if President Lee is a good man.”

“And that’s enough. While the seed of doubt is in their hearts, we should attack from all sides and corner President Lee,” Hongjoong clapped his hand in conclusion. “We don’t have to expose him ourselves. We just need to set the wheels into motion, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements sounded across the room and Seonghwa got ready to leave for a meeting with San. San winked at you before leaving, promising to catch you before you would leave for Edenary. Hongjoong also left for some business with Mingi. Before you could get up to leave yourself, Yunho intertwined his hand with yours, looking towards Yeosang who was seated at your right.

“Would you like to come over?”

“Tonight?” You asked and he nodded. You looked at Yeosang who was smiling and nodding in assurance. “Uh, sure?”

Yeosang laughed. “Get your head out of the gutter. We’re only hanging out.”

“You tell him,” you pointed at Yunho with your thumb and he laughed loudly. “He can’t keep his hands off me.”

“You started it the last time!” He retorted in mock hurt. You only rolled your eyes in response but agreed to join them after washing up at your own apartment. Winter could drop you at their house.

When you reached home and informed Wendy about your sleepover at Yunho’s, she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively but only cheered for you. She didn’t mind you staying over at Yunho’s– that is what you supposed she thought since she was only aware that you had something going on with Yunho specifically. She wasn’t one to probe or judge, so you supposed that you would one day like to tell her about your relationship with the boys. You would like to.

You told Winter to get comfortable while she waited for you to get ready to leave, but when you came out of the shower, she was still standing by the window, a little tense. Wendy didn’t seem to mind Winter. She shared her biscuits with you both while she told you about her work politics.

Winter seemed to be a little uncomfortable, though. You reckoned that it was because she was just not used to being somewhere where she didn’t necessarily have to be on duty. No amount of asking her to relax worked. Wendy was aware that she was your ‘bodyguard’ and she understood that the Crescents were protective because things were not looking good. That didn’t stop her from joking about how you could probably afford to move out of this shoddy apartment by now.

You told her that if you were going to find a better apartment, you would be taking her with you. Wendy didn’t need to keep living in this apartment by herself. That turned into a joke of how the three of you could probably afford a house in a nicer residential area. Winter only passed a small smile in agreement and you teased her about it all the way until you reached Yunho’s house.

It wasn’t your first time at Yunho and Yeosang’s house, but it was the first time the both of them were present. You rang the doorbell and Winter told you that she would leave once you went inside. You folded your arms, feeling just a bit awkward in your night clothes out in the open like this, even though there wasn’t a soul out in this street.

Yeosang opened the door and your mouth fell open at the sight of him, clad in black silk pajamas. You made an impressed face, waving at Winter to signal her that she could leave.

“A nightwear befitting of Mr. Kang of the Crescent Company.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “I pulled out my best one.”

You chuckled darkly and Yeosang let you in, asking if you would like some tea or drinks since you already had dinner. You did not want to wake up with a hangover so you agreed to have some tea. While he went to prepare it in the kitchen, you found your way to Yunho who seemed to be zoning out in front of the television with the news on, in navy cotton pajamas. You fixed your black pyjama robe before sitting down.

“Someone looks tired for once,” you commented as you snuggled next to him, stealing his blanket. He grunted lightly but shared the blanket with you, switching the channel to some drama.

“Even I gotta relax once in a while. I’ve not had one moment of peace ever since we made the deal with that Tiffany woman.”

You whistled at his sharp tone when he mentioned the businesswoman. “Hope you don’t find her. We don’t want it to get ugly.”

Yunho shook his head in amusement. “You’re not entirely wrong.”

You patted his arm and Yeosang arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits. You made space for him on the other side and made sure he got his share of blanket too. With the three of you snug, warm tea cups in hands as you sipped and stared absently at the nonsensical television show, sighing in sequence, you broke into light laughter at the situation.

“What?” Yeosang poked your arm with his elbow, though there wasn’t much space to do so.

“I’ve never seen Yunho so quiet,” you admitted. “And I’ve never seen you so focused on one thing. You both must be really tired, huh? Why didn’t you get some sleep?”

“Sleep doesn’t come easy when we’re like this,” Yunho revealed. “And I like to sit like this with Yeosang. It’s our routine. We just sit and watch something like this when we’re tired.”

“Helps to sort the thoughts out,” Yeosang added. “We thought we’d share some peace and quiet with you.”

“Hmm, good thinking. I would have been all alone with my thoughts at home.”

“See,” Yunho grinned, finished with his cup of tea. He intertwined his hand with yours. “We can also recharge this way.”

“Sure,” you drawled out.

“What else did you think we planned to do, sweetheart?” Yeosang teased.

“Nothing,” you shot him a glare. “Just surprised to see this side of you both. It’s nice and cosy here.”

“Whenever one of the boys needs some quiet, they come here,” Yeosang laughed. “It’s very loud at the other houses when they’re all home.”

“I can imagine. You both lucked out pairing with each other.”

“Definitely,” Yunho said and you noticed how he passed Yeosang a gaze that dripped with love. It said all you needed to know.

The conversation soon steered to their past and the time they all used to live together. They picked their rooms randomly at that time and Mingi was lucky to get a room of his own, and he really liked his personal space. Yunho used to room with San and he shared how he got used to being cuddled to sleep because of San’s sleeping habits. You admitted that you knew all about it from the time you once had the pleasure of sleeping over. He did not let you stray too far for one moment the whole night.

You found that Hongjoong and Seonghwa used to be roommates as well, but with Seonghwa’s caring nature, he was always making sure the whole house was in top condition, especially his room and Hongjoong’s space. Hongjoong used to sleep in the office a lot or would barely make it to his room before crashing on one of the sofas in the house. Now that he shared with Jongho and Wooyoung with the two mostly staying at the warehouse, Seonghwa would still get worried about Hongjoong and to make sure he was sleeping well, he would go and give Hongjoong some company or have him stay at his own house. That left San who would then find Yeosang or Yunho if he was all alone for the night.

And you finally asked– if they liked sleeping with each other just for the sake of being together so much, why did they ever separate their housing? Turns out that they asked themselves the same question often. They did like the peace and quiet as living together was quite noisy, but at the same time, they couldn’t live without each other. Yeosang revealed that Hongjoong wanted to buy a nice mansion away from the town with enough room for it not to get too noisy but still feel like home.

All these revelations prompted you to share your experience with your first roommate, Wendy. You admitted that growing up, you had a lovely nanny who would put you to sleep but one time, Secretary Park feared that the woman was revealing your identity to people and fired her. After that, you had to make do with being alone. Sunghoon was not bad company until he learned what being an ‘illegitimate’ daughter meant for you and for him, and then he started to despise you. You had to lock your own room to sleep every time, a habit that finally died down because of Wendy.

You told them that Wendy was a very nice person and a lovely housemate, never making you feel like an intruder in your own home and never overstepping the invisible boundaries that you made. She was perfect, and it was as if she could read your mind. At first, you had been a bit reserved with her but her bright personality was infectious and she made you loosen up in no time. You admitted that you would like to introduce her to the boys, though for now she seemed to think that you were only ‘dating Yunho’. Yeosang hummed in agreement, suggesting that once things calmed down a bit, introductions could definitely happen.

However, Yeosang was a person who was bad at lying, and he could not pretend that Wendy wasn’t a very old acquaintance of theirs. He wished he could break it down to you without you feeling betrayed by both Wendy and him. Wendy was hiding things from you because it was her job, however, the Crescents could have told you at any point that your roommate was an RV spy assigned to keep tabs on you for reasons that were unknown– probably related to what President Son mentioned. It was incredibly hard for Yeosang to lie or blatantly hide things from people that he loved, so he made a show of yawning with a big stretch, calling it a night and asking you two to get comfortable. With a pat to your head, he left for his room.

You found Yunho watching Yeosang, his eyes trained on the door of his room even after he disappeared. You asked him if everything was alright.

“Of course,” he assured with a small smile. “He must be tired. He hasn’t been home in a few days– he was staying with San at the warehouse.”

“Ah…” you squeezed his hand. “You must have missed him.”

“I was with Jongho, he kept me occupied,” Yunho laughed. “Never a dull moment with him– Jaehyun and Ten send greetings, by the way. It was fun to stay with them after so long.”

You smiled.

Yunho continued, “But you’re right. I definitely missed the comfort of my own home.”

Of his home. Of Yeosang.

“Should we give him some company then?” You suggested and Yunho’s eyes lit up.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he cocked his head, his smile deepening as he looked at you.

“Do you know that you’re perfect?”

You were positive that you flushed deeply at his comment and you waved a hand in dismissal, getting shy under his gaze. He only proceeded to pull you closer, watching you intensely until you caved in and tried to hide your face. He chuckled lightly, cupping your face with one hand and making you lean in so he could kiss you, moving his lips in slow, soft motions. Your heart warmed incredibly at the tenderness he held you with, and after sharing another kiss, he drew back.

“Let’s go to sleep.”

Yeosang was surprised to hear soft knocks on his room that were symbolic of Yunho. He hummed in answer and when the door opened, he chuckled, going right back to his sleeping position.

“Couldn’t leave you alone,” Yunho grinned, “Scoot.”

“I’m not moving– hey,” he complained but you were pretty sure that was not a complaint, the way he laughed when Yunho tackled his body and switched him to the middle of the bed. You got on the other side, facing Yeosang who was now tucked safely in Yunho’s arms. You pulled the blankets over the three of you, unable to contain the emotions that you felt in that moment. Yeosang seemed to understand, like he always did. He passed a deep smile and you pecked his lips in answer, burying your face in his chest, ready to welcome sleep.

With the lights turned off, Yeosang finally held you close.

You had never felt so warm.

It was surreal to be back in Edenary again, though the elite sector was starting to resemble any other sector with graffiti on walls of the government-owned buildings now being painted over to erase any signs of the protests of the locals against the current establishment. The banners and posters were being removed and the police were at every corner trying to trace back these offences and fill their chokeys. There were barely any pedestrians and it was awfully quiet.

You travelled in two cars since your bodyguards were accompanying you as well– Taeyong, Winter, and Jongho’s bodyguard Mark, who you had the pleasure of meeting for the first time. He seemed to be a friendly person and appeared nothing like a bodyguard, but maybe that was intentional. Taeyong and Winter stuck out like sore thumbs, but at least they got along, which was surprising. You supposed that it was for the better since you were usually travelling with Hongjoong and the guards needed to be on good terms.

It also looked like the spy and the lackey had a lot in common. You didn’t have to contribute to the conversation much, announcing earlier on that you were going to take a nap. The two talked in low voices but that was not the reason why you couldn’t welcome some sleep.

What kept you up was a letter from a certain person in Edenary requesting a private meeting. Just you. No Crescents. As if you weren’t a Crescent, you wanted to yell at the sender. Winter had delivered the letter personally, and you didn’t ask how the letter found her. She only waited patiently for your answer and you told her that you would make up your mind once you reached Edenary.

You were all welcomed warmly at the Edenary residence and office. Jaehyun and Ten were pleased to see their old friends Taeyong and Mark. After a lavish lunch of the local delicacies with meat and seafood adorning the table, you got ready to meet with the first client of the visit.

Assemblyman General Wi.

It was incessantly difficult to get a hang of the assemblyman now that he was rumoured to have joined President Lee in sending the military troops towards Strictland. Eden News was doing a damned good job at censoring the reason behind the dispatch, claiming that the troops were to receive ‘special training’ in the mountains of Sector 5, but everyone and their kids knew that it was a blatant lie, an attempt to appease the masses.

While you were sure Assemblyman General Wi had some role in dispatching the troops, you wanted to give the man the benefit of doubt. Knowing President Lee and Secretary Park, they must be holding something of significance over the military man if he was being forced to collaborate with them. If not…

You would rather not entertain that possibility.

You dressed in a deep blue plaid suit that beautifully hugged your figure, keeping the accessories to a minimal with your hair tied. Taking a deep breath in front of the mirror, you prepared for the possibility that Assemblyman Wi might not attend the meeting personally today and you would have to make do with his secretaries. Hongjoong said that the General held regard for him as his partner in war, but even he sounded half-sure.

A knock to your door prompted you to come out of your head. Winter told you that the boys were waiting downstairs and you told her to stay safe– she wouldn’t be accompanying you personally but knowing her, she would be keeping close. Winter only smiled and once outside, disappeared into the shadows like the wraith she was, accompanied by Mark who also seemed to blend into the darkness just the same.

The meeting point was a club at the outskirts of the hotspot of this sector, a place carefully chosen where you wouldn’t attract much attention. Taeyong accompanied the three of you to the club. One of General Wi’s men recognised Hongjoong immediately and led the three of you to the VIP room through the backdoor, away from the heart of the club where people partied. You couldn’t help but smile– no matter how bad it got, the clubs and the bars would always be full of people.

The man knocked at the door and Jongho entered first, taking in his surroundings before motioning that it was okay to come inside. Hongjoong placed a hand on the small of your back and you took that as a sign to enter. He glanced behind him once before following you, wearing his trademark smug expressions that was an indicator that he would always have the upper hand in the room.

Did he, though, when Assemblyman Wi wasn’t present in the room? His secretaries, Lee Dohyun and Go Minsi, greeted you all warmly and offered you drinks and snacks. You all allowed yourselves to get comfortable for just a few moments before Hongjoong finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“So, what’s keeping your Assemblyman occupied? Not dancing in the heart of the club, is he?”

Dohyun stifled a smile. “Not at all. He just has some matters to attend to. He did say that he would try to make it, but you can talk to us in the meantime.”

“Right,” Hongjoong lit a cigar and took deep smokes, the pocket watch that the General himself had given him peeking from the inside of his burgundy coat.

“We just want you to be transparent with us,” Jongho began in a rather friendly manner. “Assemblyman General Wi and our boss go way back, so you must know why we requested a meeting.”

“You suspect Assemblyman Wi has a hand in the recent events,” Minsi began, her tone curt. “Rightfully so. We all know that the Assemblyman has a certain influence in the military sector, but it is ultimately the president who makes such decisions.”

“Does that mean that the Assemblyman opposes the President’s recent move?” You wondered out loud.

“It would be bold of us to admit that,” Dohyun reminded you. “We have to take a neutral stance during such happenings.”

“Well,” Jongho took a big gulp of his whiskey drink. “You know us, Dohyun. We don’t. And I don’t think you can stay neutral here when the president of Eden is aiming to take control of Strictland, having joined forces with Strictland officials themselves. You must know all about that already, right?”

Dohyun shifted uncomfortably while Minsi, who was seated next to you, struggled to remain unmoving.

“Does it bother you when we speak so casually of what could be the beginning of the next regional war? The first chapter of this dark period?”

While that may have bothered the secretaries, Jongho’s extremely casual tone and mannerism perhaps disturbed them more. He remained seated comfortably, swirling the wine in his hands with a rather innocent smile on his face. You could tell why Hongjoong decided to bring Jongho along– he had a way of making people squirm in their seats.

“I know your Assemblyman is listening in from the next room,” Hongjoong leaned in and said in a low tone, making the secretaries sigh in resignation. “It would be wise to let him know that our time is precious, and so is his. Let’s not waste that time going in circles, alright?”

Minsi clicked her tongue in mild annoyance and signalled the guard from the window. Moments later, the Assemblyman arrived, looking awfully proud.

“You’re quite restless this time, Colonel,” he said as a greeting after Hongjoong and Jongho saluted him. “Some might think you’re playing a game that’s not meant for you.”

“You know me, General,” Hongjoong didn’t take offence to his remarks. “I always liked to stay a few steps ahead. Helps in the long run. Maybe you would like to try my approach this time.”

The General nodded mockingly, watching you for a few moments longer than necessary. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought otherwise and looked towards Hongjoong who was on his right.

“What’s your plan?”

“There is no plan,” Hongjoong announced. “We simply wish to get bearings of your allegiance.”

“As a military man, my allegiance lies with Eden, just like yours,” Assemblyman Wi replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Yet you’re going to be remembered as one of the key figures in triggering the second regional war of our lifetime.”

“There’s going to be no war.”

“And how do you know that?” Hongjoong asked with mild interest. “Did the President promise you that?”

Silence filled the room for a few moments while everyone waited for a response.

“He must be holding something significant over you,” you tried and the General regarded you with interest. “As a key figure in the previous war, you probably do not wish for another. Or are we wrong about this?”

It looked like you had struck a chord, but soon his lips were twisting in satisfaction and he huffed loudly. “You Crescents have a lot to lose from this war, don’t you?” He turned to Hongjoong. “You are cornered. The weapons dealing has stopped, your silver light production is in shambles and no one is keen to associate with your company anymore.”

Hongjoong shrugged, taking a smoke and not bothering to correct the man. “No better opportunity to announce that we do not stand with the President and his take on Strictland. It’s going to be us against the President. Pick a side, General. If you think President Lee is willingly going to let you win the upcoming elections, you’re wrong. He’s going to use you and discard you as soon as he gets the chance. You know he can, and he will.”

“Whatever he’s holding over you is just an excuse for him to make you do his bidding at gunpoint,” Jongho continued. “Wouldn’t you like to dissociate yourself from him before we announce the President’s real intentions to the world? You might actually win the elections if you stand against him.”

The Assemblyman considered that, clicking his tongue and making a show of thinking deeply. “Do you think it’s that easy to get past the President’s team? No matter how much you try, the rumours that the army was dispatched to annex Strictland will remain rumours.”

“Until when?” You asked. “It’s only a matter of time before Halaland’s president retorts. It’s going to get pretty messy afterwards.”

“Their president is too busy dealing with internal affairs regarding Strictland–”

“President Lee is the reason they’re having trouble communicating with Strictland,” you interjected. “Major Sung and President Lee have been in cahoots for too long now. Halaland’s president will retort, and it would be incredibly stupid of us to not try and prevent that. But oh, maybe President Lee and Secretary Park promised you something better than the peace of this land. Or maybe whatever they have over you is more dear to you than anything else. Understandable.”

You got up to leave and you were glad that Jongho and Hongjoong followed suit. This was not how you expected the meeting to end, and you were feeling a bit embarrassed at your little outburst but the silence that followed made you think that your words resonated with the Assemblyman and his team.

“We’re in Edenary for the time being if you would like to reach out to us,” Hongjoong said, shaking hands with the man. “Even if we stand in opposition, we can help each other out in tough times.”

Assemblyman Wi nodded sombrely. “President Lee has eyes everywhere,” he muttered in a low voice. “He’s a dangerous man, Hongjoong. I’m surprised that I didn’t see it before, but… Jongho is right. My hands are tied for now.”

“That’s unlike you,” Hongjoong commented, “The man I remember from the military… no one could have tied him down.”

The General passed a wan smile and Hongjoong took the lead, exiting the room. Jongho motioned for you to get ahead of him and just as you were about to step out, you heard the General’s voice.

“Secretary Park was right about you, y/n.”

You felt the hair on your neck rise at the mention of your father and your name. You looked back, surprised.

“He said the President would like you,” Assemblyman Wi smiled, but it held no malicious intent. It almost looked like his eyes contained a hint of worry. “He has his eyes on you, you know. President Lee.”

Hongjoong’s eye twitched at the revelation and something hot and angry bubbled in his throat. It took everything in him to not lash out at his superior, even though he wasn’t at fault. He only intertwined your hand with his, squeezing it when he realised the colour had left your face. Jongho bowed in greeting and rested his hand on your back, nudging you forward and out of the room.

“That was a warning,” you finally spoke once you were inside the safety of your car next to Hongjoong. He took your hand in his again, but you wondered if he needed that more than you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “He only means to rile us. Don’t let it get to you.”

“You don’t know that,” you whispered. You could no longer ignore the foreboding sensation in your gut. The lack of response from Hongjoong didn’t help, though his thumb kept caressing your skin in hopes of providing some comfort.

Once you were settled in the privacy of your room that you were sharing with Winter, you turned off the night lamp to get ready to sleep, though your eyes remained open and stuck at the ceiling.

“You awake?”

“Hmm,” Winter responded. Even if she was asleep, she would have responded.

“Can you respond to the letter tomorrow?”

Winter shifted in the bed to face you and you did the same, tucking the silver strands of her hair away from her face. The spy didn’t flinch at your touch even though she wasn’t used to such actions.

“Tell Secretary Park that I’ll accept his request to meet him. He can expect me at his house soon.”

Winter nodded. “Are you sure?”

You shook your head no. “I still have to meet him. I don’t like what Assemblyman Wi said about President Lee today. Why does he have eyes on me? I’ve stayed in the shadows, haven’t I? I’ve done nothing that warrants his attention.”

“You didn’t need to,” Winter’s voice sounded sad. “Once he sets eyes on someone, he always watches them. And he’s watched you for a long, long time. Just like you have.”

She was right. As a kid in Secretary Park’s mansion, you often spotted President Lee at that house. You tried your best to hide, but the President always found you sneaking into the corners like a mouse. His eyes followed you as if he were a cat. Back then, he was just Assemblywoman Han’s husband, your father’s business investor. And then he assumed the title of President Han’s husband, until he made a name for himself. Assemblyman Lee, and finally President Lee.

The question wasn’t about how long he had watched you. The question was about why he cared now.

There was not one moment of rest for the following days, and you felt ready to go back to Sector 1, walk there if you had to and sleep in the comfort of your own home for once to wake up to the smell of Wendy’s cooking which you missed incredibly.

In the past three days, you had back to back meetings and while you weren’t attending them all, you would busy yourself with some other task– investigating and planning with Jaehyun and Ten and going to the bars to indulge in gossip with Winter because no one would suspect two women out to have some fun.

You did attend a meeting with Hongjoong at what was another Siren’s residence, where Mr. Ji shared the latest updates– President Lee was supposed to have an election campaign within the following week where he was going to announce himself as a candidate for the next election which would be taking place in February. The Sirens were planning to protest right outside and maybe give the public a little teaser of his actual involvement in the Strictland nuclear operation. However, the President was probably prepared for that and would be deploying police troops to keep the Siren under control. Mr. Ji didn’t reveal what his plan was, but it looked like he was prepared to counter any resistance.

There was a gathering held at the Ju Residence in regards to climate change– just a cover for businessmen and politicians to meet each other and discuss recent events. Hongjoong received an invitation from Ju Seok Tae, the weapons funder client that you had dealt with not long ago. Dressed to impress, you walked into the mansion arm in arm with the boys this time.

Everyone was eager to hear what the Crescents thought of the recent events so you decided to divide and conquer. Hongjoong went to tackle Mr. Ju, the host himself. If there was anyone he needed to win over, it was the co-owner of Eden News. President Lee’s control and censorship over the media could no longer be allowed to continue. You reminded Ju Seok Tae of your promise that you could easily expose Ju's family involvement in the underground. That would definitely earn them backlash not from the public, but the president himself.

Jongho decided to target the business figures who were known to be acquainted with Madame Tiffany in hopes of finding a lead and potential allies. That left you, and you had just the right person in mind for the night.

Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.

Straightening your black gown, you strolled towards the section of the room where the man stood, looking as neat as ever in a grey three-piece. He was busy chatting with someone so you stood in a corner with a wine glass, greeting Secretary Shin who stood next to him, her eyes twinkling when she recognised you.

It didn’t take long for the Assemblyman to make his way towards you, pretending that he needed to grab a drink from the table near you. No one else in the room needed to know that you had stationed yourself here deliberately, and that the Assemblyman had also approached you with a purpose.

“Been a while,” he said as a greeting and you gave him a little bow. He clicked his glass with yours and you stood with your backs against the wall. Just two people taking a breather and sharing drinks while they watched the party.

“Hope you’ve been faring well,” you said.

“I’m managing,” he admitted with a wan smile, causing you to chuckle lightly.

“Manage better,” you said teasingly. “Now seems like the right time to gain an influx of supporters.”

“Ah,” he shook his head. “Always in the game, aren’t you?”

“Have to be,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s how we survive.”

He agreed. “President Lee is seeking reelection. You must know your history.”

“Presidents who run for a second term usually end up winning.”

He nodded. You considered the man.

“You must know that President Lee is involved in some Strictland operations by now. Illegal activities. Enough to invoke the wrath of the leaders of this continent.”

“He means to annex Strictland,” he addressed the matter directly. “But knowing him, the circumstances will shape themselves to his favour. Halaland will break the terms of the Treaty first, and Strictland will be annexed as a collateral to avoid a regional war.”

You made an impressed face, and he added, “It’s what I think.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” you agreed. “He might take this approach, yes. Might take the shape of a war, might not. It won’t be his first time if it does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t the Battle of the Eight Hills begin just like this?” You wondered. “It all comes down to Strictland. President Lee and Secretary Park were involved with Strictland back then too. Halaland bombed itself and claimed that Eden had, thus retaliating with an attack on Eden and triggering the war. We all suspected that Halaland had blamed Eden wrongfully, but did you ever wonder why Halaland made such claims?”

Assemblyman Kim stared at you, realisation dawning on his face as he connected the dots, his brows relaxing and lips twisting. “I’m wondering how you can make such big claims.”

“Heard it right from the man himself,” you motioned with your drink to Secretary Park who stood in the veranda, chatting up some politicians. So far, the two of you had been ignoring each other’s existence and you intended to keep it that way.

“I also wonder if annexing Strictland is what we need,” Assemblyman Kim admitted and you looked up at him with curiosity. “Eventually, a nation on this continent is going to declare itself a nuclear power. The international laws will have to change. The production of nuclear weapons will be controlled, yes, but not halted. I’d rather it be Eden who declares itself a nuclear power first, if it comes to that.”

There was a lull in conversation. Perhaps, the Assemblyman had never admitted his thoughts about the subject out loud like this.

“You’re a wise man, Assemblyman Kim,” you meant it. “Just be careful who you choose to side with. It won’t be long before President Lee becomes a pariah. I will make sure of that personally, if I have to.”

“Should I really side with the Crescents?” He wondered. “Might do me more harm than good.”

“I never said you have to side with us,” you smiled. “Someone from the Sirens Rebel Party will approach you shortly. Hear them out, will you?”

Assemblyman Kim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Now you’re going to associate me with the notorious rebel party. Right when the elections are around the corner.”

“Come on,” you placed your empty glass back at the table. “You know the party means no harm to this land. And… it’s not like you’re winning the elections. Not alone.”

“I prefer to win fair and square, Luna,” the Assemblyman almost reprimanded, and that made a short laugh erupt from your mouth.

“Don’t you know, Mr. Kim? There’s no such thing as fair and square within the walls of Edenary.”

With that, you made your way towards the door to the lobby where Jongho seemed to be catching a breather, taking in his surroundings. You curled your hand around his left arm, a small shocked sound erupting from his mouth at the touch but he relaxed when he saw that it was only you.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” You asked, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“You might not believe this, but it’s not very hard to scare me,” he admitted, sharing a grin. “Assemblyman Kim looks like someone snatched his lolly.”

“That would be me,” you said proudly. “I riled him up. He’ll definitely stop assuming a neutral position now.”

“Good,” Jongho patted your hand that was still on his arm. “Meanwhile, I’ve managed to cause a little ruckus over drinks and narrowly escaped judgement from the crowd. However… I did manage to make some new friends. We’ll need them soon.”

“Always buying connections, aren’t you?” You teased. Jongho had a rather simple philosophy of carving his path towards success, and it was that money could buy you everything. Money could also make the path towards success feel like a smooth ride.

“Can never have too many,” Jongho winked. “Don’t blame me. They are gullible. I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re bloody well good at it.”

He laughed, but it was cut short when the lobby silenced for a moment, hushed whispers indicating the arrival of someone. You couldn’t see outside from where you stood and you made no move to check who was causing the commotion, but–

“The President?”

You frowned, looking towards Jongho who seemed as confused. There was no indication that the President himself was going to attend this gathering, so whatever prompted him to arrive here? Did he want to gauge the public sentiment in person?

Jongho motioned for you to follow him and you did, situating yourselves closer to the window and the door through which the President would be entering. You noticed Hongjoong standing near the stairs next to Ju Seok Tae, concealing his surprise. Or maybe, he already got a whiff of his arrival. He only passed a small nod to the two of you.

“Are we greeting him?” You asked Jongho, gulping.

“Just like everyone else,” he scanned the room. Everyone seemed to have made way for the man of the evening. “Do you wish to move somewhere else?”

It felt like you were back to your father’s mansion. He always told you to make yourself scarce whenever some guest was supposed to visit, but he was also aware that you were a curious little thing who always sneaked around. Through the window, you could see Secretary Park’s eyes fixed on you, a knowing smile plastered on his face.

Something was off.

“Luna?” Jongho called your name gently.

“It’s fine,” you told him. “Just having some flashbacks. I’m going to be seeing the President this close after years, so.”

“Chin up. And remember,” he instructed, clasping your hand in his. “You’re a Leader now.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” you meant it.

That still did not prepare you for the way the President’s eyes found yours and stuck for far too long. He was still the same man yet it looked like he had aged a lot, the skin around his eyes creasing now. He stood with his lips parted– was he surprised to find you here?

Everyone was watching. You felt your hands get clammy with sweat, the man scanning your figure slowly with Secretary Park right by his side, saying something in a low voice. The President’s gaze travelled to your right hand that was clasped in Jongho’s, and with a dissatisfactory grunt, he shifted his gaze, giving the room his trademark smile and making sure the room saw him give the two of you that same smile.

His female secretary, Im Jinah, followed behind him and passed you a subtle smile and a nod. She definitely recognised you. Secretary Im was usually occupied in the office unlike Secretary Park, so you didn’t get to see her often when you lived in Edenary, but she was aware of your identity. You returned the sentiment and she went ahead to join Secretary Park.

Once they were out of sight, you passed a weak smile to Jongho and he let go of your hand. You wiped your hands on your dress, apologising for the nervous sweats and fixed the pearl ring on your right index finger. Your eyes followed President Lee who was greeting people, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, claiming that he did receive the invitation and didn’t initially plan to come, but something convinced him to.

And perhaps, you were thinking too much, but you didn’t miss how the man looked back and met your eyes before turning his attention back to the group of people he was talking to.

Like an omen, General Wi’s statement rang in your head. He has his eyes on you, you know. President Lee.

Shaking your head, you caught Hongjoong watching you with worry– was that worry in his eyes? He signalled that he would join you two in a minute and went ahead to greet the President. The two shook hands like old friends, their smiles masking their intentions. You stood waiting for him in the corner and straightened when he finally approached you.

“Well. Talk about unexpected guests.”

“Stole the show,” Jongho scoffed, checking his wristwatch. “When do we leave?”

“I’ve just got to have a final word with Mr. Ju and one of the members of the Department of Security,” Hongjoong replied, looking around the room. “If they’re not kissing the president’s arse, it shouldn’t take long.”

“And if they are?” You asked.

“Then we leave right away. No point wasting time,” Hongjoong said and you both agreed. He went towards the hall and you looked at Jongho.

“I’m going to freshen up, be right back.”

“Sure, I’ll be by the drinks,” he said and you left to find the powder room.

Once inside the private space, you stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You told yourself that you were reading too much into everything. Assemblyman General Wi could have said that to distract you, which would be very plausible considering that he wanted the Crescents confused if he was going to remain your rival.

The reason President Lee looked at you like that was probably because he recognised you. Maybe if you had been in private, he would have actually said hi, since you were his old friend’s daughter, though the public wasn’t aware.

You fixed your hair and washed your hands before exiting. On the way to the hall where Jongho would be waiting for you, you encountered Secretary Im and she slowed down as you drew near her.

“It’s been a while, y/n,” she smiled and you wondered if it was genuine. “Good to see you.”

One thing about Secretary Im was that she had a way of asserting dominance which was her weapon. She appeared to be sophisticated and had an almost innocent air about her, but she was meticulous and ruthless like any presidential secretary should be in order to tackle any problems.

And, well. You had experienced her tackle your brother Sunghoon’s case incredibly well. With her law background, she had no trouble making sure Sunghoon never had to step in police stations or court. She also took it upon herself to discipline him, though Sunghoon never took her seriously. You were pretty sure he harboured feelings for the young secretary, and you couldn’t blame him. She was beautiful.

“Hope you’ve been well,” you returned her smile. You had nothing personal against her and she had never been unkind towards you.

“I hear you’ve finally found your place in this world,” she smirked, and you couldn’t tell if this was a compliment or a jab.

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged. “Took me a while but I’m pleased to be where I am.”

Secretary Im acknowledged that with a nod. “If you would like to see your father… he’s in the study.”

Of course. Of course Secretary Im knew that Secretary Park wanted to see you.

“I’d rather not… not right now,” you responded and she shrugged, her attention drawn to someone calling her name. You bowed to each other in farewell.

While you had no intentions to see your father, you found yourself searching for the study anyway. The door was slightly ajar and he seemed to have company. You caught a glimpse of him sitting with his back towards you and decided to just leave, but–

“She’s grown so much, hasn’t she?” Secretary Park’s voice was faint but you could hear it, alright. You stood closer to the door, concealing your figure and pretending to fix your dress in case any passersby found you eavesdropping.

“She has. Hyung,” President Lee’s voice sounded, his footsteps containing a sense of urgency. “She looks just like her mother.”

“Don’t let her hear that,” Secretary Park chuckled. “What do you think? Do you want to be present when she comes to see me?”

“It would be too obvious,” President Lee clicked his tongue. “Maybe some other time, or–”

You spotted some people making their way to the study and took off for the hall, finding Jongho and grabbing a glass, downing the whiskey in one gulp. Jongho looked at you with worry.

“You look awfully pale, Luna. Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” you said, but you didn’t sound convincing. “Just heard something I shouldn’t have.”

Jongho was about to inquire but he spotted Hongjoong. You were utterly relieved to hear that it was time to go back. The three of you shared the details of the gathering on your way back but you ended up keeping the last bit of the event to yourself.

You debated whether you should tell them about what you had heard, the guilt of keeping that information gnawing at you and making you restless, especially when you were in the privacy of your own room. Hongjoong was supposed to make a detour to Sector 4 tomorrow, having received a tip regarding Tiffany so you reckoned it was now or never.

Finally making the decision, you took heavy steps towards Hongjoong and Jongho’s room and knocked.

It was Jongho who opened the door for you, looking more surprised than worried. “Everything alright?”

You peeked behind him– Hongjoong was up, dressed in black silk nightwear as opposed to Jongho’s ivory cotton one. He was sitting on a chair and was occupied with a book.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Jongho made way for you and you gave the Captain an awkward smile when he finally noticed that it was you who knocked. You settled on the edge of the bed in front of the two.

“I overheard Secretary Park and President Lee talk about something at the Ju Residence earlier,” you told, your heart thumping between your ears.

Hongjoong shut his book, giving you his full attention. “And what was that?”

“President Lee said I look just like my mother. He sounded awfully surprised, and… off. It was strange to hear that from his mouth.”

A surprised sound erupted from Jongho’s mouth. Hongjoong, however, remained stoic.

“Secretary Park and President Lee go way back,” he reminded you. “It would only make sense that they share everything with each other, including this information. It is possible that he knew your mother personally.”

“But…” you fiddled with your hands in your lap. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just… strange. The way he looked at me today. How Assemblyman Wi said he’s got his eyes on me. Nothing's making sense anymore.”

“Is there a chance your father wants you to side with him now?” Jongho wondered and you were surprised at his deduction.

“Well… I also received a letter a few days ago from Secretary Park,” you admitted and Hongjoong raised a brow. “He said he wants to meet me. Alone.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I’m telling you now,” you gave him a tired look.

“You must have made a decision then,” Hongjoong smiled and something about it felt like a jab.

“I have,” you kept your voice steady. “I have to hear him out and find out the reason why he’s so keen on meeting me now.”

Heavy silence filled the room for a few seconds before Jongho grunted, attempting to improve the mood.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he offered his insight. “Secretary Park must be in desperate need of something to call a meeting with you. I don’t think he would ask to meet you just to rub our recent sufferings in your face.”

You smiled at that and agreed. “I’ll learn what he needs and we can use that to our advantage–”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to meet him,” Hongjoong interjected. “I think they’re trying to distract you– us, from something. It’s a common tactic.”

“Well,” you began. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I still think I should meet him anyway.”

“So you’ve already made up your mind,” Hongjoong sighed in resignation. “Thanks for letting us know.”

“Hongjoong,” Jongho warned but you shook your head, silencing him.

“Do you trust me, Joong?”

“Of course I do,” Hongjoong’s voice almost cracked. “I don’t trust anyone else but us. I think they’re going to take advantage of you, and I do not want my ace to be taken advantage of.”

“That won’t happen,” you insisted. He knew that it was not that easy to manipulate you into doing something, so why was he being so adamant about this if he trusted you so much?

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you hiding something from me?”

Hongjoong folded his arm and leaned back in his chair, expressions going cold. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

You looked at Jongho who appeared about as uncomfortable as you. He definitely was not aware of Hongjoong’s reasoning.

“You haven’t lied to me about anything, right?” You asked and Hongjoong nodded. “But… you’re hiding some truth from me.”

When Hongjoong did not respond, Jongho muttered a curse under his breath. While you were glad that it was only Hongjoong playing this game with you, it still left a bitter taste in your mouth because if he had not shared these things with the boys, that meant that the gravity of the matter must be pretty high.

“I’m not blind, neither am I dumb, Kim Hongjoong,” you glared at him. “I know you must have your reasons. But just like you did not like how I kept this from you, I don’t like how you’re keeping something from me. Will you share it with me now, or should I take your silence as a sign that I’m dismissed?”

“Luna,” he appeared distraught. “I don’t want you distracted from what’s more important right now. Whatever I’m keeping from you is nothing of importance right now.”

“Not helping,” you shook your head and got up. “Have a safe trip, Hongjoong.”

With that, you left the room, shutting the door with a bit of a slam for extra measure. Hongjoong clenched his jaw, glancing at Jongho who was grimacing.

“Damn, hyung. You messed up.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “This fucking building must be cursed or something– never a peaceful moment here with Luna. Ask Jaehyun to contact real estate and find us a better building.”

“Or we’ll just have this one blessed,” Jongho suggested and Hongjoong shot him a glare.

When you took to a bar to drown in your emotions, you didn’t expect to run into Inspector Gong, of all the people in Eden.

Hongjoong had left for Sector 4 earlier in the morning. You both were pretending that the conversation from last night never happened, and you only wished him well and prayed for his safety as he went to verify the tip that he had received about Madame Tiffany. Apparently, she was trying to contact him and did not want anyone finding out.

That was strange in itself. For a person of Madame Tiffany’s standing to practically go into hiding meant something was up. She hadn’t made a public appearance since the tip to the navy had temporarily paused trade with Mist Island. Your sources had confirmed that she was nowhere to be found in Wonderland.

Jongho was due to meet a client close by, and he offered you to join him but you denied, admitting that you felt bad for leaving things on a sour note with Hongjoong and wanted to clear your head. He understood.

“If you’re like me, you’d want to try a bar,” Jongho had said. “Just the perfect place to drown in your sorrows.”

“Oh, then I’m very much like you,” you had confirmed and with a grin, he told you to visit one specific bar in downtown that wasn’t very active but had the best collection of wine and the perfect atmosphere to enjoy some solitude.

And solitude you were enjoying, Winter hanging nearby, inconspicuously keeping watch. When she spotted Inspector Gong, she informed you immediately but it looked like the officer was here for a reason much like yours.

It was why you didn’t mind him taking a seat near you. You would have moved elsewhere, but he noticed you and chuckled in surprise.

“Didn’t expect to run into a Crescent here,” he commented.

“Didn’t expect to run into an officer here,” you retorted, signalling the waiter to get the officer a drink. “But I’m not one to complain.”

He chuckled, thanking you for the drink and presumed to stare at it intently instead of consuming it. You continued to do the same to your drink, though it wasn’t your first.

“You’re not drinking,” you said after a moment. “I didn’t spike it in case you’re worried about that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he said but you raised a brow, indicating that you very well could have. “I don’t think the drink is going to help very much, to be frank.”

“I can confirm,” you sighed. “Fifth glass and it only feels worse.”

“Trouble in paradise?” He asked. You wondered if he was aware of your relationship with the Crescents– or at least one of them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was. He always kept a close, watchful eye on the gang.

“Something like that,” you found yourself admitting. “Do you have a partner, Inspector?”

“I have a wife, yes.”

“How do you solve conflicts?”

“By not avoiding them, but it’s easier said than done,” he mused.

“Right…” you traced the curve of your glass with your fingertip. “What if the conflict is because you’re both trying to protect each other in your own ways?”

“That’s always a hard one,” he sucked in a breath, contemplating what to say next. One look at you and he knew that he could share this. “I had an intense conflict with my wife when I was investigating my last case in Edenary. She told me not to dig into it and obey my superiors. It was her way of protecting me, and I only understood that after that case cost me my detective badge.”

“Did she gloat about being right afterwards?” You asked. The Inspector couldn’t tell if you were teasing.

“Oh, she did. Rubbed salt in my wounds, still does,” he chuckled. “But that’s her way of reminding me to be careful. She’s also someone who sticks with me and is proud of me, no matter where I am. No matter how stupid I am.”

That warmed your heart. “She sounds like a great partner.”

The Inspector nodded and finally downed his drink.

“The last case that you investigated in Edenary… that was President Han’s murder investigation, wasn’t it?”

He was silent for a good moment but eventually, he nodded, figuring that you already knew a great deal.

“Why did you get demoted?”

“Because I wouldn’t listen to my superiors–”

“No, I mean,” you turned your attention to him and he met your eyes, looking more tired than you expected. “Why, really, were you demoted? Only because you refused to let go of the case, or was it because you were snooping in places that were never meant to be snooped in?”

The Inspector gave you a look. “You’re Secretary Park’s daughter. You should know all about it.”

“Connected the dots, have you?” You scoffed. “And if you really have, you must know that it’s just a misfortune, a stroke of bad luck that we’re bound by those familial ties.”

Another moment of silence.

“So it was Secretary Park who stopped your investigation, eh?” You asked, even though you knew the answer. Everyone knew. “And by extension… President Lee.”

“They claimed he had his private team looking into it,” the Inspector reminded you.

“A weak excuse. His private team never found anything.”

“Because it never existed,” he scoffed. “I know.”

The waiter offered to fill your glasses and you both gladly accepted the refill. You sipped on your drink, thinking. The taste of the familiar drink was more bitter tonight.

“Would you like to look into the case again?”

“No,” It was more a warning than an answer. “You can’t look into it. Not now–”

“Now’s a good time, I think,” you commented. “He’s all riled up and distracted. Would be the perfect opportunity to access the previously restricted resources, don’t you think?”

“He’ll find out,” Inspector Gong shook his head. “And I can’t get any more demoted than I already am.”

“But he’s scared of you,” you locked eyes with him. “He stopped you, crushed your spirits, because he was scared you were going to find something that he did not want you to find. So if you’re not going to look into the case again, tell me about your last or most recent findings.”

He passed you a sceptical look and you shrugged loudly. “I don’t have enough time to investigate it myself, don’t worry. I’m just interested.”

“For all the wrong reasons, I suppose.”

“They’re going to be the right reasons very soon,” you said, implying the president’s recent controversial decisions. “I’ll share something with you if you share this with me. Something you’ll like very much.”

“Go ahead, then. You first,” he folded his arms, ready to hear what you had to offer.

“Who would you like dirt on?”

“Let’s see…” he thought for a good minute. “How about the Crescents themselves?”

When you shot him a glare, he raised his hands in surrender. “How about the Sirens? I hear you’re all chummy now.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, though,” you smiled. “The Sirens are not your enemy, inspector. You could work with them– you’d made good allies. They just want the Strictland issue to be solved. Don’t you, Inspector?”

“I suppose I do,” he exhaled deeply, sniffing. “Why do the Sirens care about the Strictland issue so much?”

You contemplated for a moment. “I’m not sure. Loyalty to Eden sounds like a lie. My guess is that they– that one of their leaders has something personal against President Lee or one of the parties involved with Strictland. You know how most of the members of that group are immigrants. Loyalty to Halaland? Unlikely when their homeland abandoned them. It feels personal, but that’s just my observation.”

“That’s very insightful,” Inspector Gong regarded you with curiosity.

“Your turn,” you reminded him.

“Well… I actually received a tip from someone right before President Lee interjected and closed the case. I suspect it was President Han’s female secretary. She disappeared after her death and has probably left Eden, or maybe she’s buried under the ground. I’m not sure, but anyways… the tip revealed that President Han was looking into something very personal right before her death.”

“Investigating her husband?” You asked. “I bet she was, but I already know about that–”

“No, not politics-related,” Inspector Gong took a deep breath. “Something related to her family. I found out that she has some maternal family in Eden, but they always stayed out of the spotlight. No one was aware of their identities, and I bet after what happened to her, they cut all association with her for fear of their lives.”

“Maternal family…” you considered that. “It would be interesting if they were still around, right?”

“I suspect they are. The detective hunch in me says so,” Inspector Gong passed a cryptic smile and you fought the urge to inquire further. “But my detective hunch also wonders if the tip was pointing to President Han’s family with President Lee.”

“The infant that died?” You frowned.

“Maybe they had other children. Maybe one of them had children out of an affair,” Inspector Gong said. “I like to entertain all possibilities. I just wish the secretary elaborated when she gave me the tip, but I can’t blame her. She was probably too scared and wanted to reveal the information in private. Maybe she never would have revealed that and doubted me as much as any other.”

“Interesting,” you commented. “Would you be up to meet President Han’s male secretary regarding this matter?”

“Isn’t he in hiding after what happened with his arrest?”

“I know how to reach him,” you offered.

“There must be a catch,” Inspector Gong cocked his head.

“You’ll keep me updated.”

“Of course,” he shook his head. “You’re just like Hongjoong, you know.”

That pleased you infinitely. You looked back at where Winter was standing, surprised to see that Jongho had joined her. You finished your drink and got up.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Inspector,” you said. “I hope we can share drinks more often.”

“Nah, I think I’m fine,” he shook his head but his smile said otherwise.

You approached Jongho who started clapping. “How did you get the Inspector to smile so damn much?”

“We shared domestic troubles,” you said and he laughed. “But… I’ve found some interesting things regarding President Han’s case.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, she was investigating something personal right before her death– something regarding her family. Only, we don’t know what family is meant by that. She has some maternal family in Eden so we might want to look into that– but you would know all about it, wouldn’t you?” You turned towards Winter who was smiling.

“Can’t break the code,” she simply said.

“We’re going to end up finding out anyway, save us some time,” you half-pleaded but she was adamant.

“This one, you won’t.”

“And what about the things that we potentially could find out?” Jongho asked.

With the two of you ganging up on the young spy, she gave in. “Fine. President Han wasn’t looking into her maternal or paternal family or anything related to them.”

“So she was looking into what? Does President Lee have another child?” Jongho asked. “Someone with a different mother? Someone no one knows about?”

“Find out for yourselves.”

You suppressed a curse and Winter smirked. Jongho only shook his head and you looked towards him.

“Do you think I should ask Secretary Park about that?”

“Don’t you even try,” he warned. “If that’s what got President Han killed by her own husband… don’t you dare try, Luna.”

“Geez, okay,” you folded your arms. “I won’t.”

“Promise me,” he was serious.

“I promise,” you assured him. “But I’m going to meet him. Tomorrow. You can’t stop me from that.”

Jongho looked conflicted. “Hongjoong asked me to let you do whatever you want, but I’m still tempted to stop you from meeting him.”

“It’s just a little meeting. It will only do emotional damage,” you laughed though it didn’t quite sound very hearty. “Winter will be present with me. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Oh, you can’t stop me from worrying,” Jongho motioned for you to follow him, exiting the dark corridor and leading you towards the parking lot, hand on the small of your back. “I just hope…”

Jongho paused when you reached the car and he faced you, looking conflicted. “I hope you don’t let him get to you too much. Don’t end up making any deals with the devil, Luna.”

You nodded, finding his hand and squeezing it in assurance. He drew his other hand to your face, giving your cheek a gentle caress before pulling away and opening the door for you, taking you home.

Little did you know that the devil would take your hand and ask you to come with him.

next chapter

-> apply for the taglist here! (check your privacy setting if the tags don't work)

taglist pt 1:

@lorensonebraincell @sungbeam @waywardstaytiny @lluvia1415 @woohwababes @jjaemasung @fruithoughts @fancypeacepersona @propinquitypsithurism @kyomiingi @ateezswonderland @janetsarttrove @thenopekid @justconniez @daniela-f-uwu @hwasbestlover @vcutparis @missbangtangirl @zaynsfl4m3s @beabatiny @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @alliethequeen @lavishloving @haowonbins @franbowesax @klllerwaifu @katerade23 @selfishw4ltz @paramedicnerd004 @atzlordz @curse-of-art @meowmeeps @intowxnderland @faeriehwa @staytiny-yaps @ishz @dumplingsyum @bunnychui @kandy108 @chanst1ddies @softsanglix @yongility @sang-09 @sweetinsaniiity @a-teez-4-exo @omgsuperstarg @saintriots @bihwabi @pshwifey @emotionallyanaemic

#ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #ateez ot8 x reader #ateez fic #ateez fics #ateez series #ateez angst #ateez fluff #jongho x reader #jongho fluff #yeosang x reader #yeosang fluff #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez imagines

166 notes · View notes

mutantg1rl · 2 months ago

Text

Ok time to queen out again….here’s some more sub!thunderbolts headcannons because people seemed to like the bob one!. Two characters, Bucky, and Walker. We’ll do the others after this post 😽 (if you guys want me to write some sub!bob shit lmk. I’m very down to express my interpretation on the concept.)

Sub! Bucky nsfw

____________________________________________

-gives service top and pillow princess simultaneously

-like if you want him to get up and fuck you while you call the shots he’s totally down.

-but he’s also ok with you getting on top of him and exploring his body

-bro is highkey down for anything tbh

-sub!Bucky doesn’t whimper. he groans and kind of growls

-the hottest thing ever by the way. A guttural groan will fly from his throat while you guys are fucking and you’re making him feel so good

- I think pre-therapy Bucky doesn’t like gags or restraints or anything in bed because it kind of makes him regress to the times hydra treated him like a monster and tortured him.

-therefore, if you incorporate impact play with pre-therapy sub!bucky he’s fine with it because his body is very durable, it’s just that he doesn’t like the vibe of the restraints and gags. I think it makes him panic

-however, post-therapy Bucky is a little more willing. He’s ok with fluffy handcuffs, underwear as a gag, even blindfolds. As long as you guys have a safe word (obviously) and you’re always touching him and reminding him of your presence, he’s ok

-speaking of durable body, he can last so many rounds. Like SO many rounds. He can go as long as you want to. Civil war Bucky had more stamina so I think he goes for longer, but healed Bucky prefers to be loved and not worn out by sex

-missionary lover

-even as a sub he still calls you cute pet names. Very close relationship with the word “doll”. Uses it quite a lot and I DIE by that

-��doll please, don’t tease me too much” , “baby, go slow”

- likes when you leave hickeys on him. I think he hasn’t had that being done to him so long so it’s a new feeling when he’s having it done again for the first time in years. He likes walking into Valentina’s office with red marks on his neck.

- in terms of size I feel like he’s perfect size and length, 11 inches, thick and girthy 😍

-ok just kidding, I think he’s 5-6 inches, perfectly shaped. I don’t think it curves or anything. It hits your spots just right

-unlike Bob, it’s not easy to rile Bucky up. I think he has very good self control. But….if you wear tight or revealing clothes that show your breasts, or butt he can’t help but drool. He’s looking at you and saying #needthat

-low sex drive kind of, he’s not on go at all times but when he’s on? He’s on babes

Sub!Walker NSFW

————————————————————————

-Bratty sub (honestly gives “bratty sub that turns the tables and doms the dom but these are sub headcannons so that’s a story for another time)

-so fucking rude, and you always have to put him in his place but he loves it

-I honestly think walker gets off on punishment.

-he’s always on punishment

-I think he likes some of the hard stuff. Not too extreme, but I think he likes spankings, and even chastity

-however, John does suffer from PTSD, so you do have to be careful with the way you treat him, especially what you say to him during sexy time

-I think post CATWS, he’s a bit better, but not noticeably.

-he doesn’t want you to go easy on him because walker thinks he can handle any and everything and part of me thinks walker ignores the fact that he is human with mental limitations. Him subbing for you is him realizing that he doesn’t have to go so hard and that the pain he enjoys putting himself through can have pleasure behind it in some scenarios.

-I think he likes a bit of degradation but he is insecure so be careful with how far you take it.

-he doesn’t mind the “you’re a slut”, “you’ve been a bad boy” , “you’re such a little pervert” kind of thing. Lives for it actually

-highkey fucks with being tied up, but in restraints that aren’t taunting him to figure out how to escape them. He needs restraints that he knows he can get out of if need be or else he’ll be triggered

-loves to disobey you and talk smack. Loves dirty talking too. “Fuck you’re so wet”, type of talking. “I’m gonna fill you up”

-literally melts in your hands like putty when you’re making him cum. His little tuff facade fades away immediately after he busts one. Making him cum is his attitude adjustment because he acts so much less like a dickhead the more you make him cum

-he’s always on the go, being a soldier, and fighting that he hasn’t had sex in a little while. Imagine that and you tying him up and edging him for a little bit? Oh yes, he’s wet asf!!!!

-hes a groaner, but also a silent whimperer. He tries to hide his sounds and how good you make him feel because he doesn’t wanna give you the satisfaction but sometimes he can’t help it

-hates begging. He’s a very prideful sub. The “he’s saying he hates you but his body says can you fuck me” trope. (I kind of think he’s into dubcon??? Just a bit.)

-you can get him to beg though. Edge him for three hours and he’s yours. This is really how you break him down

-another one with stamina for days. DAYS I tell you, he has all that pent up lust inside of him so imagine his first time in a while since his divorce.

-milk him like a cow!! He loves it. And part of me feels like the super soldier serum makes his recovery time like- nothing. so he can cum like 70 times. Basically as much as you want him to😝

#bob x reader #bucky barnes #john walker #robert reynolds #sub!bucky #sub!john walker #sub!Robert Reynolds #bob reynolds #bucky x reader #walker x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts headcanons

202 notes · View notes

bootsukki · 9 months ago

Text

“Hey Reddit, an update”

aita series masterlist previous part

author's note: tysm for the incredible amount of notes, reblogs and likes the series has had. i'm completely amazed by it :D i would love to read your opinions on this! hope you enjoy this part! there is just one part left to the series and that makes me really sad but life goes on (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

this has 5k words!!!! sorry!

warnings: a bit of angst, fluff and SMUTTTTTTTTT (smut will start and finish after this: *****) so please, mdni!!! p.s.: haven’t written smut in ages so……….

The university was buzzing with the usual midday energy when Tsukishima stepped through the front doors. Multiple students were going in and out of the several buildings, ready to go home or get some lunch. Tsukishima fixed his tie, nervous. It was two days after their painful phone conversation and even though he didn't want to admit it, talking to Akiteru about everything made him more aware of (Y/N)'s feelings. He couldn't let things stay the way they were. He didn't want to lose the woman of his dreams just because he cannot deal with his plans and his nerves towards his future proposal.

Clutching the bento in his hand, he made his way through the education building. (Y/N) was in her last days of finishing the first draft of her book so she was likely to be at the small office Fujimoto-san, her mentor, had given her to work on it. The smell of (Y/N)'s favourite food wafted from the bento and, despite the knots in his stomach, he hoped this would be the first peace offering that would get them closer.

He had tried his best to get her to come home, texting her the previous day with little success, only receiving a yes/no answer to his texts. He had even tried contacting Yachi but the smaller girl was completely blinded by rage towards him ("Tsukishima, you're a fucking asshole and if you think I'll let you hurt my best friend, you're terribly wrong about it. I may be 5 feet tall but I know how to punch someone, especially tall guys like you.") He regretted his actions from that night, including the complete silence he gave her when she was just trying to get an explanation from him.

When he reached her office, Tsukishima took a deep breath, stopping at the doorway. He was nervous to even see her as she had been staying at Yachi’s, knowing she had been at home showering and taking clean clothes whenever he was at work thanks to the smell of her coconut shampoo and the missing socks from the pile of laundry he needed to get through. As he was about to knock on the door, a voice called his name and he turned.

"Fujimoto-san."

"I knew it was you, Tsukishima." Fujimoto-san was a 55-year-old university professor that had been (Y/N)'s professor during her first year. He had been with her through every stage of her university degree and he was the one to who proposed writing a book on second language methodologies to her and the one who accompanied her during her research in the US. Tsukishima was grateful that (Y/N) had found someone who was giving her the support she needed to get over the project, almost acting like a father figure towards (Y/N). "What are you doing here?"

"I was bringing (Y/N) some lunch."

"Oh! That's so nice of you, boy. She hasn't been out of the office for the whole day." Fujimoto knocked on the door and without even waiting for an answer, he opened the door.

(Y/N) was sitting at her desk, completely absorbed in her work, clicking the keys on the keyboard quickly as she wrote, brows furrowed in concentration.

"(Y/N)."

"Fujimoto-san, sorry, I haven't been able to find the document you asked me for." She looked up, surprise flashing across her face as she saw her boyfriend next to the professor before her expression hardened slightly. She wasn't expecting him here. "Kei."

"He brought you some food, isn't that great?"

(Y/N) gave her mentor a soft smile and stood up, getting close to them. With a smile, she reached for the bento on his hands.

"I just wanted to let you know that he's here. I'll leave you two lovebirds eat alone."

"Thank you, Fujimoto-san."

The man waved his hands, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

"Kei," she said, her tone uncertain, guarded. "What are you doing here?"

Tsukishima shifted, feeling awkward. "I thought you might be hungry," he said, voice softer than usual. "And… I wanted to talk."

Her eyes flickered to the bento, then back to his face, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and Tsukishima’s heart pounded in his chest, nervousness gnawing at him. What if she didn’t want to hear him out? What if she was done?

But finally, she sighed, gesturing for him to sit down.

Relief washed over him as he sat down on a chair. "It’s your favorite," he added quietly, watching her reaction.

(Y/N) looked at the food, then back at him. Her walls were still up, and he could feel the distance between them. But she was here. She was listening.

"Thanks," she muttered, but there was still tension in her voice. "But you didn’t have to bring me food just to say whatever you came to say."

"I know," Tsukishima said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "But I wanted to."

There was another long pause before (Y/N) sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I can’t talk right now, I have a meeting in 10.”

“Oh.” Tsukishima shifted on his feet, feeling the weight of rejection settle uncomfortably on his shoulders. “I didn’t know.”

(Y/N) sighed softly, the tension between them palpable even in her small office. “I really can’t talk right now,” she repeated, glancing over at her desk again. “But maybe… we could talk after work? At home?”

Her voice was quieter on that last part, as if she was extending a tentative olive branch. Tsukishima nodded immediately, relief washing over him despite the lingering tension. “Yeah. Tonight, at home. We can talk then.”

She nodded, and for a moment, their eyes met—there was something fragile in her gaze. It made his chest ache. “Okay,” she whispered, opening the bento. “Thank you for the food.”

He didn’t press her further, didn’t try to fix everything in that moment. Instead, he turned to leave, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to find their way back to each other that night.

*****

Later that evening, Tsukishima sat on the couch, waiting, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee as he tried to calm his nerves. His mind was racing, replaying everything that had happened between them—how distant he had become, how his silence had hurt her more than he’d realized.

When (Y/N) finally walked through the door, she looked drained from the long day. She dropped her bag by the door and glanced over at him, offering a small wave.

“Hi,” she said softly, as if unsure of how to start.

“Hey,” he replied, standing up awkwardly. “You want to sit down?”

She nodded, walking over to the couch and sitting down next to him, but there was still a noticeable gap between them. The air between them felt heavy, weighted down by everything they hadn’t said.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on, thick with tension and uncertainty, and Tsukishima felt the guilt gnawing at him. He hated how far apart they felt, how much he had hurt her without meaning to.

Finally, (Y/N) took a deep breath, her voice small and shaky when she spoke. “Kei, I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I know,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ve been terrible about all of this. I’ve shut you out, and I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you. I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, looking down at her lap. “It’s not just that you shut me out, Kei. It’s everything… You’ve been staying late, coming home at random hours, and… Mia—”

Her voice broke slightly as she said the name, and Tsukishima’s heart sank.

“You obviously don't notice but I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” she continued, her words trembling. “I've noticed since that time you were out with your coworkers and I had to give you your keys and from that moment, she’s always around, and I just—I couldn’t help but think that maybe you were spending time with her. Maybe… maybe you were choosing her over me.”

Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek, trying to maintain her composure. But Tsukishima could see how much this had been eating at her, festering under the surface.

“I felt so stupid for thinking that,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking slightly. “But I couldn’t help it. Every time you were late, every time you didn’t answer my texts… I thought maybe I was losing you to her.”

Tsukishima’s chest tightened painfully as he listened to her. The thought that she had been feeling like this—feeling jealous, insecure, like she wasn’t enough—it tore him apart inside. He had completely ignored her, left her on the dark on everything and his words from two nights before were eating him alive, seeing her like that. He had been so focused on keeping the surprise, on managing everything on his own, that he hadn’t even seen how much he was hurting her.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. He reached out, gently taking her trembling hands in his. “Mia means nothing to me. I don’t even notice her like that. She’s just a coworker. You... You’re the one I love. You’re the only one I want.”

Her lip quivered, and more tears fell from her eyes. She looked away, trying to compose herself, but the pain was too raw, too fresh. “But you...” she whispered. “You never told me what was going on, so I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to think. All those nights at the museum or with the computer here at home... I don't know, I felt so...”

Tsukishima squeezed her hands gently, his heart aching. “I should have told you sooner,” he admitted, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself or us. I was just… trying to plan something special for us. That’s why I’ve been working late. I’ve been trying to get everything ready for our anniversary. I've been looking for the best place where we can relax and I've been trying to get days off by just... overworking, I guess.”

She looked up at him through her tears. “Our anniversary?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice soft. “I’ve been planning a trip. Just the two of us. I wanted it to be a surprise, but in trying to keep it secret, I ended up shutting you out. I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough. I'm the worst at these things. I hate surprises.”

(Y/N) blinked, more tears falling, but this time there was a flicker of relief in her expression. “You were doing all that for us?”

“I was,” he said, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “But that doesn’t excuse how I handled it. You shouldn’t have had to worry about Mia or think that I didn’t care. I should’ve been open with you, told you what was going on, not leaving you like nothing was happening. I was a complete asshole with you.”

Her shoulders trembled, and she let out a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes. “I felt so stupid, Kei,” she whispered. “I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you, like I was… like I was losing you to her.”

Tsukishima’s heart clenched, and without another word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “You’re not losing me,” he murmured into her hair, his voice soft but firm. “You’re never going to lose me. She isn’t even a thought in my mind. You’re the one I want, Y/N. You’ve always been the one.”

Her hands gripped his shirt tightly, and she sobbed quietly into his chest, letting out all the emotions she had been holding in. Tsukishima held her close, his hand gently stroking her back.

After a few moments, she pulled back slightly, her face streaked with tears. “I don’t want to feel like this again,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I don’t want to keep thinking I’m not enough for you.”

“You are enough,” he said firmly, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You’re more than enough. I’m sorry I made you doubt that. I’ll do better. I promise I’ll be honest with you from now on. We’ll talk about everything—no more shutting each other out.”

She sniffled, her fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him like he was her anchor. “I just want to feel like I matter to you, Kei.”

“You do,” he whispered, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. “You matter more than anyone. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I’m sorry I didn’t show that enough. I’ll do better. You are my everything. I won't hurt you like this again.”

She nodded, tears still clinging to her lashes, but the weight between them seemed to lift, just a little. “We’ll figure this out,” she whispered. “Together. I also need to communicate my feelings better."

Tsukishima leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before moving onto her lips, kissing them for just a second. “Together,” he echoed, his heart swelling as he held her close.

"We really suck at this sometimes," she muttered.

"Yeah, we do."

They both laughed softly, still holding each other tight.

*****

(OP) tsuk113_:

Hey Reddit, an update.

Seems like we just needed to have a long and conversation between us. I took your comments and advice from friends to heart and explained everything to her. I told her about the surprise trip (but not about me proposing on that trip, surprise, I guess) and everything has gone well. WE are working on our problems and I promised her to be better. I need to be better for her because she is truly the best thing that has happened to me.

Anyway, trip is just a few days away and I'm actually nervous about proposing but, I hope it goes right.

*****

The drive up the mountains had been long, winding through dense forests and past breathtaking views, but the destination was worth it. Tsukishima had booked a secluded cabin that sat high up, surrounded by towering trees and overlooking a serene, glassy lake. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and the sky above was a brilliant expanse of deep blue. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, peaceful, and far removed from the hectic pace of their daily lives.

(Y/N) had been in better spirits since their talk. Tsukishima had worked hard to open up to her, to let her in on how overwhelmed he had been. And while she didn’t know the full reason for the trip, she had let herself hope that this weekend away was his way of making things right between them and celebrate their anniversary as well.

After they had settled into the cabin and left their small suitcases by the beautiful bedroom that had amazing views to the lake, (Y/N) found herself touring the place as Tsukishima started to cook them dinner, standing by the long railing at the balcony, appreciating the views and fresh air, the view of the mountains and lake calming her completely. She smiled softly as she took it all in, admiring the leaves on the trees and their vivid shades of gold, red and orange, making the entire scene look like something out of a painting.

Tsukishima had been looking at her from his place at the kitchen, the weight of the ring in his pocket settling in, waiting for the right moment.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in shades of pink and lavender, Tsukishima suggested they take a walk before they have some dinner.

Taking their coats and putting on more comfortable shoes, they stepped outside into the cool evening air, the path they followed covered in fallen leaves that crunched beneath their boots. (Y/N) held her boyfriend's hand, leaning against him as they walked in comfortable silence. He had found the perfect place to relax and she was grateful for it. (Y/N) breathed deeply, feeling the tension of the last few weeks melting away in the serenity of the surroundings.

As they reached the lake, (Y/N) walked away from Tsukishima, leaning towards it, looking at the sky. "This place is amazing," she said, voice soft as she looked at the lake glimmering under the fading sunlight. "If this were a movie, we would see a proposal right now."

Tsukishima's heart skipped a beat as his hand made his way towards his front pocket.

"Is that so?"

(Y/N) laughed, completely unaware of the scene that was about to happen behind her. "I think we are the only people here, though, but..." She streched her arms out to the horizon. "Wouldn't that be something?"

When she turned back around to make another playful comment, the words died on her lips.

Tsukishima was no longer standing behind her. Instead, he was down on one knee, his tall frame somehow looking both awkward and incredibly graceful at the same time. In his hand was a small velvet box, the lid open to reveal a delicate, sparkling ring.

(Y/N)’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared at him in disbelief.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Tsukishima, for all his careful planning, looked almost… shy. His usual sharp gaze softened as he looked up at her, the words he had rehearsed for weeks suddenly feeling far more significant now that she was standing there, her eyes wide and her lips trembling in surprise.

“(Y/N),” he began, his voice low and steady, though his heart was racing in his chest. “I’ve never been good at showing how much you mean to me. I know I’ve messed up, more than once… but you’ve been with me through it all. And I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. These 5 years with you as my girlfriend have been the best years of my life. You have taken care of me, loved me and I can't be more grateful that you are mine.”

(Y/N) was already tearing up, her hand still covering her mouth as she let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” Tsukishima continued, his voice just a little quieter now, as if speaking the words made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. “I want us to have forever. So… will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the soft murmur of the lake below. (Y/N) stared down at Tsukishima, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear anything else. (Y/N) got on her knees, looking at Tsukishima, the man in front of her blushing.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice cracking with emotion. “Yes, of course!”

Tsukishima let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lips pulling into a rare, genuine smile. He, carefully, took the ring away from the box, slipping the ring onto her finger with careful precision, as though it was the most important thing he’d ever done. Once the ring was in place, he cupped her face in his hands, leaning down to press his lips against hers.

(Y/N) closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him, the taste of salty tears on her lips from the emotions spilling over. In that moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

When they finally pulled away, (Y/N) laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I just joked about you proposing.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Timing is everything.”

She laughed again, glancing down at the ring on her finger. It had a parti sapphire as a centerpiece, a gem with a blend of rich forest green and subtle blue hues. The sapphire, in an oval shape, was set in a delicate gold band surrounded by what it seemed like small diamonds. It was, elegant and perfect—just like him, in his own way.

“Wow, Kei... It is beautiful... I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You, the guy who hates surprises.”

Tsukishima shrugged, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “I figured you were worth making an exception for. To be honest, I thought you were going to find the ring at home.”

"What!?" (Y/N) gasped. "Where was it?"

"I know you hate grocery shopping so I hid the box between the bags I take shopping."

(Y/N) laughed, her heart swelling with so much love she thought it might burst. She reached up to brush a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, her thumb tracing the familiar curve of his jaw.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice full of everything she felt but couldn’t quite put into words.

Tsukishima’s eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to hold back. “I love you too.”

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and filled with everything unsaid. It wasn’t hurried or desperate—it was gentle, almost reverent. Her hands slid up to cup his face, his glasses cool under her fingertips as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss just a little. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and forever, a merging of relief, joy, and love so deep it made their heart ache in the best way possible.

Tsukishima’s hands tightened around her, pulling her flush against him, and for once, he let himself be completely open, pouring all the love he had into that single kiss. As they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them smiling breathlessly, the world quiet except for the pounding of their hearts in sync.

*****

(Y/N) hugs Tsukishima from behind, enjoying the warmth of his body as he washes the dishes of their dinner. Tsukishima can't help the smile on his lips as his eyes glance down to her ring, sparkling under the lights of the kitchen. For a moment, he is grateful about the lack of signal of their phones because for once, (Y/N) is not checking her emails constantly (seriously, Tsukishima reckons she has a Gmail addiction) and secondly, because she's been teasing him all night, running her fingers, especially her ring finger, through his arm, chest and neck, kissing him slowly, running her tongue over his lips, well, teasing him more and more as the night went on.

Tsukishima dried his hands and turned around, pulling (Y/N) flush against his chest, cupping her face as he slowly leans down to brush their lips together, hands around her hips, massaging the eposed skin between her sweatshirt and her soft pajama bottoms. Without a second though, (Y/N) pulls away, taking his arm, leading him upstairs. As soon as she reaches the bedroom door, she opens it, pulling Tsukishima by his T-shirt to get him inside.

As their kisses grow deeper which every passing second, the man quickly takes off his glasses and T-shirt, leaving them at one of the bedsides tables before running his hands through (Y/N)'s body, undressing her slowly. First, her sweatshirt, leaving her bare from the waist up.

"God, you're so beautiful."

(Y/N) blushes but doesn't waste a second and takes off her pajama bottoms and underwear, pushing them aside with her foot before siting down at the end of the bed and spreading her legs.

Tsukishima can't help it and his eyes slowly make their way towards her most intimate part and he slowly, gets down on one knee and grabs her leg, kissing her leg and inner thigh, before, after what it seem like an incredible amount of time, delving in like a starved man.

Tsukishima lifted one of (Y/N)'s legs up, placing it atop of his shoulder as he parted her lower lips and started to lap his tongue in her.

He moans out, the vibrations of it sending a shiver all over (Y/N)'s body as she cries out his name, hands making its way towards his blonde hair.

Her breath hitches when Tsukishima makes a slurping sound as if he was tasting the most delicious meal in the world.

Tsukishima, eyes closed at the taste of his fiancée, cups her heat, one of his long fingers pressing against her walls.

"Oh, Kei..." (Y/N) opens her mouth, a loud moan leaving her throat, chest heaving. "Right there, baby. Jesus...."

"Right there, pretty?"

"Uh-huh, please! God, yes."

The combination of his mouth and fingers curling inside her shocks her with a wave of pleasure and she pulls on his hair, a gasp leaving his lips as he looks up at her. He can't believe it. He can't believe that the beautiful woman in front of him, so overcome with plasure, is his, forever. Tsukishima smirks, adding another finger as (Y/N) glances down to look at him as her body goes still, climaxing in a long and wonderful orgasm, moaning a mixture of what it seemed like Tsukishima’s name and several curse words.

Tsukishima looks at her once again, soflty massaging her thigh for a few seconds, letting her relax a little bit before rising to his feet and pushing her into the mattress, laying on top of her as her arms make their way around his neck.

From then, (Y/N) slowly reaches to take off his sweat pants, the sight of him that hard making her mouth water, still feeling a bit hazy from her orgasm. Teasing, she fondles with him for just a few seconds, hand slowly inside his boxers, touching him. Her hand moves up and down as she keeps her eyes on him, Tsukishima's eyes closing due to the feeling of her soft hand and the coldness of her new ring on him.

"I love you."

Tsukishima nearly comes at the sound of that and he inhales sharply, smiling. He can feel her everywhere, her hand moving the way he likes it, her lips moving and kissing along his jaw, neck and lips, the sight of her bare pussy... God, he is in heaven.

She pushes his boxers down, straddling his lap as she slaps his throbbing tip on her clit a few times before alinging it with her entrance, slowly making her way down, the sound of his name leaving her mouth as he fills her up.

"Fuck..." Tsukishima bites his lip as (Y/N) slowly moves her hips slowly, splaying her hands on his chest as she moved up and down, an animalistic look in her eyes as she watches him whimper. Without thinking, she grabs two of his fingers and places them inside her mouth, biting and licking them.

"Jesus, fuck."

"Tell me... Tell me what you want, pretty boy."

"You... So bad."

(Y/N) smiles, leaning down to kiss him slowly, the eye contact between them so suffocating that Tsukishima feels like he is going to explode. The feeling of her body on top, the pressure and warmth of her walls. It's too much. Tsukishima doesn't let her move and he cups her cheeks, sucking on her tongue as they both sigh in pleasure.

"Baby..." Tsukishima grabs her breast. "You're so pretty. You're so pretty when you fuck me."

(Y/N) pants, laughing and her hand wraps itself about his throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah?"

He nods, biting his lip.

"You're mine, Kei." (Y/N) hisses, bouncing on top of him with more strength. She was close, so, so so close. "You're mine forever."

"Forever."

(Y/N)'s back arches for just a second and Tsukishima notices her movements are getting sloppy and without even thinking about it, she grabs her by the waist and rocks their hips together, thrusting into her at an alarming pace, bed shaking a bit due to their movements.

"Oh, fuck!" (Y/N) moans, her hands touching his chest, reaching for his shoulder. "Like that, baby. I'm so..."

"I know, me too."

(Y/N) leans down to tug on his earlobes wit her teeth as she growls something not even him can't understand. Tsukishima quivers at the feeling of his cock reaching even deeper and for a moment, he feels like he is seeing stars.

"I'm going to cum, Kei!" Please, please, keep going!"

"Cum with me, baby. Cum with me." His voice becomes deeper as he feels his own orgasm approach him, looking at (Y/N), who had her face on his shoulder, sweat running through her forehead. Tsukishima kisses her slowly, hands moving her hair out of her face. "Fuck, (Y/N), where do you want it?"

"Inside, please." (Y/N) begs, her lips still brushing his. "Please, baby. I need it so bad."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, yes!"

Tsukishima's cock twitches inside of (Y/N), gasps leaving his mouth as he cums inside of her. They both jerk, the feeling of their orgams making them feel dizzy and light-headed.

"Fuck."

"Yeah..."

"That was..."

"So fucking good."

(Y/N) laughs as Tsukishima kisses her cheeks repeatedly, lips swollen from all their kissing.

"If I knew we were gonna fuck this good after proposing, I would have done it at 18."

"Kei!"

Tsukishima laughs loudly and (Y/N) melts, the sight of him like this... So happy and perfect... She hums, hiding her face on his neck for just a second.

"I love you so much."

"Me too."

"No. I don't think you understand." Tsukishima adds. "You really taught me what is like to love and even though I may not be perfect at it, I promise I will love you every single day of my life and even after death."

"Kei..."

"You are my everything, you know that, right?"

"You can't say things like that!"

"Why?"

"Because..." (Y/N) blushes, placing her hands on her face and getting up from the bed. "Because! I'm going to take a shower."

Tsukishima laughs, looking at her as she walks towards the bathroom door, biting his lip.

"Don't look at me like that and come shower with me."

"Yes, (Y/N) Tsukishima."

"Shut up!"

*****

(OP) tsuk113_:

I'M GETTING MARRIED FUCK YES

User 1:

Congratulations! After 20 years of being married, let me give you a piece of adivce: listen to each other. Enjoy the little moments together. I am sure your love is pure.

taglist: @lavanderdreamve @lizzymizzy-blogg @quilyzayaki @uhnanix

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #tsukkiaitaseries #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima smut #smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

360 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Unhappy Holidays

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).

Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).

Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆

Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.

Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.

If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.

It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.

Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.

A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.

He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.

Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.

The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.

“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”

“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”

“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”

You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.

He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.

Your resentment still burned though.

Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.

You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.

The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.

After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.

You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.

In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.

The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.

Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.

“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.

“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.

“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”

“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”

He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.

The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.

Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.

Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.

Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.

It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.

You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.

“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.

Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.

A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.

As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.

Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.

You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.

By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.

Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.

The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.

Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.

“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.

So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.

With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.

“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.

“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”

“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.

But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.

“You're sure he won't be there?”

“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”

“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”

“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

–X–

Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.

You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.

“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.

“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.

“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.

“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.

“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”

You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.

“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”

“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.

“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.

“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”

You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.

“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.

Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.

“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.

“I was invited.”

“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”

“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.

You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.

“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.

“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.

“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.

Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.

“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”

“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.

“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”

“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.

“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.

“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”

“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”

“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”

He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.

“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.

“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.

You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.

His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.

He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.

He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.

“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”

“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”

“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.

“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.

“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”

Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.

He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.

“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.

“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.

“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.

It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.

He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.

“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”

“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.

He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Liar.”

His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.

“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.

There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.

You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.

It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.

“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.

“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.

“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”

You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.

You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.

Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.

You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.

You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.

It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.

“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.

“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.

Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.

“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.

“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.

“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.

He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.

“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”

He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.

The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.

His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.

The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.

“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.

“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”

“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”

“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”

He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.

“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”

“Fuck. Why?”

“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”

You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.

He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.

“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”

“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”

“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.

“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.

“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”

“You just know how to piss them off?”

“Morgan says it comes naturally.”

“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”

A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.

“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.

“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”

“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.

“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.

“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”

He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.

“Oh my god you're an idiot.”

“When you're around, yes.”

“And that means I'm equally stupid.”

“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.

“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”

“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”

He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds smut #cm writing challenge

2K notes · View notes

ohtobelovedbyme · 1 month ago

Text

"What do you think of me?" | yjh [ch3]

Pairing: YJH x Reader

Genre: best friend’s brother to lovers (or something), FLUFF, romcom, office setting, yjh and his sister are nepo babies

Summary (this chapter basically goes like this): you: just trying to survive internship hell jeonghan: what if i grabbed ur wrist and whispered in ur ear while drunk also jeonghan: accidentally falls on you and passes out while BTS plays in the background also also jeonghan: “what do you think of me?” update: he stole the can you drank on and now you think he’s wearing your same, exact perfume. chat, is this normal behavior?

A/N: FINALLY DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER AHHH. I was planning on publishing this and ch4, but I figured you guys would want to read this first cause it's been 3 days (?) now 😭😭

Teaser | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 3

By 3:17 PM, you had already run out of your post-its, remaining patience, and reasons to live. Since last week, your seniors have been dumping all their work onto the interns. Your group chat, named “Corporate Work Trauma,” had more than 99 unread messages, either from interns begging the other to help them complete their work or wishing that your seniors would magically get fired and be replaced by more responsible people.

Just as you were about to complete your final assignment for today, you hear the sound of that stupid humming again.

“Intern! I’ll be needing your help with some of the materials for tomorrow.” Manager Kang, from a completely different department, walked over with urgent footsteps and dropped a stack of documents on your desk.

You just stared at it blankly. Manager Kang then cleared his throat, as if to say, “Oh, don’t worry. That will only take you 5 minutes.”

“Just flag me what’s urgent on e-mail, and I’ll get to it as soon as possible,” you looked up with the smiliest and politest face you’ve ever worn, but anyone who knew you would know that you were on the verge of either killing Manager Kang or breaking down.

“Great attitude,” he said, walking away.

“What an ass,” you muttered under your breath. You couldn’t hold it in, but you didn’t want to get fired either.

It was petty, yeah, but so was this day. And the day before that. And the day before yesterday.

From his office, Jeonghan looked up from his monitor. He looked around the room, and all the lights were turned off except for the intern area.

This usually happens every time the company hires new interns. A “rite of passage,” they called it. A hazing, he’d say. Usually, those seniors would get a serious talking to by the rest of the management, but this was just for formality since, well, those same people also do the same thing.

Jeonghan scrunched his nose just at the thought of how many interns quit last year. He did try to help them, albeit only those in his department. He only heard about those assholes from those adjacent departments that dumped tasks onto his interns and made them do their work when two of them quit. From then on, he banned other departments from casually coming in and out of his department. But I guess this happened again, since the interns right now have been staying late in the office for three days straight.

He finally stood up and went out of his office to tell the interns to go home for the night and to report to him about who was making them work and what they were assigned to do.

“Hey.”

You blinked up from your monitor, staring. Joenghan’s voice was low and effortless, like it was just another thought passing through the room.

The rest of the interns did the same and asked him if there was anything he needed. He asked them to leave for the night and to report to him tomorrow

The rest of the interns looked up like they’d just been told the war was over.

“Oh my god. Finally,” one of them breathed out, already half-standing.

“Bro, I’m gonna write a 10-page essay about the hell these people put me through,” another muttered, cracking their knuckles with a vengeance.

“Team Leader Yoon, you’re the realest one here,” someone said, patting their bag and walking out like it was the end of a prison sentence.

One of them turned back to you. “You coming?”

You glanced at your monitor, finger still hovering over the trackpad. “Yeah. Just have to finish this last page,” you said with a small smile.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Won’t take long.”

With a round of exhausted goodbyes and a collective sigh that echoed through the empty office, the rest of them finally filtered out.

When the last of the other interns finally leaves the office, you look up at your monitor. It was just one last page, and you were done. Might as well finish this and not let your hard work go down the drain before the bloody battle that breaks out tomorrow.

“You free for a second?” Jeonghan, who, unbeknownst to you, has been staring at you since he dismissed you.

“Hmm? Me?” you asked, surprised. That was a dumb way to respond, since you were the only one there (other than him). But, you know, you’re tired, he’s tired. There’s something abysmal, yet normal, about your reaction.

“No, the ficus. Yes, you. You’re the only one here.”

You got up, slowly, wary. “Okay…”

Jeonghan walks to his office, and you follow him. Right now, you’re not sure about what’s happening. He just dismissed you a while ago, right? You didn’t just dream that, right?

He opened his office door for you, and you stepped in. You’re hit with the scent again, but this time, it's more subtle.

It was late in the evening, and you’re too tired. The ambience of it all was so relaxing, you’re sure you would sleep here right now, if it weren’t for the subconscious part of your body telling you to sleep in your own bed.

“Sit,” Jeonghan said, his eyes pointing towards the couch.

You, oddly enough, half-expected a lecture on HR violations or intern responsibilities. More work. Maybe a mild scolding delivered in that stupidly smooth voice of his.

As you went to plop on the couch, he opened the drawer under his desk. From your view, you could see the shine of aluminium. A canned herbal tea and a familiar chocolate almond bar. Weird combo? Sure. But it was your go-to back in college, herbal tea and almond chocolate during all-nighters.

Jeonghan walked over to you, his shadow looming over your body. He held them out like a peace offering.

You just looked at what’s in his hands. “You... called me in for this?”

As you were about to take them, he pulled back his hand and opened the can first before placing both products on the glass coffee table in front of you. You roll your eyes.

He sat on the couch opposite you and leaned back, his hands going behind the back of his head. Casual. Composed. Eyes on you like he was studying your expression for microreactions. At first, you were hesitant. Your eyebrows furrowed, making that expression you had every time you’re curious about something. He knows what you were thinking about. How did he know about what you wanted, and why did he have them ready at his office? But then, you finally start drinking the tea.

Your eyes, already half-lidded, began to soften further. Before taking another sip, you went ahead to dig into the chocolate bar. Oh, the mood right now was too cozy. The lavender atmosphere, the soft wool couch swallowing you whole, and you finally having your first meal in almost seven hours, no less, from the man in front of you. God, you just wanted to stay there forever.

“You looked like you were ready to go to the morgue,” he said. “Figured you’d need something to swallow before you head home.”

You chewed slowly, staring at him as your brain finally caught up with what was happening. “Woahhh... Team Leader Yoon Jeonghan,” you drawled, voice thick with playful suspicion. “How did you know I was craving this exact combo? Have you been stalking me?”

Jeonghan quirked a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said lazily. “If I were stalking you, I’d probably know you secretly take screenshots of food from that mukbang channel at midnight.”

You choked slightly on your tea, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“‘Saved Posts,” he said, smug. “Public account. Rookie mistake, seriously. Who taught you internet safety?”

You gasped, half-laughing, half-mortified. “You actually went through my saved posts?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Your notifications were on during that one meeting, and your screen lit up with your username. Curiosity got the better of me.”

You paused, your hand still gripping the chocolate bar. Your cheeks flushed, just slightly, the faintest pink blooming as his words sank in.

You clutched your forehead dramatically. “Unbelievable. I’m never showing my phone in public again.”

Jeonghan leaned forward then, elbows on his knees, gaze steady. “You interns have been running yourselves into the ground lately. Figured someone should give a damn.”

You looked at him, and for a second, you couldn’t say anything. The teasing was there, sure, but underneath it was... sincere.

You rolled your eyes, if only to hide how warm you felt. “You could’ve just sent an email like a normal person.”

He scoffed. “And miss the chance to see your tragic little face in person?”

“Wow. Thanks,” you said flatly, trying not to smile.

Jeonghan waited a full five seconds before glancing back at the door. Then, slowly, he sat back into his chair.

His gaze dropped to the half-crushed can on the table, the one you'd sipped from earlier. Faint, but still visible: a perfect smudge of maroon left on the aluminium rim. It wasn’t just a mark. It was the same shade you'd been wearing all night. The same shade you’d been wearing since you started working here. Rich. Creamy. Almost too bold for you.

His fingers reached for it. Brushed the edge.

The pigment clung to his skin. He turned his hand over, staring at the stain against the pad of his index finger. A color too soft to be dangerous, but too dark to be innocent.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth.

A pause.

Then, he touched his lips to them.

The warmth wasn’t the same. But it mimicked what could’ve been yours.

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, bitter laugh.

He didn’t even like herbal tea and almond chocolate.

The hum of the vending machine was the only sound filling the small break room. You sat slouched on the bench, head resting against the cold wall, eyes closed. The coffee in your hands had gone lukewarm. Your shoes were kicked off, legs tucked beneath you like you were claiming this sad little corner as your territory.

Today, you finally finished all the projects you were assigned. Your fellow interns finally stopped cursing and hexing your seniors, and you finally have time to relax. Moreover, those same seniors got chewed out by Team Leader Yoon. “My final warning,” you remember how his voice was calm and calculating, making everything he said sound like a death threat instead of a “I’ll-send-you-to-HR” threat.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” a familiar voice piped up.

You cracked one eye open to find your best friend, Jeonghan’s younger sister, leaning against the doorframe, sipping from her iced latte like she hadn’t just insulted you.

“Truck, bus, and a management-level bullet train,” you deadpanned, sighing dramatically as you took another sip of your coffee. “The seniors? Demonic. One of them made me sort three years of archived campaign decks. My soul left my body halfway through 2023.”

She winced. “Okay, yeah. That’s cruel and unusual. Even I don’t like those archives, and I barely do anything.”

You snorted.

She sauntered over and sat beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been looking real burnt-out lately. You okay?”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Just new intern stuff. Paying my dues. Blood, sweat, tears, and barely-scheduled bathroom breaks. Besides, your lovely brother finally saved us.”

“Ew, don’t call him that.” She grimaced. “You need a break. Like, real one.”

You looked at her suspiciously. “Why do you sound like you’re about to propose something... stupid? Insane? What’s the right word….”

She smirked. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all… maybe I am.”

You squinted. “Don’t say team-building workshop. I’ll cry.”

“Worse.” Her grin widened. “Karaoke. Tonight.”

You groaned. “Nooo. My legs feel like overcooked noodles. I can’t stand, let alone scream-sing IU.”

“But it’s to celebrate! You finally survived intern hell. That deserves a round of somaek.”

You blinked. “Can’t we just do that without involving the whole department?”

“Nope. Everyone’s coming--well, everyone that matters. Especially you interns. And…” She paused for a beat, her voice dropping just slightly into a mischievous tone. “Oppa might come too.”

“No, he won’t. No one will. Why? Because this won’t happen.”

“Come on~” She flipped her hair dramatically. “I might go tell him it’s a little celebratory thing.”

You stared at her. “You do know that he’s busy, right?”

She beamed. “Yeah, but he would make time. Maybe. As long as you’re there. Looking cute. And tired. And vulnerable.”

You almost choked on your coffee. “You’re evil.”

She beamed. “You love me.”

Jeonghan didn’t look up from his laptop when the door opened. “If this is about the budget sheet, tell them to stop using Comic Sans–”

“It’s not,” his sister sang-songed, plopping onto the guest chair across from his desk. “It’s about plans.”

“Sounds exhausting already.”

She leaned in, elbows on his desk. “Did you know we’re doing karaoke tonight?”

He raised a brow. “No.”

“Well, we are.”

“Sounds loud.”

“Mm-hmm.” She stretched the silence, letting it hang before she dropped the bait. “Guess who’s coming?”

His fingers paused mid-typing. “...”

“Yep. Poor girl’s been run ragged. You should’ve seen her, she looked like she was about to merge with the coffee machine. Thought it’d be nice for her to unwind.”

He didn’t reply right away, gaze still fixed on the screen, though nothing was being typed now.

His sister grinned. “Anyway. I told her you might come.”

This time, he looked at her.

“Just a heads up,” she added sweetly, before slipping out of the office.

Behind her, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his forearm rising to cover his eyes, as he slowly, very slowly smirked to himself. He let out a low chuckle, like he was plotting some evil Doofenshmirtz-level plan.

“This crazy bastard…” his sister just walked away as quickly as she could.

You were nestled in the corner of the private room, surrounded by your coworkers who were thriving in their tipsy chaos. The lights bounced off the walls, the mic was being tossed around like a volleyball, and someone was currently screaming their way through an old 2 PM hit.

You were smiling, even laughing occasionally, but your body still felt tired. Drained.

This probably wasn’t a good idea, but you were having fun. I guess you would have to prioritize your bodily needs tomorrow. The past few days had chewed you up and spit you out with a polite, overworked bow.

The door opened, and Jeonghan stepped in. Some of your coworkers did not expect him to come here, while the rest were too drunk to even get up from their seats. He was wearing a button-down shirt (too few buttons done up, you note) and sleeves rolled up like he just walked off a music video set.

You turned to your friend, who was screaming her lungs off. She made eye contact with you and winked. Yeah, no. This was her doing.

You could see his eyes scanning the room until they stopped. At you.

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. And then he walked in fully, sliding into an open seat at the end of the room, not next to you, but close enough to watch.

He didn’t even greet you directly.

You sipped your drink.

He sipped his.

But you could feel him there.

You had stepped out of the room to cool off. It was too warm. Too loud. Too much. It was like your skin couldn’t hold everything in anymore.

You were just beginning to breathe when you felt him.

Jeonghan leaned against the wall beside you like he belonged there. Like the hallway had been waiting for him.

You turned to see him, eyes closed, head tilted, cheek pressed lazily to his shoulder. His hair, beautifully disheveled, fanned out behind him, catching the soft light like silk. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the few buttons still undone, skin glowing pale beneath the low light. His hair?

You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just reckless tonight. But his presence was magnetic, pulling everything in, including you.

“Team Leader Yoon… are you alright?” Your voice came out quiet, unsure, but your body already moved. You stepped in, closer, protective by habit and helplessness.

He didn’t answer at first. Just hummed low. His head dipped in a slow, deliberate motion.

“...Jeonghan?”

You watched the fall of his bangs. The way his lashes brushed the flush of his cheeks. His lips– plump, a little red, and parted just enough to tempt every reckless impulse in your brain.

Your hand lifted. You didn’t mean to. But it did. Hovering near his mouth.

You wondered:

Were they still wet from all the drinks? Or dry from the hallway air?

You didn’t find out.

Then, heat. Fingers wrapped around your wrist. Slow, firm.

You gasped.

He opened one eye, heavy-lidded, a little too knowing. Then, slowly, like he had all the time in the world, Jeonghan pulled you toward him. Not hard, instead, it was gentle, devastating. Until your bodies nearly touched.

You could feel it.

The heat. The scent.

Sandalwood. Lavender. And something unmistakably his.

And then, with the barest smirk at the corner of his lips, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

Your breath hitched.

“Same color,” he murmured, voice low. “Your lips… the other night.”

You forgot how to blink.

His thumb lingered a second longer before sliding away, his grip still secure around your wrist. But now, it was his fingers that trailed gently along the skin there, mapping every inch like it was a confession.

And then,

he moved again.

You didn’t even register it until his fingers brushed the slope of your neck. Just enough to make your breath hitch and your spine freeze.

Then he found the necklace you wore.

His fingers traced the delicate chain along your neck, unbearably slow, like he already knew what it was doing to you. You swallowed, breath catching when he reached the pendant resting above your collarbone. It was heart-shaped. Of course it was. His thumb brushed over it once, twice, as if he was testing the rhythm beneath it.

You were certain. Utterly, humiliatingly certain that he could feel your heartbeat rising against the cage of your ribs like it wanted to leap into his palm.

He held onto it.

Lifted it slightly. As if weighing something.

“Still wearing this?” he said, almost like he was asking himself.

Then, he let it go gently. The charm dropped against your skin with a soft clink.

You didn’t get to exhale.

Because in the next second, his hand slid to the back of your neck. His fingers threading through your hair, palm warm and solid.

He pulled you closer.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Intentional.

Your body followed, helpless.

He leaned in. Past your cheek. Past your jaw.

And just as your breath trembled out, his lips brushed the side of your neck, and he whispered: “What do you think of me?”

Your knees nearly gave out.

You could feel every syllable burn against your skin. Every letter was a sin.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at him.

Because he was right there. So close. And you knew, if you turned your head, your lips would meet.

But then–

The door behind you rattled.

Voices. Laughter. The sound of someone scream-singing off-key to “Autumn Leaves” by BTS. The hallway light flickered briefly from the opened door.

Your blood turned cold. Your stomach dropped.

He kept his hand at your nape. Still holding. Still there.

Your pulse thundered. His breath ghosted your jaw.

He looked amused. Barely. Like this was all some twisted game, and only he knew the rules.

“Let go,” you whispered, though you didn’t even sound like you meant it.

He didn’t.

He just smiled against your skin.

THUD.

“Oh God!”

Yoon Jeonghan. Your Team Leader. Your best friend’s brother.

And now? Collapsed at your feet. Dragging you down with him.

“Okay, okay, I got it, you’re very strong–”

You struggled to keep Jeonghan upright as he leaned heavily against your shoulder, humming some half-forgotten ballad into your ear. His hair was falling into his eyes, lips slack in a dopey grin.

Across from you, his sister, your beloved best friend, was swaying slightly on her feet.

“Sooo…” she slurred. “Isn’t he heavy? He’s heavy, right? I told him not to mix soju and beer.”

“You also cheered him on,” you deadpanned, glancing at her with a little more concern. “You don’t look so good either–wait, did you drink from that mystery cocktail?”

“Shhhh,” she hushed you with one finger to your lips. “Shhhh. Listen. Focus. Mission. Jeonghan. Home.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna take him to your apartment, right?”

Your best friend blinked, confusion present on her drunken face.

Then she laughed. “Babe, I can’t even find my own feet.”

You turned your head slowly to where Jeonghan was now lightly beatboxing under his breath with his eyes closed.

“Oh my god.”

Oh my god, indeed.

Somehow, by sheer divine intervention and one very confused taxi driver, you got Jeonghan into the backseat of a cab, while your best friend leaned dramatically against a lamp post, blinking slowly.

“Alright, I’ll ride with him,” she mumbled. “You go home.”

“Uh.” You hesitated. “I think I should go with you two, actually.”

“Noooo.” She waved a limp hand. “I’ll just… go to sleep.”

“What–no, you can’t sleep in a cab– wait, are you calling another one for yourself?”

She nodded very proudly, pressing her phone to her cheek like it was a teddy bear. “Like a pro.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone. “I’m calling someone else to–”

She called out your name in a long and slurred tone.

You turned, and your best friend was suddenly wide awake. Swaying, but possessed by purpose.

“I have a genius idea.”

“…not this again.”

“You take him home.”

“What?!”

“Genius,” she whispered proudly. “He trusts you.”

You stared at her, baffled. You shook your head and said: “I should be taking care of you, not your brother–”

“But I’ll be fiiine,” she grinned, now somehow sitting on the sidewalk. “I live around here. You’re going the same way, anywayyyy. You’re also the responsible one. He’ll be nice to you.”

From the cab, Jeonghan murmured something that sounded vaguely like, “You smell like flowers,” before slumping over dramatically.

You exhaled. And sighed. And almost cried a little.

“…I hate all of you.”

The drive was mostly quiet, save for the muffled sound of traffic and Jeonghan’s occasional humming, off-key, barely coherent, but somehow still hypnotic. His head was back on your shoulder again, like a magnet, a gravitational constant you had no power over.

Your heart hadn’t slowed down since the hallway.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe too hard.

Then, the cab driver cleared his throat. Glanced at you two through the mirror. You, with your face red, with your boss leaning on your shoulders.

“So…” he said, voice light. “Are you two dating?”

You froze.

“I– what? N-No, we’re not–”

“Because you look good together,” the driver continued, oblivious and chuckling. “Like a couple in a drama, you know?”

You were about to melt into the seat and die when Jeonghan stirred beside you.

He blinked slowly. Then let out a soft chuckle.

And in a warm, slurred tone, he said–

“I agree with him… Are we?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

“Jeonghan–!”

But he was smiling now, lopsided and sweet, his cheek still pressed to your shoulder like it was the most natural place in the world.

He turned his face slightly, lips grazing the fabric of your shirt.

“You’re soft,” he mumbled.

Your nervous system stopped completely

The cab driver laughed. “Ahah, young love.”

You slapped your hand over your face, covering every inch that exposed the flush of your cheeks. “I’m going to jump out of this car.”

“I’ll catch you,” Jeonghan murmured, barely audible now, already drifting again.

But his hand, warm and slow, was still holding your wrist. Thumb brushing lazily across your skin like he wasn’t done saying everything he wanted to say.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

But your heart did. Loudly. The whole time.

Tag list: @sumzysworld, @lixisoul99, @viciousdarlings, reiofsuns2001, @lily409, @armycarat2612, @cheolliesvt

(To everyone commenting/reacting to this story, thank u very much! I'll make sure to actually finish this for u guys 😭❤)

#jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan x you #seventeen

122 notes · View notes

teamackles96 · 18 days ago

Text

Stay Strong - Chapter One

❧ Main Pairing: Mark Meachum x Ex!Reader

❧ Summary: 5 years ago, you and Mark dated. Then one day he leaves with a broken heart and a poor excuse. Now, your forced to face him and work with him again on another task force.

Can you stay strong or will you be hypnotised by this charms again?

❧ Chapter Warnings: None. Just a bit of angst

❧ Wordcount: 846

Chapter One - Some People Are Loyal (Present Day)

After confronting Nathan about how quickly the task force was assembled, Mark turned to leave.

“She’s here, you know.” Nathan’s voice stopped him. “She got in today.”

“Who?” Mark’s voice was low. Nathan leaned back, giving him a look.

“Don’t ‘who’ me. You know who.”

“Y/N.” Nathan nodded. “She’s still with you?”

Nathan shrugged. “Some people are loyal.” Mark huffed a breathless laugh. That one stung.

“She know I’m here?” The once-arrogant detective shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on his scuffed boots—like a boy being scolded.

“She knows you were picked but doesn’t know you’re here.” Mark grimaced. So he was going to have to break the news. “She’s in her office down the hall.” With a nod, Mark exited.

Nathan’s eyes followed him out of his office, turning right into the bullpen. He could practically see the gears turning in his head as he stopped.

Three… two… one.

Nathan chuckled as Mark turned on his heel and headed down the hallway—flipping him off through the window.

You didn’t know where to start with this mess. Cardboard boxes cluttered your office, each filled with files relevant to the case. It put you into a paralysis, the only thing you could do was stare and will them to organise themselves. Just what you needed after a full day of travel.

With your back to the door, you slumped into the nearest chair. You were dead on your feet. The black velvet provided a cushion as your head dropped back and your eyes closed.

Not a second later, there was a knock on the door. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow Nathan?” You groaned.

“I don’t think it can.” You knew that voice. That low gravelly voice that still caused a shiver down your spine. The voice you heard every day for two years. You weren’t prepared to see him, not yet anyway. Nathan told you you had a few more days.

Using what little strength you had left, you pushed yourself out the chair to turn towards the man leaning on the doorframe.

Fuck was the first word that came to mind. He looked good. Why did he have to look good? His hair had definitely gotten longer since the last time you had seen him, which you didn’t hate. His beard was fuller. The dark blue shacket over an olive t-shirt didn’t hide the muscles that weren’t there before. Your eyes trailed up and down his body observing what the years had done to him.

When your gaze returned to his face, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes at the smirk that graced his lips. Stay strong Y/N, stay strong. “Mark” you deadpanned, taking a step backwards to lean on your desk.

“Y/N.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well you know how it goes. Where Nathan goes, I follow.” Crossing your legs, you noticed his gaze watching the movement. His emerald eyes trailing across the pencil skirt you wore trailing down to your back heels.

“Yeah, I just thought you might have moved on after everything.” He scratched the back of his neck, taking a hesitant step into the office. “It’s, uh, good to see you.” Good to see you?

“The last time you saw me, Mark, you dumped me for Melinda Bates. Who, I heard, you dumped two weeks before the wedding. And fucked her sister” He winced.

“Ah, you heard that.”

“Yep.”

Silence. The two of you stood at opposite ends of the room, staring at each other. You hate that you wanted him closer. You hate that you still felt butterflies when you looked at him. Most of all, you hated that you still felt something for him. After what he’d done, you really wanted to hate him

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” He broke the silence, taking another step towards you.

“I don’t know Mark” Fuck, you could feel the tears coming. Stay strong. Repeating the mantra in your head, your back straightened as you addressed him again. “But what I do know is that we have to work together for however long this takes. We need to be professional.”

“I was never good at that.”

“I know, but I don’t want this,” you gestured at him. “To get between this.” Then to the office. His gaze dropped to the floor, nodding his head.

Mark shifted his weight, hands still buried in his pockets. “You’re right. We’ll be professional.”

But his voice lacked conviction.

You gave a single nod, lips pressed into a line. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or disappointed that he didn’t push further.

He lingered. Eyes on you. Like he wanted to say something else—but didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

“I guess… I’ll uh get back to work?” Pointing down the hallway where the rest of his team was working. “You look good.” His last words before he last.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You're damn right I look good.

Next Chapter

Main Masterlist | Mark Meachum Masterlist | Stay Strong Masterlist

A/N: This one-shot is becoming a series so keep any eyes out for the rest of the chapters.

#jensen ackles #gif #mark meachum #mark meachum countdown #countdown us #countdown #countdown amazon prime #jensenackles #markmeachum #mark meachum x reader #jensen ackles countdown #mark meachum x you #mark meachum x y/n #mark meachum fanfiction #mark meachum series #jensen ackles fanfiction #jackles

101 notes · View notes

ellswritings · 1 month ago

Text

In My Corner

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), Part 4, (Part 5)

CM Punk/Phil Brooks x reader

Seth Rollins/Colby Lopez x reader

TW: The usual angst, lots of confrontation, fluff, Damian and Rhea being flirty, this is over 14k words, but it’s a cute and a very important chapter.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling , @scream4mami

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

“I’m walking in right now, Joe,” Y/N tells her best friend, phone smooshed against her face as she carries her duffle bag into the arena with her. It was an unusual night where she would be performing on Monday Night Raw at the request of Adam Pearce. Paul Levesque had informed her of a new rivalry angle between her and Nia Jax who is still currently signed under the red brand.

Y/N takes pride as an actively defending champion. No matter who it is, or whatever brand they perform on, she’s open to the challenge. It also gives her more opportunities to appear on both brands which is even better exposure. It’s always been her dream to be the face of WWE so she’s not afraid to put in the work to do it.

“You know he’s gon’ be there tonight, right?” Joe reminds her warily. “And after Friday night, I dunno how comfortable I am lettin’ you be near him.”

“Joe, it’s just a match near the end of the show,” Y/N tries to calm him down. “I can just stay with Colby the whole night and it’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t understand why you gotta have a match every week,” he huffs playfully, wishing she would spend more time relaxing. Her schedule would stress caffeine out. “You could be out on the lake with me, Galina, and the kids.”

“Okay, first of all,” Y/N laughs loudly, “Absolutley not. Galina doesn’t get to see you much as it is so I would never intrude on a family outing. Second of all, I don’t mind having frequent matches. It keeps me sharp, reminds me that I can always learn more.”

Joe sighs, “I know. Just bugs me that you never take time off.”

“I don’t have anyone to take time off for,” Y/N says nonchalantly as she walks inside the building. She smiles, sending waves to some of the people she knows as she heads to Pearce’s office. “My parents are always doin’ some cool vacation stuff with their retirement money and my siblings are off doing their own thing. I swear we meet up for Christmas and Easter and that’s about it. I’m pretty sure the last time I did thanksgiving at home was the year of my debut.”

“That’s what I’m saying though,” he says exasperatedly. “Even if it’s not for your biological family, you can always take time to hang out with us.”

“If it was a whole family affair and the entire Anoa’i, Fatu bloodline was there, I’d go,” she tells him. “But this is a small family thing for your wife and kids. Just enjoy it and stop worrying about me.”

“When you gonna get it through that thick head I’m always worried ‘bout you,” Joe’s voice softens, surprising her with how genuine he sounds. “You my ride or die, Y/N/N. No matter what. You my wing woman, my right hand. No matter how hard Colby tries to get you to switch sides,” he adds the last part smugly.

Y/N rolls her eyes, practically hearing the smirk on his face. “If there’s one thing I can say about myself is that I’m one loyal SOB,” she grins even though he can’t see her. “I love Colbs, but my brothers come first.”

Joe nods, his heart warming. “Thas my girl.”

Y/N rounds the corner, locating the door with Pearce’s name plate on it. “Ight, well I gotta go. I have a quick meeting with Pearce before the show starts. I’ll talk to you later, Chief.”

“Okay.” Joe responds, but as Y/N goes to hang up, his voice stops her. “But Y/N… just promise me one thing.”

“What’s up?”

There’s a brief pause, “Don’t let him talk on you like that. ‘Cause if he does, I’ll send Josh out there faster than he can say his own damn name.”

Y/N looks down at her Air Force ones, forcing herself to not relive what was said that Friday night. She shakes her head, jaw ticking, “Trust me, if he wants to talk shit, he’ll be saying it to my face this time.”

“Good,” Joe nods, satisfied with her answer. “Okay, well have a good show, alright? Go kick my cousin's ass.”

“Will do,” she adjusts her bag strap. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And with one click the call ends. Without wasting much more time she finally knocks on Adam’s door. She waits maybe two seconds before the man emerges with a warm smile on his face. “Y/N, please, come in, come in.” He opens the door wider for her, allowing her to take a step inside. Once she’s comfortably situated in the office, he closes the door behind them.

There are papers and multiple different documents places in an organized fashion on his desk. Y/N takes a seat, smiling softly when she notices the amount of pictures adorning Adam’s desk. He’s always been a very personable guy, not afraid to show his love for the people in his life. He’s also a fantastic general manager, one she’s missed working with since being on SmackDown.

Adam rounds his desk, taking a seat in his own chair. “First off, I just want to say thank you for doing this on such short notice,” he says gratefully. “We were planning on doing a segment with her and Becky tonight, but the writers thought this would be a nice little Easter egg to throw in for a future feud.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Y/N waves him off. “Lina and I got a chance to go over our bumps a few times over the weekend at the performance center so it should go as planned.”

“I’m not worried,” Adam smiles. “I trust ya. I’m sure you and Lina will have the match of the night.”

“I sure hope so,” Y/N agrees with a light laugh.

“All right, well, you are more than welcome to leave your things in the women’s locker room,” Adam tells her. “Or if there’s somewhere else you’d feel more comfortable, feel free to go wherever.” Y/N nods as he stands, reorganizing some papers. He smooths over his blazer, “So after we wrap here, production’s gonna get a live shot of you walking out of this office. Just a little beat to show your arrival for the night — nothing long, just enough to set the tone and let the crowd pop.”

Y/N nods, already mentally timing the beat between the office door opening and the moment she walks into frame. “Got it.”

“From there,” he continues, grabbing a clipboard from his desk, “you’ll take the usual route — head down the main hallway, wave to a few crew members, and we’ll plant some familiar faces along the way.”

He flips the clipboard around to show her a short list of names.

“Damian, Rhea, Dom — they’ll be hanging around catering. Seth’ll be near Gorilla later, so we’ll have him cross paths with you on the way. The idea is to stir the pot a bit. Nothing overt. Just enough interaction for people to start guessing.”

“Guessing what?” she grins, playing dumb.

“That you’re thinking about jumping ship. Getting friendly with Judgment Day. Cozying up with the Monday Night Messiah again. You know how it works,” Adam smirks. “We just want a bit of a reaction.”

She chuckles. “Can’t wait to see the Twitter meltdowns.”

He sets the clipboard down, his expression shifting slightly — not serious, but intentional. “And there’s one more thing I want to go over with you.”

Y/N watches him closely, sensing the shift.

“Phil’s officially signing with Raw tonight.”

There’s a pause. Just a breath. Y/N doesn’t move — not a twitch of the jaw or flick of the eyes. She’s been trained for moments like this.

Adam gives her a moment, then continues. “You don’t need to say anything. I just thought you deserved to know. I respect what you’ve built on SmackDown, and I know you and Phil have a… history. Didn’t want this to feel like it came out of nowhere.”

Y/N gives a small nod, keeping her tone even. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He studies her face a second longer before softening again. “I just wanted you to hear it from me instead of being blindsided by it.”

Y/N could feel the meeting come to an end so she stands. She sends him a small smile and reaches forward to shake his hand. Adam holds it for an extra second longer, a genuine look in his eyes, “And Y/N, for what it’s worth… if there ever comes a point where you want to call Raw home again, there’s always a top spot for you. You’ve earned that ten times over.”

Her heart squeezes in her chest, but she doesn’t let it show. “I appreciate that, Adam. Really.”

He opens the door slightly, a cue that her live cue is coming. A stagehand just beyond the frame gives them a two-finger countdown.

Adam gestures with a smile. “Show’s yours.”

Y/N adjusts the strap of her duffle bag and steps through the door just as the red light above the camera switches on.

The door to Adam Pearce’s office cracked open with a low creak, and within seconds, the arena reacted like someone lit a fuse. The camera caught her first — just a glimpse — before the crowd fully processed what they were seeing.

Y/N, walking cockily, ready for her match with Nia later that night, the Women’s Undisputed Championship perched perfectly on her shoulder like it was born there. Her black and gold trimmed leather jacket covers her cropped black tank top, tight leggings accompanying the other parts of her outfit. Her duffle bag swings back into place as she rolls one shoulder, adjusting the strap without even looking.

She stepped into the hallway like she owned it. She kind of did.

What Pearce hadn't mentioned in the contract meeting — what he didn’t prep her for in that brief meeting— was the angle the Judgement day would be playing at with her.

The cameras followed her as she continued walking down the hallway. That’s when she sees them. They weren’t standing in formation. That wasn’t their style. They were draped across production crates and bathed in purple LED backlight like they’d been born out of the shadows. All three of them — Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio, and Damian Priest — watching her like they already knew something she didn’t.

Rhea saw her first. A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she pushed off the crate with lazy confidence, arms folded, chains glinting in the low light. “Well, would you look at that? Look who SmackDown decided to lend us for the night.”

Y/N’s pace didn’t slow, but her smirk did creep in. “Don’t tell me you missed me already.”

“Babe,” Rhea said, voice low and smooth, “I never stop.”

There it was — easy, sharp-edged banter. Her and Demi have been tight for years outside of kayfabe, but inside the walls of WWE, nothing was off-limits. Least of all the chemistry.

Y/N’s gaze flicked to Dom next. He straightened up from his slouch and tossed her a grin. “What’s up, champ?” he said, casually adjusting the chain around his neck. “Lookin’ like a million bucks.”

“Someone’s feeling bold,” she replied, eyebrow arched. “Or maybe something else caught your attention?” She nods down to her championship belt, subtly calling him a gold digger.

Dom didn’t blink. “Nah. I just call it like I see it.”

She chuckled under her breath — okay, cute. That was fair.

But then Damian stepped forward, and everything about the energy shifted. He didn’t grin. He didn’t nod. He looked at her — eyes dragging from her boots to the curve of the belt on her shoulder, then landing on her face like he was seeing something worth burning for.

And then he said, voice just rough enough to scrape under her skin: “Didn’t think Pearce had the balls to bring in someone with your bite… even if it’s just for the night.”

Y/N’s breath caught — just barely — and she masked it with a scoff. That wasn’t in the run sheet. “You know Pearce,” she said coolly. “He plays it safe… until he doesn’t.” She shrugs, shining off her belt with a smile, “Besides, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”

Damian took one more step — closer than needed, just enough to force the camera to tilt up slightly to catch them both in frame. She didn’t move back. “You always look this good after business meetings,” he said, eyes flicking to her mouth, “or is this just a special occasion?”

That stopped her. Just for a second. Long enough for her to wonder if Pearce had strategically kept that part of the script vague. Long enough for her to feel it — the pull, the electricity that wasn’t part of the job. She arched a brow. “You flirting with me, Priest? Or maybe this is some sort of recruitment tactic,” she looks him up and down, lifting an eyebrow.

Damian’s smile was slow, lethal. “Why not both?”

And okay — that got her. Bold move, she thought. Definitely not in the brief.

Rhea watched the exchange with open amusement, leaning in toward Dom like they were courtside at a basketball game. “She’d look good in our colors,” Rhea murmured, not to Y/N — just loud enough for her to hear.

“Think Roman would survive that?” Dom added, grinning as he looked between them. “The champ sliding in with us?”

Y/N clicked her tongue, sharp like a warning “Careful,” she said. “The Bloodline’s got long memories. And longer reach.”

Dom held his hands up. “Hey — no disrespect. I’ve seen what Solo does to people who get too close.”

Rhea smirked. “And I’ve seen what you do to people when you’re bored. That’s why I said to them that we should find you, have a little chat.”

Y/N turned her head, pretending to study a nearby monitor just to keep the grin from fully forming. God, she loved this job.

Damian stepped back — barely — giving her enough space to breathe again. But he kept his gaze on her like a challenge left hanging in the air. “If you ever get tired of standing behind Roman’s throne,” he said, softer now, lower, “we’ve got room for more than one crown.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t stand behind anyone.”

She took a step past him, not rushed, but deliberate. The camera followed her shoulder as she passed Judgment Day in full — Rhea smirking behind her, Dom mouthing something like “Daaamn,” and Damian still watching like he wasn’t done yet.

Y/N tossed one final look over her shoulder. “Tell your boss,” she said, “next time he sets the trap, he should warn me about the bait.”

Damian just chuckled, voice like thunder low on the horizon. “Who said anything about bait, princesa?”

And that — that — was when she knew. This wasn’t the end of the moment. It was just the start.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The show is going extremely well. The crowd in Cleveland is one of the most reactive they’d seen in a while. Y/N had dropped her bag off with Josh, letting him take it to wherever he kept his things. She’d managed to get changed into her ring gear, earning a low whistle from Josh in the process.

It’s a newer set, black and gold to match the leather jacket from before. Normally, she’d wear red or black to demonstrate her loyalty to the Bloodline, but the stylists had insisted on a new look for the night. She’s on her own tonight, and she’s the champion, might as well look the part.

Josh couldn’t stay with her for long unfortunately. His match with Drew McIntyre was the first of the night so he had to head to Gorilla pretty much right after helping her get situated. He kissed her on the cheek softly right before taking off. Y/N had watched him with a small smile before continuing backstage. Eventually she found a relatively empty area with a monitor so she could watch his match in peace.

McIntyre has had problems with the Bloodline in Kayfabe. They had been interfering in his matches and making his life hell for the past few years. He’s been on the hunt to punish every member of the faction, having gone after Sami Zayn first. He perceived them all as an enemy.

The match has gone back and forth, favoring both men at certain points. Y/N watched carefully, picking up on certain moves she wouldn’t mind adding to her own combat set. Michael Cole and Wade Barrett’s commentary is nice comedic relief from the intensity of the match. Even though it’s all carefully choreographed, sometimes the sells look a little too real.

“You know, I’m not surprised you’re the one who managed to find the only quiet corner in the whole stadium.”

She turned just in time to see Rami Sebei walking up with that same scruffy charm and warm-eyed smile that had somehow survived a thousand promos and even more betrayals. He was already grinning like he’d caught her doing something secret.

“Rami!” she beamed, immediately scooting to one side on the production crate and patting the empty space beside her. “Come here, sit. I haven’t seen your face in forever.”

“Shocking, considering it’s my best feature,” he said dramatically, making a show of fluffing his beard as he plopped down beside her.

She snorted, nudging him with her knee. “Your best feature is your heart and we both know it.”

He raised a brow, touched a hand to his chest. “You flatter me.”

“I try. But really,” she leaned her head lightly on his shoulder for a second, “it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t even know you were on the call sheet until like… an hour ago. Were you hiding from me?”

She smirked. “Obviously. You caught me. I changed my name, dyed my hair, and faked a new finisher just to avoid running into you again.”

“Wow. Hurtful,” he deadpanned. “After all the emotional labor I did carrying our Honorary status together.”

Y/N laughed, the sound full and easy. “Please. I was the one keeping you from throwing a mic at Roman half the time.”

“Exactly! Emotional labor.”

They both giggled, the kind of laughter that didn’t need context, the kind built on long nights, dark hallways, and sharing too many chips at catering while dodging Heyman’s wrath.

“You’re still you,” she said after a beat, smiling at him softly.

“And you’re still the younger sibling I never asked for but would absolutely throw hands over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but her grin stayed in place. “You always say the nicest things.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you’re kind of the only person around here who never treated me like a side character. So, yeah. I’m allowed to be biased.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder again, this time letting it rest for a moment.

“God, I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

They stayed like that for a few beats, the quiet settling comfortably between them as Josh kicked out of a near fall on-screen. When Y/N straightened up again, she stretched her arms out in front of her with a small groan. “Can’t believe I’m actually working tonight,” she said, still watching the match. “Creative didn’t tell Lina or me until early Saturday morning. We basically lived at the PC all weekend getting everything ready.”

“Classic,” Rami said with an understanding scoff. “You’d think being a champion would earn you more notice ahead of time.”

She shrugged. “This is my eighth defense in like… a month and a half. At this point, I just show up where they tell me and pray my entrance jacket doesn’t rip mid-segment.”

“You ever just… get tired?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “Not just physically. I mean, all of it.”

She let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Always. But I love it too much to stop. So the tired part doesn’t scare me.”

He nodded, thoughtful again, one arm braced on his knee as he leaned forward, watching the screen with her. McIntyre landed a punishing neckbreaker on Josh, and Y/N winced in solidarity, but didn’t look away. “I used to think that,” Rami said, tone quieter now, “about the tired part. Told myself I’d rather be exhausted doing something I love than bored out of my mind anywhere else.”

Y/N glanced at him, reading more than just nostalgia in his voice. She nudged him gently with her knee. “You miss it?”

“The Bloodline?” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not the chaos. Definitely not the paranoia. But…” He shrugged. “The purpose. The feeling like you’re part of something. Yeah. That I miss.”

A pause stretched between them, comfortable. “Being ‘honorary’ was a hell of a weird gig, huh?” Y/N asked, a soft laugh in her voice.

Rami smirked. “No kidding. All the responsibility, none of the family dinners.”

Y/N laughed fully at that. “Or the family drama. Although I think I got stuck with more of that than you ever did.”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he said, grinning. “You got Roman on a leash and Solo breathing down your neck half the time. I just had to survive Jimmy’s nicknames and Jey’s side-eyes.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“I keep telling people,” he said with mock gravity. “Nobody listens.”

She elbowed him again lightly and leaned back on her hands, her boot tapping rhythmically against the side of the crate as Josh kicked out of another pin on-screen. For a moment, it felt like old times — her and Rami, hiding in plain sight backstage, stealing moments of peace in between chaos and storylines. But then his tone shifted again, a little quieter.

“You know,” he started, not looking at her, “I’ve been watching the way they’re setting you up lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “And?”

“And… it doesn’t look like they’re keeping you Bloodline forever.”

She turned her head sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” He finally looked over, something gentle but serious behind his eyes. “You’re on Raw tonight. No backup. New gear. New color scheme. You just did a whole segment with Judgment Day that looked suspiciously like foreshadowing. You really think that’s just coincidence?”

Y/N’s lips parted, ready to refute him, but the words didn’t come. She frowned instead. “It’s just creative trying to stir the pot, get reactions out of the audience. Maybe even trying to start some conspiracy theories to keep WWE trending. It’s not that deep.”

Rami gave her a knowing look. “You think Pearce didn’t hand-pick that segment? I heard him on the phone last week — said he wants ‘stronger female anchors’ on Raw. Plural. Not just one-off appearances. He wants people who draw eyes, Y/N.”

She looked away, jaw tightening.

“And I know you’re smarter than to pretend you didn’t notice that your name’s on a new merch board,” he added, softer now. “Without red.”

Y/N sighed through her nose, the kind of breath that held back the truth. “I’m not leaving the Bloodline,” she said flatly. “Paul wouldn’t do that.”

Rami hesitated. “You mean Levesque?” he asked, voice more careful now. Y/N didn’t answer — not directly. But the slight tension in her jaw spoke volumes. He nodded slowly. “Paul’s not the only one calling the shots anymore, Y/N. And if the higher-ups think a certain kind of drama sells…” He trailed off, but she heard it loud and clear. If the boardroom thought her past — her history with Phil — was worth cashing in on, they wouldn’t hesitate.

“They wouldn’t,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Wouldn’t they?” Rami replied, softer. “You know how this works.”

She did. The only way they’d move her brands entirely was if she lost the championship — and she wasn’t planning to let that happen anytime soon. That was her safety net. Her line in the sand. But even as the thought formed, a stagehand appeared around the corner.

“Y/N?” they called, politely but urgently. “Your segment with Seth is going live in five. Just a quick hallway run in before his promo with Punk”.

Y/N stood, reluctantly, brushing her palms over her thighs and adjusting the strap of her title on her shoulder. Rami stood with her, “You sure you’re good?” he asked, eyes scanning her face.

She nodded, lips tight. “Always.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Hey — whatever happens next, you’ll be fine. Bloodline or not. You’re more than that.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You always say the right thing.”

“I’ve got a gift,” he said with a wink, stepping back.

Y/N turned to follow the friendly stagehand, every step deliberate, the sound of the crowd growing louder with each footfall. She wasn’t sure what tonight was really setting up. But for the first time… she wasn’t convinced she was the one steering the wheel anymore.

The camera glides behind her as she walks down the hall as she was instructed— slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Y/N strides through the backstage area like the queen she is. Her boots echo off the concrete, her posture unbothered and unbent. The Raw crowd roars through the walls, but in this corridor, it’s just her — black and gold gear hugging every curve, leather jacket half-shrugged off her shoulder like she couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly.

She has to fight off the smirk threatening to stretch across her face. It’s always an ego boost whenever she hears the crowd get loud for her, even if it’s just a backstage appearance. The women’s championship glistens beneath the overhead lights. Centered, heavy, confident — just like the woman wearing it.

And then — the crowd erupts.

Because ahead of her — leaning casually against a production crate like he was summoned by pure chemistry — stands Seth Rollins. Black suit. Black shirt. Gold accents. Gold aviators. And that glinting World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder like a weapon made just for him.

The moment their eyes lock, it’s over. Seth’s breath catches — just for a second — because damn.

Matching.

Not planned. Not discussed. But matching perfectly. Black. Gold. Leather. Power. It hits him square in the chest. She looks like trouble wrapped in gold-plated glory. And she looks like she knows it. He pushes his glasses down his nose just far enough to see her better. And damn, she’s even more lethal up close. The sharp look in her eyes. The smirk tugging at her lips. The swagger in her walk like she’s walking toward her prey — or her next mistake.

Seth steps forward, slow and calculated, grinning like he’s already halfway in over his head. “Well, well, well…” he says, voice smooth but loaded. “Didn’t expect you to bring all that gold to my show.”

Y/N stops just short of him — toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, not an ounce of hesitation. “It’s not your show if I’m here,” she fires back, lips twitching into something playful. “You’re just keeping it warm for me.”

The crowd — even backstage through the screens — reacts immediately. Loud. Screaming. Someone yells “OOHHHHH” off camera. Seth doesn’t blink.

He grins wider. “Careful,” he murmurs. “Say things like that, and people might start thinking you’re after my spot.”

“I can’t want something that’s already mine, Rollins,” she says, slowly tilting her head. “Just go ahead and ask your General Manager.”

He feels his jaw flex. That wasn’t in the script. Neither was the way she steps in even closer — just a whisper of space between them now. Titles practically brushing. The lights above them flicker, like even the building feels the heat building in the space between their bodies. Seth was supposed to say something else next. Something safe. Something scripted.

But he doesn’t.

Because instead, he tips his head and lets his gaze drag down — her title, her outfit, the precision of how everything matches his — and then back up. Slowly. Almost disrespectfully. “Was this little matching incident an accident?” he asks, voice softer now. “Or are you looking this good just for me?”

Y/N’s brow lifts. She’s not supposed to touch him — but the script's already in shambles. So she reaches out — slow and smooth — and straightens the lapel of his jacket. Fingers linger. Press. Brush against the gold chain at his collarbone. “I match energy,” she says, voice like velvet. “Looks like you finally brought the right one.”

The crowd explodes.

Even backstage crew watching nearby are clutching their faces like they’re watching a scandal unfold in real-time. Seth leans forward, his grin tugging at the corners like he’s holding back something way too bold for live TV. “That right?” he murmurs. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re burning the whole place down just by walking through it.”

Y/N chuckles — low, dangerous — and drags her thumb across the edge of his title this time. “Guess we’ll see who survives the fire.” Their eyes lock again — and this time, it’s longer. Hotter. The kind of moment that teeters right on the edge of something explosive. “And between you and I… I’m hoping it’s you.”

His breath catches and neither of them move. Neither of them want to. They're both fully off-script now, and they know it — but no one’s stopping them. It’s too good. It’s too real.

Seth finally pulls back just a hair — like if he doesn’t, he’s going to do something that’ll break PG. “Enjoy your little visit, sweetheart,” he says, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “But remember — you’re not the only one who knows how to steal a show.”

Y/N smirks, eyes glinting. “Good,” she says, stepping past him with one last brush of her hand along the edge of his suit jacket. “Then maybe I won’t get bored.” She walks off without a second glance.

And Seth stands there — for just a second — completely wrecked. Because he knows something just happened. Something no one planned. Something the entire arena — and probably the entire internet — is already screaming about. He laughs under his breath, shaking his head and adjusting his sunglasses again. “Damn…”

Even back at commentary, no one knows what to say about what just happened. The buzz of the crowd fills the dead silence until Michael Cole snaps out of whatever haze he and Wade were stuck in.

Cole’s voice cracks. “Uh—did it just get very warm in here?”

Wade Barrett whistles low, still watching the monitor. “I’ve seen staredowns. I’ve seen mind games. But that? That wasn’t mind games. That was—”

“Foreplay?” Cole blurts before immediately clearing his throat. “I mean uh, that was—intense. Very intense.”

Barrett leans back in his chair. “Roman Reigns has made it very clear where his loyalties lie. And his golden girl? Just got very friendly with someone Roman still considers enemy number one.”

Cole nods slowly, visibly rattled. “If this is how Y/N shows up when she’s just visiting Raw… I’m scared to see what happens if she ever decides to stay.”

Barrett chuckles darkly. “Rollins might not survive it. And honestly? We might not either.”

Y/N could feel every part of her body burning after that. She knew it wasn’t smart to go off script, but she couldn’t help it. He looked too damn good not to add a little steam to their interaction. Y/S/N and Seth have always had that banter, but they may have let Y/N and Colby slip through a bit too much. It was a lot easier than either of them would have imagined. Probably because they could easily hide behind their characters.

She could feel people’s eyes on her as she continued walking backstage. She kept her eyes forward unless someone blatantly walked up to her. She noticed a lot of people heading towards catering. It was early on enough in the night to get a quick bite without worrying about missing a cue.

Once she reached another monitor, she caught the tail end of Punk’s speech on SmackDown last Friday. She exhales, nostrils flaring as she stares at his face. That must mean he’s on next. He’s announcing where he’s officially signing.

As if on cue, the monitor comes back to life, showing Adam Pearce standing in the ring with a folder in one hand and a microphone in the other. Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, watching with a stoic look on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time for a sales pitch is over.” There’s a dramatic pause, the crowd roaring before he continues on. “After going to SmackDown and talking to Nick Aldis, and going to NXT to talk to HBK, the man I’m about to bring out here may not need an introduction, but he needs to make a decision.” A buzz of anticipation and excitement fills the room as Pearce expertly creates the build up for Phil to announce his decision to the public. “And after twenty-five years of knowing him, I’m sure he’s gonna make the right one. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the man that calls himself the ‘best in the world,’ C…M… Punk!”

That tv static pulses through the entire building, the crowd screaming loudly for him as he walks out from backstage. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore at SmackDown, just a different pair of jeans and shoes. He struts down the ramp, making sure to high five every person who sticks their hand out towards him. His smile is wide and bright as he continues to soak in every ounce of praise thrown his way. He slowly makes his way to the ring, stopping to acknowledge the audience one more time before climbing into the ring.

He shakes Pearce’s hand respectfully, the two men sharing a brief embrace before Adam hands him his microphone to allow him to make the announcement. His music fades out as the crowd begins to loudly chant his name. It’s like Friday night all over again. She didn’t blame the crowd though. It’s an exciting time. People have been chanting his name for years since he left. There was a point in time where she wanted this day to come more than anything. It’s just funny how much things change.

“I thought I was in a bit of a sullen mood, and then I come out here, and I see all these signs, and I hear all these people…” the crowd increases in volume in response to his words. He allows them to cheer, smiling at the support being thrown his way. “Truth is, I have a huge decision to make. We, if I may, have a huge decision to make.” Y/N rolls her eyes. He’s already made his decision. But he’s always been good at making people feel important, valued, even if he never planned on taking their words into consideration.

“And I’ve been thinking about it all week. And the reason I’ve been so consumed and worried about it is because I love you guys,” Punk gestures out to the crowd. “But the truth is, this town, and this building specifically, hasn’t always been kind to CM Punk.”

The people boo in response, some of them knowing the lore behind Cleveland, others being too new to wrestling to understand. But the one person in the building who knows his quarrels with this building more than anyone is Y/N L/N. In fact, she was present for most of his issues that happened here. She was the shoulder he rested his head on when the most frustrating events of his life happened.

Until the night he walked out. The night he left this building and decided he didn’t need her anymore.

“I walked back here through the hallways, there’s a lot of ghosts, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m doing my best to face ‘em head on.” Y/N wants to laugh at that. Or maybe she’s just angry at the fact the one ghost he hasn’t faced was her. That the only way he would acknowledge her presence was if he could embarrass her in front of an entire sold out arena.

“A lot of people might not know this, but I debuted in this building.” The crowd cheers. “Yeah! Was anybody there? I had Mickie James on my arm.” Once again people scream in support. “We walked down that ramp, we got into this ring, and it was so good, I went back and they said, we’re sending you to Louisville Kentucky. Have fun in OVW.”

Y/N might not have been there in person, hell, she hadn’t even had her own debut yet, but she remembered seeing it on her tv back home. She was watching it with her dad after spending an entire week at her own hometown wrestling academy that she had been performing at since she was six years old.

Little did she know that at that point she would end up right by his side only a few years later.

“And, gosh, I didn’t wanna go, but while I was there, I embraced being uncomfortable, and I learned how to love it. Exactly like when I came to the WWE for the first time, and I didn’t know what I was in for. But I embraced being uncomfortable and I learned to love it.”

His eyes never leave the camera and for a moment it feels as if he’s staring straight at her. Y/N knows he’s not, he probably doesn’t even know she’s watching, but the way his eyes bore into the lens, it feels like he knows. She curses under breath at the way her heart skips a beat at the passion in his voice. Even after all this time, hearing him talk about what he loves to do still affects her that way. It’s like a conditioned response. Even though her mind says she never wants to speak to him again, her body still remembers how it felt hearing him all those years ago.

“I triumphantly return to this town, this same building, World Heavyweight Champion! I was ready to put on a show for everybody here!” He starts pacing the ring back and forth, finally looking away from the camera and towards the cheering fans. “And, then, Randy Orton kicks me in the head backstage… and I wake up and they tell me, ‘By the way, we stripped you of the title. You couldn’t compete. You’re no longer the champion.’ And I was like ‘Cleveland!’” He raises his fist in the air, jokingly cursing the town. “Again!”

He sighs, spinning on his heels. “Was anybody here ten years ago for the story I’m about to tell?” There are scattered voices in the audience as he goes on, “I’m not gonna bore you with details ‘cause a lot of it is in my rear view mirror. I’m focused on the future. I’m focused on the now. I’m focused on everybody here in this building today.” He all was the crowd to have their reaction time. “But ten years ago, I had to take myself off the hamster wheel. I had to, for better or for worse, make the hardest decision of my life. And I don’t regret it. I don’t look back.”

Y/N tilts her head, wondering to herself what exactly was the hardest part of that decision. He says he’s moved on, that he doesn’t look back on that fateful day, but part of her doesn’t believe that. There’s no way he’s managed to move on like nothing happened when that day ten years ago still manages to haunt her in the present. But perhaps that’s her own weight she needs to carry, not his.

“But there was always that part of me that wondered if anybody paid to see CM Punk that day I walked out of Cleveland, if they were disappointed. Backstage, I saw a young lady by the name of Indy, and she told me that she felt betrayed as that little kid. And I told her a story of when I saw ‘Rowdy’ Roddy Piper appear on WCW television. And as a young wrestling fan, I felt the exact same way, so I understood. So, if you’re here now, if you’re watching at home, and you’re disappointed that CM Punk walked out, I understand. And hell, ladies and gentlemen, I apologize.”

The applause for that is thunderous. Y/N watches, her eyes widening at that last sentence. Punk? Apologizing? She never thought she’d live to see the day. But that’s his whole new brand now. Older, wiser, just here to have a good time and make money.

“I’ve gone to SmackDown, and I’ve listened to what Nick Aldis has to say. He put together a very substantial offer. You understand. I went down to NXT, I hung out with Shawn Michaels, and there’s a fifteen year old CM Punk somewhere in the universe who’s tickled to death that he got an offer from Shawn Michaels to go help mold the next generation of Superstars. It’s a great deal.” He glances down to his right, “Adam Pearce has put together a deal that, honestly, is head and shoulders above both those other deals.”

That’s when it finally clicks for everyone in the crowd as they realize the Second City Saint is about to sign a contract right in front of their very eyes. “But can I be very real and very honest with you folks right now? My mind was probably already made up when I looked at the calendar and I saw Cleveland. I’m here to bury those ghosts. I’m here to right a few wrongs. My future starts now.” He smiles cockily, shrugging his shoulders. “You couldn’t write a better television show, ladies and gentlemen. Ten years, almost to the day, CM Punk walked out. And regardless of how you feel about it, CM Punk walks right back in!”

That’s when he stops pacing, making direct eye contact with the camera again. “And if you’re happy about it… if you’re mad about it,” his voice lowers then, almost in a deliberate fashion. “You better learn to love it, ‘cause congratulations, Adam Pearce…” Adam sticks out his hand to seal the deal. “The newest Raw Superstar is named CM Punk…” the crowd goes bananas, “and CM Punk is home!”

With that, he shakes Pearce’s hand, taking the folder from him and signing it with that same unshakable confidence he’s always had. Everyone backstage claps at the segment, some of the other stars cheering as one of their all time favorites has just returned to the company “officially.”

Y/N continues watching blankly, ignoring commentary and the chants of his name. Punk runs to the corner of the ring, celebrating with the crowd as her hearing seems to go out. He’s actually back. Avoiding him is going to be much harder now. The only reprove she might have is that he won’t show up much on Friday’s. The only thing that seems to snap her out of her haze of thoughts is the familiar scream.

BURN IT DOWN!

Y/N looks back to the monitor and suddenly Colby’s form appears on screen. Punk doesn’t bother to hide his irritation as Seth dances down the ramp, living for the way the audience sings his song. He doesn’t linger for much longer, tossing his sunglasses haphazardly into the audience, championship belt snug around his waist as he beelines it for the ring. Y/N knew this confrontation was on the call sheet, but after what Phil said in the ring on Friday, she doubts this is going to surmount to anything professional.

The look on Seth’s face says everything Colby is thinking. It makes Y/N’s heart spike with nerves and without doing much thinking, she darts towards Gorilla. When she enters the small space, people shoot her off looks, telling her it’s nowhere near time for her match.

“I know, I know,” her eyes dart back to the monitor. “I just… got a bad feeling about this,” she mumbles. “I promise I’ll go if nothing happens. I’m just here as a precaution.”

Albeit reluctantly, they allow her to stay, on the condition that she remains quiet since they are so close to the entrance. Any loud noise could interrupt the show.

Punk watches Seth with narrowed eyes, quick to meet the Visionary in the center of the ring. The two of them puff their chests out, lifting their heads as a show of dominance. Pearce tries to deescalate the situation, but the two men can’t seem to take their eyes off of each other. The audience chants “Holy Shit” as a newfound tension seems to infect the ring. There’s no avoiding this bout. It’s a head on collision waiting to take out everything and anything in its path.

The crowd fights to support their favorites, some singing Seth’s song, others chanting for Punk. It only stops when Seth brushes past Punk to get his own microphone. Phil crosses his arms, attitude on full display as he gestures for Seth to go ahead on his tangent, as if he already knew this was coming.

“CLEVELAND, OHIO!” Seth screams, his voice coming out in that growl that never fails to send shivers down Y/N’s spine. Her eyes never leave the monitor as Seth turns to face Phil again, “C…M… Punk.”

Both men are not afraid to show their disdain for each other. Punk’s nose scrunches up, his arms crossed, subconsciously showing just how closed off he is. How he doesn’t welcome Seth out there in the slightest. Seth stalks forward, eyes narrowed, “Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” The crowd says it along with him, only boosting his ego further.

Punk simply allows Seth to get in his face, nothing but that same cocky grin on his face. Anyone could read exactly what that smirk means. He plans on making sure that Raw is his show, no one else’s.

“I hope you know how incredibly fortunate you are to be standing in this ring right now. But could you just do me, just one, one little favor, just one thing, please?” Seth gestures wildly with his hand, almost in a flimsy manner before his face falls and his limbs go rigid. He looks Punk dead in the eyes, “Don’t you dare call this place your home.”

The crowd boos in response, an elongated silence stretching between the men as everyone starts chanting CM Punk again. Seth gives him a moment to respond, but when he doesn’t he raises the microphone back up to his own lips. “You abandoned this place ten years ago. Not only did you abandon it, you actively tried to tear it down. You spent ten years slandering me, slandering every person back in that locker room,” he points towards backstage. “And then, you wanna walk back in here and call this place your home. This is NOT your home! This is my home!”

Y/N’s heart clenches at Colby’s words. Sure, this was all planned, but that dialogue, that came straight from him. Not Seth. Colby. He poured exactly how he’s felt for the past decade into that monologue and she couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s been the workhorse of the company since she could remember and he deserves his flowers more than anyone.

“I’ve been here. Everybody in the back, those are my brothers and sisters,” Seth continues on passionately. “Everybody here, everybody watching at home, that is my family, and this is our home!” He circles around the ring like the true showman he is. “And I will do everything within my power to protect it from people like you!”

Punk simply smirks in response, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief. Seth can see his expression shifting so he doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t want there to be any confusion. I know I’m a bit worked up. I want everybody to understand. I’m going to say it plainly, with every fiber in my being, I hate you.”

The roof damn near explodes off the arena as the crowd screams at his declaration. Y/N feels her eyes widen at how simply he said it. Like it’s just another fact of life. Phil looks down at the floor, grin only growing, almost as if he’s willing himself not to laugh. Everyone can feel the other shoe about to drop and it makes Y/N nervous. There’s way too much animosity out there for it to end like that.

“But… if you’re going to be a part of WWE again, then I want you on Monday Night Raw,” Seth laughs evilly. “Because the truth always comes out, pal. The truth always comes out. I know, you know, everybody else knows… this is your last chance. And, so, one of two things is gonna happen. Either you’re gonna expose yourself, you’re gonna self-destruct like you always do. And I’ll be the first person in the back to slam the door shut on your legacy!” He pauses, “Or, if by some miracle, you have changed… and you’ve got any gas left in this old tank… maybe one day, you’ll be lucky enough to stand across the ring from me in a World Heavyweight Championship match. And, then I will expose you for the fraud that you are.” His glare intensifies with his voice. “I will show you that there are levels to this, I will wrestle circles around you, and I will let you understand in real time… what it means to be the ‘best in the world.’”

For the first time in Seth’s whole rant, Punk finally raises his mic up. His eyes are cold despite that constant shit-eating grin on his face. He bravely steps up to Seth, voice tight. “Are you done?” He doesn’t even give him a chance to reply. “That’s your one pass to stand here and speak to me disrespectfully without me coming after you.”

He takes a step forward, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “But I see what this really is. You’re not out here defending the ‘future’ or waving some flag of morality. Nah, this ain’t about the locker room. You’re just trying to rewrite history — polish up your little redemption arc with smoke and mirrors. But behind all that screaming, all that passion, there’s just one thing you’re really afraid of.” His eyes narrow, laser-focused. “Her.”

The crowd makes a collective sound — part gasp, part groan. Seth’s expression doesn’t budge, but his shoulders do. Just slightly. Enough.

“Oh, now I’ve got your attention,” Punk sneers, licking his lips like he tastes blood. “Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to bring her up. You always knew it’d come to this. You can drag out every camera-friendly version of the truth you want, but everybody backstage knows exactly what went down when I left.” He gestures behind him, then jabs a thumb in Seth’s direction. “You didn't earn her trust — it was handed to you by management. You were the golden boy, the chosen one. So when I walked out, they slid her next to you like some prop to keep the Shield from falling apart.”

Seth flinches.

“But you? You ran with it. You got close. Real close. And suddenly the world forgot what came before. You got to play the hero in the fairytale while I got turned into the villain — again.” He steps closer to Seth now, voice lowering. “But she wasn’t yours to win. You didn’t earn her loyalty, Seth. You inherited it. And deep down, she knew it too.”

Seth mutters something under his breath, but Punk talks over him, venom dripping from every word. “You paraded her around like she chose you. Like she picked the guy who stayed. But let’s be real for once — she never made a choice. She was never given one.”

Punk stops pacing, turning his full body toward the hard camera, voice rising again. “So how ‘bout this? Let’s stop pretending this is about brands and belts and legacies. Let’s talk about betrayal.” He turns his head slightly, back toward Seth. “Not mine. Hers.”

Seth’s entire face shifts — his eyes flash like he’s about to leap across the ring. The crowd explodes in reaction. “Because if anyone stabbed anyone in the back, it was Y/S/N.” Punk’s voice drops to a snarl. “She stood beside me for years. Knew what I fought for, what I bled for. And when things got hard, when I needed her most? She let me walk away alone. Worse — she stayed. She became everything we used to fight against.”

A second of silence.

Then—

“Enough.”

The voice cuts through the arena like thunder. The crowd erupts as Y/S/N storms onto the ramp — mic already in hand, expression unreadable but blazing. She doesn’t look to the crowd. Doesn’t smile. She’s a bullet, aimed straight at the ring.

“You really wanna do this here? Fine. Let’s hash it out since apparently it’s become damn near impossible for you to keep my name out of your mouth!”

Y/N couldn’t believe she was doing this. After doing her best to avoid him like the plague, she was throwing all of that away. It was time to confront her demons. If he wanted to come at Seth sideways, she’d make sure he knew that she had something to say about it.

She slides under the ropes without hesitation, rising to her full height, nose-to-nose with Punk like gravity doesn’t apply to her. “You wanna talk about betrayal?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm. “Let’s talk.”

Punk’s smirk twitches. “Look who decided to show up.”

She doesn’t blink. “You left. You walked away. From this place. From me. From everything. And you want to call me a traitor?”

“I needed you,” he bites, quieter now, but sharper. “You didn’t come.”

“I waited!” she fires back. “I waited for months. I defended you when nobody else would. I almost lost my job trying to justify your choices. I begged them not to turn their backs on you. But you didn’t call. You didn’t write. You disappeared. And when they came to me with Shield gear and a script I had no say in, what was I supposed to do? Say no? Get fired? Go down with a ship you set on fire?”

Her voice is shaking now, fury and grief tangled like a noose. “So don’t you dare stand there and act like I owed you anything more than that when you didn’t even tell me goodbye.”

He scoffs bitterly, like the sound hurts him. “You think I had a choice?”

She shoves him — full force. “YES!”

The arena gasps, then breaks into a frenzy of noise. “You had every choice. You chose to run. And now you come back and try to punish me for continuing on without you?” Her voice breaks, just for a second. “I didn’t betray you, Punk. I mourned you. You didn’t just leave the company. You left me. You left the version of yourself I believed in. And when I finally stopped looking over my shoulder hoping you’d come back — you did. But not as the man I knew. Not the man I fought side by side with. Just another bitter stranger picking a fight with the past.”

That lands harder than any slap could’ve.

Punk stares at her, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. His mic raises again, but now his voice is raw. “You don’t get to stand there and call me a stranger when every part of you changed the moment they handed you a title and a spotlight.”

Y/S/N lets out a sharp laugh. “You think this is about titles? I earned everything I have. You think you’re the only one who bled for this place? I’ve bled. I’ve broken bones. I’ve gone through tables, cages, and hell just to prove that I belonged here. Not as your shadow. Not as Seth’s trophy. Hell, not even as Roman’s right hand. But as me.”

Punk steps forward, his words now a whisper between them. “Then say it.” He never breaks eye contact with her, daring her to confirm what he’s thought over these past ten years. “Say you never cared about me.”

Silence stretches. The crowd holds its breath. Both of them knew what he really meant by that. The late nights they spent together, the endless hours of training, the emotional nights spent tangled up in the same hotel bed, trying to figure out who they were and what they meant to each other. Cared is not the word he wanted to use. It’s what came out of his mouth, but they knew he meant more.

Love.

Y/N could read between the lines. “Say you never loved me,” was the underlying message that died on his tongue. Her eyes shimmer, but her spine stays straight. She breathes in — just once — and says: “I did. More than you’ll ever know. And I still let you go.”

That’s it. She turns her head, locking eyes with Seth, who’s still frozen at the edge of the ring. Y/S/N raises her mic one last time, voice clear as glass. “But I’m done being someone else’s ghost story.” She drops the mic, and the arena erupts. She walks to Seth, grabs his hand, and together they leave, backs straight, heads high. Punk doesn’t chase her. He just watches — with bloodshot eyes and a silence that says everything.

The second they pass through the curtain, the roar of the crowd fades into a dull roar — like thunder muffled through concrete. The crew around gorilla doesn’t say a word. Nobody tries to high-five them or offer praise. They all saw what just happened. They know it wasn’t all scripted.

Y/N’s chest is rising and falling fast, her knuckles white at her sides as her mic gets stripped from her hand by a passing tech. Her face is unreadable — not a blank mask, but a storm barely contained. The heat still clings to her skin, and her jaw clenches so tightly it looks painful.

Colby was right there beside her, breathing just as hard. But his face was tight with something else — not just exhaustion. Not just relief. He was furious. Not at her. Never at her. But his jaw was clenched so tight he could barely speak, and the vein in his neck was pulsing with restraint. She could feel it radiating off him — that Seth Rollins fire threatening to explode. But he pushed it down, shoved it back, because his only priority was her.

They turned the corner into the hallway behind gorilla, and the second they were alone, Colby finally spoke. “You okay?”

Y/N stopped walking. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she was physically trying to hold herself together. “I’m fine,” she lied automatically, eyes fixed on the floor.

He raised a brow, gently reaching for her arm. “Y/N—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping back. Her eyes flicked up to his. “There was no reason for it to go that far. That wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to keep it professional.”

Colby didn’t flinch, even though her voice had sharpened. His anger toward Punk flared again, just under the surface — but he swallowed it, because she was what mattered right now. “I know,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

She blinked, not expecting the easy agreement. Her lips parted slightly, but he kept going. “I let it get personal. I lost control. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to step in. That shouldn’t have been your burden. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Her walls cracked then — not all the way, but enough. Enough for her to let out a small breath and lean back against the cool wall behind her. “He said some seriously messed up shit, Colby. Not just about me, but about you too,” Y/N runs a hand through her hair. “And God, I didn’t even care what he said about me, but as soon as he went after you, it was like–” she sighs. “I couldn’t even think before I walked out there.”

“I know,” he murmured. His hand came up, brushing a piece of hair gently behind her ear. “And if I hadn’t already promised you I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him backstage, I’d be halfway down the hall right now.”

That drew a weak laugh from her, one that died almost immediately — but Colby caught it, savored it, and offered her a half-smile in return. “God,” she groaned softly, dropping her face into her hands. “What a mess. I don’t even know why I got involved like that—”

“You got involved because you’re you,” Colby interrupted gently. “Because you care. And because he knows exactly how to get under your skin.”

She looked up at him then. Really looked. And for a second, they just stood there in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by silence and low flickering lights, everything unspoken passing between them in a glance. Then, without warning, she stepped into him. Her body collided with his chest, and his arms wrapped around her without hesitation. She buried her face into his shirt, breathing him in like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Colby kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, his fingers curling around the back of her neck protectively. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

Y/N didn’t answer at first, just sank into his hold like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Like if he let go, she might fall apart completely. Then, barely audible against his chest: “God, I love you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I love you more.”

She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes — those deep, honey-brown eyes that saw every part of her. “You don’t have to take care of me right now, you know,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to be angry too.”

“I am angry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I want to rip his head off. But that won’t fix anything. You will always come first. That’s not a choice. That’s just… what it is.”

Her lip quivered at that, and she didn’t even try to stop herself from kissing his cheek. It was soft — nothing like the firestorm they’d just walked through — but real. Grounding. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer than she already was, like she was something fragile and precious that he’d die to protect.

And for just a moment, everything else disappeared. No Punk. No crowd. No WWE. Just them.

“I know I just said it, but I really do love you,” she whispered again as they pulled apart, forehead to forehead.

He smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s match with Nia was approaching rapidly. She knew it was going to go well, she trusted Lina with her life, but she still couldn’t go out there completely cold turkey. She had to at least get in a light warm up before heading out there.

She was mid-lunge when a shadow fell over her peripheral vision. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“I figured I’d find you back here pretending you're not fuming,” Demi said, leaning casually against the crates, arms crossed, signature smirk in place.

Y/N groaned. “Am I that obvious?”

Rhea chuckled. “Only to people who know what it looks like to hold in a scream.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, standing upright and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Don’t start. I already had the whole heart-to-heart with Colby. I’m emotionally tapped out.”

“Relax, I’m not here to dissect your trauma,” Demi teased, pushing off the crates and strolling up beside her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re good. And maybe tell you that if Nia gets in one cheap shot, I’ll jump the barricade and help you powerbomb her through commentary. No questions asked.”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Now that’s friendship.”

“Damn right,” She smirked, nudging her shoulder. “Also, full offense — that was wild out there. You really came for his soul, huh?”

Y/N winced. “Didn’t mean to go that far. I just… snapped.”

“Well, he deserved it. You don't spit fire like that unless you've been burned. He knows it. We all do.” She paused, a beat of real sincerity slipping in. “You okay though? Like, actually?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at the wrap on her wrist. “I don’t know. He looked at me like… like he still—” she stopped herself. “Never mind.”

Rhea didn’t push. She just shrugged with a knowing look. “Men are dumb. Especially the broody, wounded poet ones with vendettas and outdated merch.”

Y/N snorted. “Jesus.”

“Anyway,” Rhea clapped her hands together. “If you’re not emotionally obliterated by the time you’re done with Nia, Luis and I are hitting the gym after the show. Nothing says therapy like flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that an actual invite or are you just giving me something to think about other than CM Misery?”

Rhea smirked, eyes glinting. “Bit of both.”

A cue came through Y/N’s headset — four minutes. She rolled her shoulders and took one last breath. “Thanks, Demi. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rhea said as she started walking away. “If you don’t win, I’m telling everyone I offered and you said no. Gotta protect my rep.”

Y/N grinned after her, then turned back toward the curtain — fire in her veins, and a little less weight on her chest.

Her heart hadn’t quite stopped racing, even as Demi’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway. The encounter had been brief, but grounding — a spark of levity in a night that had, so far, been drenched in fire and emotional chaos. Demi’s offer lingered in her ears like a song stuck on loop. Flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists. Therapy, indeed.

Still stretching, Y/N exhaled a steady breath and stood tall, rolling her shoulders out as a production assistant’s voice crackled in her headset. “Two minutes to curtain.”

She gave a nod, then peeled the sweat-damp towel from around her neck, tossing it aside. The title belt gleamed from the corner of the room, resting atop a folded chair — her name engraved on the side plate like it belonged there. And it did. Because she earned it.

Focus. Be present.

She draped the championship over her shoulder, stepped toward the curtain, and waited for the storm to begin. And then it did.

A sonic boom of bass dropped as her entrance music blared through the arena’s speakers, vibrating through the floor and rattling through her chest like a war drum. The moment she stepped through the curtain, a wall of light and noise hit her all at once — pyro lighting up the sky behind her, the jumbotron splashed with her name, and thousands of fans rising to their feet in a unified scream of reverence.

“Y/S/N! Y/S/N! Y/S/N!”

The chants filled every inch of the stadium, growing louder with every step she took down the ramp. Her presence was magnetic, unstoppable. She moved like a storm in boots — chin high, eyes sharp, the title belt now raised above her head with pride and defiance. Cameras flashed as she slid into the ring and climbed the ropes, pointing to a sign in the front row that read: "CM WHO? OUR CHAMP STAYS WINNING." A half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She couldn’t afford to focus on that right now, but it still warmed something frozen inside her.

The lights shifted. And then the mood changed. Nia Jax’s music cut through the electricity like a serrated blade. The boos were instant. Loud. Justified. Nia stepped out with all the arrogance in the world, her eyes already locked on Y/S/N, a smirk playing across her face like she knew something the rest of them didn’t. She moved slowly, deliberately — her entrance less about showmanship and more about dominance.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She just waited. The moment Nia climbed through the ropes, they were on each other — eyes locked, breaths heavy with tension, the air between them practically crackling. “You sure you wanna be here tonight, sweetheart?” Nia asked with a saccharine sweetness that made Y/N’s lip curl. “After getting dragged by your ex in front of the world, you might wanna sit this one out.”

Y/S/N leaned in closer, running her tongue across her teeth, her voice low but lethal. She takes a defiant step forward, “He’s not my ex,” she snaps out. Y/N knows Lina is only doing it for the sake of their oncoming feud, but it still caught her off guard. But she has to remember, everything is in character. “And you know what? I was planning on going easy on you. Now I’m not.”

The bell rang before Nia could even snort a response. The match was a war from the opening second. It began with brute force — a lock-up that turned into a raw test of strength, Nia tossing Y/N across the ring like a sack of flour. But Y/N popped back up, hitting a clean kip-up and nailing a dropkick that landed square in Nia’s chest. The crowd erupted again, hungry for more.

The pace quickened. Y/N ducked a wild clothesline and rebounded off the ropes, throwing herself into a spinning back elbow that rocked Nia just enough to take her to a knee. Another dropkick. Then another. But every time Nia stumbled, she bounced back harder. Ten minutes in, Y/N was on the mat after taking a brutal Samoan drop that nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. She rolled away, clutching her ribs.

Fifteen minutes in, they were both running on fumes — sweat pouring, limbs heavy. The mat itself felt like it was shaking beneath them. Y/N drove a boot into Nia’s knee, followed by a snap DDT that planted her hard. She tried to go for a pin, but Nia powered out, roaring like a wounded animal.

Each time Y/N hit the ropes, it was with renewed fire. Each time she fell, it was with purpose — because she always got up. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered resilience.

From backstage, Phil Brooks watched it all unfold on the monitor. He stood in the shadows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it ached. The light from the screen cast flickering shadows over his face, his eyes never leaving her — not even once.

She was brilliant.

A warrior in motion. Every strike she threw had venom. Every counter, every transition, every dive — it was like watching a symphony composed entirely in punches and pain. He’d known how good she was. He just hadn’t wanted to admit how beautiful it was to watch her thrive without him.

That was the worst part.

Even now, after all the bitterness and venom and distance between them, some rusted part of his soul still ached when he saw her shine. Because it reminded him of what they had, and how he had been the one to dim her light — and she still burned anyway.

He didn’t want to feel anything. But he did. God help him, he did.

Back in the ring, the match thundered toward its climax. Y/N rebounded off the middle rope, twisting mid-air into a beautifully brutal springboard tornado DDT that dropped Nia square on her back. Without pausing, Y/N scrambled to the top rope, legs shaking from exhaustion, and flew with a precision moonsault that landed clean across Nia’s chest.

She hooked the leg.

“ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!”

The bell rang, and the crowd exploded. Y/N collapsed back onto the mat, lungs burning, chest heaving, fingers curling tightly around the championship belt as it was handed back to her. She rolled onto her knees, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as the weight of the match — and the night — settled on her shoulders.

She had survived. She had won.

The crowd was chanting her name again, and this time, it wasn’t just noise. It was affirmation. It was love. She stood slowly, holding the title high in the air as the camera zoomed in on her face. Sweat streaked her hairline. Her eyes shone with something unspoken. And somewhere backstage, behind that monitor, Phil exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Y/S/N was still the champion.

And he was still very, very confused on where the true line between hate and love was drawn.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The roar of the crowd was still echoing faintly through the hallway when Phil stepped back from the monitor. She had done it. Again.

There she was, championship hoisted high, sweat shining on her brow like a damn halo. And the worst part? The worst, most soul-wrenching part of it all? She hadn’t even looked at him.

No glance in his direction to celebrate her win. No asking if he was proud of what she had accomplished. She didn’t need him. Not anymore. The moment she stepped through the curtain, the hallway seemed to shift around her — an energy he hadn’t seen in a long time. People clapped her on the back as she passed, voices congratulating her left and right. She was magnetic, glowing. Untouchable.

She laughed — breathless and real — and that sound cut through Phil’s chest like shrapnel. Colby was the first to pull her in. Not in a subtle, casual way, either. His arms looped tightly around her waist, his face buried briefly in her hair before he leaned back and said something that made her tilt her head and laugh again — softer this time, private. Too private.

Phil’s gaze darkened.

Josh and Cody joined seconds later, all grins and praise. Even Sami wandered over from catering with a smug “told you so” smirk, but Phil didn’t process their words. He didn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears as his eyes tracked that one damn detail like a target he couldn’t miss:

Colby’s hand. Still on her. Fingers spread low across her back, like he belonged there.

Like Phil hadn’t.

The heat rolled up his spine like a fuse being lit. He stepped forward before he could think better of it, legs moving on instinct — but a hand suddenly shot out, firm against his chest. Stopping him. “You need to slow the hell down.”

Phil turned, already bristling. “Becky—”

“I swear to God, if you take one more step looking like you’re about to reenact a scene from Fight Club in the hallway, I’m knocking you out myself.”Her tone was bright but dangerous—witty in that razor-sharp Irish way that left little room for argument. Her copper hair was braided tight, her eyes sharper.

“Let go,” he muttered, trying to pull his arm back.

She didn’t. “Nah. I’ve seen that murder-glare before. I was there when you punched John in catering. I was there when you almost caved in Hunter’s door. So believe me when I say—don’t be dumb.”

Phil scowled. “You think I’m gonna cause a scene because she won a match?”

“I think you’re seconds away from throwing a tantrum because she didn’t run into your arms after the bell.”

His jaw clenched, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please.” Becky rolled her eyes, releasing his arm but stepping in closer. “You’ve been standing back here for ten minutes looking like you want to burn a hole through Colby’s skull with your mind. And let’s not pretend you’re here to congratulate her.”

Phil’s glare could’ve leveled a building. “You done?”

“Not even remotely.” Becky’s grin sharpened. “Look, I get it. You’re used to people bending over backwards for you. You're used to women waiting around while you figure your shit out. But guess what? Y/N doesn’t have time for your brooding Shakespeare routine.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think this is about me being broody?”

“I think you’re spiraling because for once in your miserable, emotionally constipated life, someone you care about moved on—and you weren’t the one who called the shots.”

Phil’s temper snapped. “Don’t talk like you know what happened between us.”

Becky’s eyes blazed. “I don’t need to know the details, Phil. I’ve seen the reruns. She trusted you. You shut her out. You picked fights, she tried to fix it, and you made her feel like she was never enough—when really, you were just too much of a coward to admit how you felt.”

“That’s not what happened,” he bit out, voice low and dangerous.

“Then what did?” she fired back. “Because all I’ve seen is you treat her like she’s the villain in a story you wrote, while she’s out there earning every bit of this moment.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when the words were crawling up his throat and making it impossible to breathe.

Becky shook her head, softer now. “Look at her, Phil. She just main-evented Raw, defended her title, carried that crowd on her back—and all you can think about is that Colby’s holding her too close?”

Phil glanced over his shoulder again, and sure enough, Y/N was still nestled against Colby, shoulder pressed to his chest, hand on his arm. Like home.

“You’re pissed because she looks happy without you,” Becky said. “But here’s the part that’ll really burn yer arse— no matter how angry you pretend to be, you still love her.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, a flash of something wild in his eyes. “I never said—”

“You don’t have to say it.” Her voice had dropped now. “It’s written all over your face.”

The hallway suddenly fell away and he was right back in that hotel room in Atlanta. It smelled like rain, cheap beer, and leftover Chinese food cooling in its styrofoam container on the coffee table. The low hum of the TV filled the silence—wrestling reruns from earlier that night, blurred and grainy, flickering over the walls in dull shades of blue.

April stood near the window, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Not in defiance. In desperation. Like if she let go, she’d unravel. Her lips trembled, but her voice didn’t.

“You’re always there when she is.”

Phil didn’t look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “Every event. Every promo. Every backstage interview. She so much as coughs and you’re halfway across the arena, checking on her like she’s your responsibility.”

“She’s my friend, April. Or am I not allowed to have those anymore?”

April’s laugh was dry, bitter. “You keep saying ‘friend’ like that makes your behavior okay.”

Phil straightened up, shoulders stiff. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I watch you,” she said, stepping forward. “I see you. The way your whole damn face changes when she walks into the room. The way your tone softens when you talk about her. Like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to wrestling—and to you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t start with this jealous girlfriend crap.”

She flinched like he’d slapped her. “Jealous? Jesus, Phil, do you even hear yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from her.

April’s voice sharpened. “You talk about her like she’s untouchable. Like you’re lucky just to be around her. I’ve never heard you speak about me the way you speak about her in interviews. Not once.”

Phil spun around, his eyes flashing. “You’re twisting everything. This isn’t about her—it’s about you. You’re insecure, and you’re dragging her into this because you don’t want to admit it.”

April’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t back down. “Insecure?” she echoed, stunned. “You think this is insecurity? No, Phil. It’s recognition.”

He froze.

“I see what you refuse to admit,” she went on, her voice rising. “You love her. You don’t have to say it—it’s written all over your damn face. And maybe you haven’t crossed any physical lines, but emotionally? You’ve been gone for a long time.”

Phil barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“You remember that angle she did with Cody?” she continued, ignoring him. Her tone almost patronizing, like she wants to get a reaction out of him. She saunters over, her need to hear him confess the only thing keeping her from completely snapping. “The one with the kiss? I remember exactly how you reacted. You didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the night. You trashed the locker room, told everyone it was about creative—but it wasn’t. It was about her.”

“That kiss wasn’t in the script,” Phil said through clenched teeth. “It was stupid. Cheap. Just for a pop—”

“No, it was a kiss, Phil. A basic wrestling spot. But you acted like she cheated on you.” April moved in closer, her hands shaking now. “Same thing when she posted that picture with John. The one backstage after that panel in New York? Where he treated her for coffee and she said she was the luckiest girl in the world? You threw your phone across the room.”

He pointed at her, his voice rising. “Don’t act like you know what’s in my head.”

“I don’t need to,” she spat. “I’ve seen enough. You pretend to be above all this shit—above drama, above feelings—but when she’s involved? You fall apart.”

Phil’s breathing was heavy now, erratic. He raked a hand through his hair and turned his back on her again.

“She started dating that random kid she met at a convention. What was his name? Something stupid with a T. Trevor– Tyler? And you didn’t talk to her for two weeks. You ignored her texts, ducked out early every night, acted like she stabbed you in the back.”

“I was busy,” he growled.

“You were pissed,” she corrected. “Because you didn’t like it. Because it wasn’t you.”

He whipped around, voice suddenly thunderous. “I TOLD YOU TO DROP IT!”

April didn’t flinch, in fact she got closer. She was never one to be afraid of Phil’s temper, especially about this. It was all just a wall for him to hide behind. “Why? Because I’m right?”

“Because you’re making shit up!”

She stepped into his space, eyes brimming with hurt and fire. “No. I’m just saying the quiet part out loud.”

Phil looked like a cornered animal. Pacing. Clenching and unclenching his fists like he needed something to hit. His jaw twitched violently. “You’re delusional,” he muttered.

“I’m done letting you lie to me. Stop insulting my intelligence by trying to make it seem like it’s all in my head.”

She was close now—so close he could smell her shampoo, see the rise and fall of her chest as her voice caught. “You think I didn’t see it before? That moment at WrestleMania two years ago—after her match with Charlotte? When she came through the curtain and hugged you first? Not her boyfriend at the time. Not her family. You. And you looked at her like she hung the damn moon.”

“Enough.”

“You stood by the monitors for her every match. You never did that for me.”

“Enough, April!”

“She was crying after her match with Becky last year, and you sat outside her locker room for forty-five minutes just trying to get her to come out. Didn't even tell me where you went. You think I didn’t know?”

“I said that’s ENOUGH!”

And then he snapped. He turned and punched the wall so hard the plaster cracked under his knuckles. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool, ruined drywall. His whole body shook—rage, shame, confusion.

April didn’t move. After a long beat, her voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Quiet. Steady. Brutal.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything for her.”

He didn’t turn.

“Do it,” she said. “Look at me and say it. Say you don’t love her.”

His shoulders caved in like the weight was finally too much. Still, he didn’t turn around.

April’s voice broke, and still she stood her ground. “That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The silence she left behind was louder than anything she'd ever screamed.

The memory snapped back like a rubber band to the face—sharp, stinging, and impossible to ignore. Phil blinked, the echo of April’s voice still ringing in his ears like a ghost he hadn’t laid to rest.

"That's what I thought."

Becky was still standing in front of him, arms crossed, chin tilted like she knew exactly what that silence meant—even if she didn’t know the story behind it. Her eyes flickered, searching his face. “You good now, tough guy?” she asked, her voice still laced with that Irish bite. “Or am I gonna need to get a straight jacket?”

Phil exhaled through his nose. It wasn't a laugh, not really, but it was all he could manage without splintering again. He wiped a hand over his mouth and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Becky didn’t move. She just raised a brow. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “But I’ll let you keep lying. Just… don’t mess with her. Not unless it’s to fix everything wrong between ya. She deserves better than that.”

Then she walked away, leaving him in the hallway with the hum of the exit sign and the ache of things he never said.

And still couldn’t.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The gym Demi dragged Y/N to buzzed with familiar energy—weights clinking, music humming low through the speakers, occasional grunts and laughter echoing off the walls. It smelled of chalk, sweat, and rubber—harsh, but oddly comforting. Y/N had grown used to it. Sometimes it was the only place that made sense.

She was flat on the mat, abs burning as she knocked out the final few sit-ups of her set. Her breathing was labored, controlled, and she counted each one silently until her body finally gave in and collapsed with a huff. A shadow crossed her peripheral vision.

“You good?” Luis asked, crouching down beside her, a water bottle extended like a peace offering. Sweat glistened on his biceps, the towel slung around his neck damp with effort.

Y/N didn’t answer at first. She just took the water with a grateful grunt, unscrewed the cap, and drank like her life depended on it. “Alive. Barely,” she managed between gulps. “Pretty sure Demi’s secretly a sadist.”

“Confirmed,” Luis replied easily, eyes flicking toward the bench press area.

Across the gym, Demi gave them both a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “I heard that!” she called, not even out of breath. “And you’re welcome.”

“You both suck,” Y/N muttered, lying back down dramatically.

Luis grinned. “And yet, here you are. Voluntarily.”

“Peer pressure.”

He shrugged. “Nah. You needed this. Better hangin’ with us than being stuck backstage.”

Y/N huffs as Luis sticks his hand out to help her up. She accepts it gratefully, allowing him to pull her onto her feet. He lazily slings his arm around her shoulder as Demi finally makes her way back over to the two of them.

“Alright,” she announced, “what’s next on the torture agenda?”

Luis gestured toward Y/N. “She wants to spar.”

Y/N sat up. “No, I don’t.”

“Too late,” Demi grinned. “Luis, you’re up. You two, in the ring. I’ll ref. Let’s settle this once and for all.”

“Settle what?” Y/N asked, brushing the towel off.

Luis stood and stretched, his smile cocky. “Who’s scrappier.”

Demi cracked her knuckles. “Spoiler: it’s me. But I’m feeling generous today.”

Y/N sighs loudly as Luis gets in position to actually wrestle her. Her body burns from the heavy lifting she did, but Y/N’s never been one to back down from a challenge, even if her opponent is a whole torso and head taller than her.

Luis stands across from her bouncing on the balls of his feet, shirtless now, tattoos flexing with every motion. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, flashing her a grin that was somewhere between charming and challenging.

“I don’t need to be ready,” Y/N said, rolling her neck. “You should be worried.”

“Oooh,” Demi muttered from the sidelines, already smirking. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?”

Luis’s brows lifted. “Talk? Nah. But she can show me what she’s got.”

Y/N smirked. “Keep talking, Romeo. I’ll plant you faster than your last situationship ghosted you.”

“Damn,” Demi said, laughing as she dropped into a crouch beside the mat. “I’m just here to ref, but this is better than Raw Talk.”

Luis lunged first—light on his feet, playful—but Y/N dodged easily, sweeping behind him and tapping the back of his knee. He stumbled but caught himself, already spinning with a smirk.

“Okay, okay,” he said, circling. “You got reflexes. I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll take that and your ego in one go,” she said, darting in. They grappled briefly, a tangle of limbs and tension. Luis was stronger, no doubt, but she was quick and scrappy—half laughter, half precision.

He caught her by the waist mid-move, spinning her around before she could land a knee.

“Tryna take me down, princesa?” he murmured, breath brushing her ear. “You’re gonna have to buy me dinner first.”

She twisted in his grip, laughing. “I don’t date guys who lose to me.”

“Then let me win.”

“That’s even worse.”

They crashed down onto the mat, Luis letting her get the upper hand just long enough for her to think she had it, before flipping them both with a grin. Y/N squirmed beneath him, both of them breathless and sweaty, their faces close enough to feel the heat between them.

“Pinned,” Luis said smugly.

Y/N arched a brow. “That’s cute. You think this counts.”

Before he could respond, Demi blew an imaginary whistle. “Alright, break it up, horn dogs. I’m not about to explain to HR why y’all are dry-humping on the sparring mats.”

Luis let Y/N up with a groan as she rolled her eyes. “For the record,” she said, brushing off her leggings, “if this were a real match, I’d have won.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Luis said, winking. “But if you need another round to prove it, I’ve got time.”

Demi made a gagging noise, but the sound was cut off by the slam of a gym door and a low voice calling, “What did I miss?”

Y/N turned to find Joshua Fatu walking in, hoodie slung low on his frame, sunglasses still on indoors like the menace he was. He scanned the scene—Y/N still flushed from the fight, Luis shirtless and smirking, Demi looking way too entertained.

“Please tell me I’m not too late for the main event,” Josh said, tugging his hoodie off.

“You’re just in time for the post-match commentary,” Demi quipped.

Josh came to a slow stop in front of Y/N, giving her a once-over, then grinned. “You beat him?”

“I would’ve,” Y/N said with mock offense. “But your boy fights dirty.”

Luis held up his hands. “Hey, I was respectful.”

Josh laughed. “That’s your first mistake.”

“Y/N’s the one who started it,” Luis said. “I just responded to the energy.”

Josh leaned in, lowering his voice just enough. “Yeah, well… her energy’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk, but before she could fire something back, Josh reached over and tugged at her ponytail. “You know, you should spar with me next. Bet you’d look cute talking all that shit from the mat.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “You wish, Fatu. She barely survived me.”

“Please,” Demi said, wiping her hands on a towel. “You two have been flirting harder than commentary during a mixed tag match. Get in line.”

Josh tilted his head. “So there is a line?”

“I didn’t say you were at the front of it,” Y/N teased.

He held a hand to his heart. “Ouch. Damn mama, don’t gotta bruise my ego.”

Luis draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s okay. She likes ‘em with wit and a winning record.”

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing it?” Josh said. “Alright, alright. We’ll see what happens next time we’re booked together.”

Demi, ever the chaos agent, grabbed Y/N’s phone and waved it. “Okay, picture time. Before you two fight each other for real.”

Without warning, Luis jumped up on Y/N’s back causing the woman to grunt as she tries to hold him up.

“Wait, wait—what are you doing—Luis!” she shouted, laughing as he propped her up on his shoulders with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re gonna thank me when you see how good your arms look from this angle,” he said. “All this pressure’s gonna give you the pump of a lifetime.”

“You’re gonna thank me when I drop you flat on your ass,” Y/N muttered, still grinning as she balanced.

“Everybody shut up and smile,” Demi said, placing the phone at a good enough distance before setting the timer. “This is going viral.”

The camera clicked.

@Y/S/Nwwe

liked by trinity_fatu, wwerollins, rhearipley_wwe, and 626,356 others

tagged: rhearipley_wwe, archerofinfamy, uceyjucey

Y/S/Nwwe: Fought for my life and then got body-snatched for the selfie. Friends like these 🫠💪 #gymrats #chaosunit #sendhelp

View all 12,367 comments

@beckylynchwwe: Who needs enemies with a squad like this? 😂🔥

@trinity_fatu: Y’all are a mess. I love it.

@otiswwe: I volunteer as next lifting partner 🙋‍♂️

@uceyjucey: Don’t let this post distract you from the fact I’m prettier in person.

@rhearipley_wwe: I’m the real MVP for this shot. You’re welcome.

@archerofinfamy: I am not as heavy as she’s making me look 🙄.

@fansince2009: I knew she was strong, but DAYUM.

@justhereforcolby: This is cute but… where’s Colby? 👀

@idontlikeherfr: Not her flirting with every guy in the locker room 🙄

@sheeatsyouup: @idontlikeherfr Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, babe.

@mommyynation: I would kill to work out with her. 🔥

@burnitdowngirl97: Why is everyone flirting with my wife??? 😤

@CMpunk.fanpage01: Notice how Phil liked this five minutes after it went up? 👀 Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

@legendkilla_32: Seth’s not gonna like all that touching.

@AntiY/N_Burnbook: Okay but why is she everywhere lately? Mid in the ring, mid on the mic, and now a thirst trap in gym shorts. Yawn.

Y/N scrolled through the comments without really reading them, half-laughing at some, rolling her eyes at others. She was used to the internet—its praise and its poison. What she didn’t expect, though, was the subtle change in expression when she reached the top of the notifications.

@CMPunk liked your photo.

Her thumb hovered. Just for a second. No comment, no message—just a like. And somehow, that was louder than anything else.

125 notes · View notes

favoritesupernova · 4 days ago

Text

smarty pants!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ math nerd!satoru x secretly smart fem!reader

chapter 2: missing variables

series masterlist

genre/tags/cw: non-sorcerer au, university au, nerdjo and his math problems, secretly smart fem!reader that has her struggles, nerdjo stuttering, angst, reader being mean to gojo but secretly has a soft spot, cussing, yelling

⭑.ᐟ - after the second session left gojo thinking, he decides to take matters into his own hands. asking your teacher and his mentor, professor yaga, he learns that still, nothing is adds up. when will the secrets come to light?

TW: there are mentions of reader having slurred words, stumbling, and overall disorientation towards the end. please read at your own discretion.

even after a few days have past, gojo could not stop thinking about you. every time you cross his mind, his thoughts start racing, asking himself a million questions at the speed of light. it was all based off of pure confusion.

and because gojo has a natural need to problem solve, he decided he’s going to figure it out. he knows you’re not going to open up, or at least not any time soon, so he goes to the next best thing. professor yaga.

his relationship with yaga wasn’t anything other than a mentorship. being in his third year and have taken multiple classes with him, the two have grown a little bit closer. although, yaga hates when he gets corrected by a prodigal student. what do you mean a first year tested out of third year calculus and passed with a perfect grade in advanced theory?

walking into yaga’s office, long legs striding to the chair in front of his desk, he plops down. yaga’s typing comes to a halt, talking off his glasses with a deep sigh. “what do you want, gojo. i told you about dropping into my office unannounced.”

gojo’s eyes pop like a kid who got caught stealing candy. “s-sorry sir! i just need to ask you a few questions about y/n. it seems li-,” yaga quickly interjects. “you know i can’t tell you personal information about a student. if you want her number that badly, ask her.” and with that, gojo turns red in the face.

“no-. i-. i don’t want her number!” he shouts, trying to quickly divert the subject. “i just wanted to ask why i’m tutoring her in the first place.”

yaga looks at him like he’s stupid. “why else would i ask you to tutor her? because she’s failing my class horrifically!” yaga shouts, startling gojo. it still doesn’t make sense. if you could solve these equations like it’s breathing, why are you failing?

“i don’t understand! during our sessions, she’s solving these problems not only quickly, but accurately. complex equations, sequences, and series. i’ve never seen anything like it before!” gojo rambles. yaga tilts his head, equally in confusion with the boy sitting in front of him.

then, yaga opens a drawer of files, the name on it is yours. in there were past quizzes and tests from earlier in the semester. yaga starts talking again. “i’m not sure if you have the right student, because the student in this file has not answered a single thing right, but her name. even that, it’s still questionable,” yaga says coldly.

gojo opens the folder and the first thing he sees is a big fat ‘F’ circled in red marker. he’s in utter disbelief. the writing doesn’t even look like yours, the pen is scribbled and he can barely read it. the numbers look fuzzy and messy. what the fuck? this can’t be you.

he starts combing through the papers, hoping for some explanation. though, he’s quickly let down. ‘F’, ‘F’, ‘F’, one ‘D’, because you answered at least 2 problems correctly. red danced across the sheet, every problem having at least has 5 corrections. yaga sees the look on his face.

“on top of that. she has been to maybe 3 classes all semester. you of all people know that attendance is a huge part of my grade. even at that she still doesn’t pay attention,” he tells gojo. he finally meets yaga’s eyes and shakes his head in disbelief. “no i don’t believe it,” gojo refutes, “she’s a g-genius! how is she failing?”

yaga takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a few seconds. “i don’t know. but if she doesn’t pass these next exams, she’s going to not only fail my class, but possibly fail out of the university.” he says sighing out.

gojo sets your file down on yaga’s desk and quickly stands up. he’s looks at his professor like he wants to say something, but instead, he just grabs his backpack and makes a b-line out of the office.

fail the class and out of the university? no. if he could do one thing, he’s going to make sure you stay. you’re brain is not something worth losing.

just as his thoughts started to whirl, he hears a familiar voice. you. but it sounds different. it’s so…warbled. he takes a peak around the hallway corner and sees you on the phone. not wanting for him to see you, he hides behind the wall.

your phone is so loud that he could hear mumbling on the other side of the phone even though it wasn’t on speaker. “i don’t care if you spent a lot of money!” you slurred out, “stop fucking talking to me!”

gojo’s eyes widen. who were you talking to like that? an ex? a controlling boyfriend? next, he hears a deep voice screaming at you, “get yourself under control! you dumb b-,” then the yelling goes silent.

he looks around the corner and sees you with your head down. gojo swears he heard a sniffle come out from you. for some reason, he just wanted to go up to you and make sure you were okay. but he didn’t.

instead, he watches as you stumbled through the hall, your feet falling out of a straight line. before you walk out of his view, you slightly tumble over yourself, making gojo react by taking a step toward the hallway. he quickly retracted, but you were quick to look back.

“who’s there,” you quavered out, words echoing. he hopes you don’t hear him breathing and he hopes that you don’t start walking towards him.

not getting an answer back, you turn around and continue your crooked walk down the empty hall. his eyes never leaving your back, as you stagger through.

“what was that,” he whispers to himself. that didn’t look or sound like you. the energy didn’t feel like you. now, he’s more confused than ever.

who really are you? will you ever tell him? will you ever let him help you? these are questions that cross his mind, but he will never ask them.

until you tell your story, he will just hope and waits for the best, if it ever comes.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

< previous chapter l series masterlist l next chapter >

oooo…things are starting to unravel a bit! i’m still a little iffy about writing dialogue so any tips would be appreciated :)

i hope you enjoyed! please like, comment, follow, and reblog to stay updated!

art by @ leimiruu on x

divider by @uzmacchiato

taglist: @nanamineedstherapy

74 notes · View notes

mrsjjongstby · 11 days ago

Note

your latest fic, "overruled" is just so beautiful *chef's kiss* ✨ can we have an angst/comfort in the same universe where reader and jay had a heated argument or something and just idk, maybe they won't talk for like week/s? (let's see who will crumble/fold first 😝) gosh idek, I'm just curious how fights would be knowing they are both lawyers and pro with arguments lol

OMGGGG YESSSSSSS THANK U SOOOOOO MUCH FOR THIS AMAZING REQUESTTTT! I WOULD LOVEEEEEEEEEEE TO WRITE FOR 'OVERRULED' JAY ND Y/N! I HOPE U LIKE THISSSS!!!!!!! (SORRY FOR TAKING TOO LONG TO UPLOAD!)

Part of the fic: Overruled - p.js

You didn’t mean to start a fight.

It was supposed to be just another late strategy session. Just another complicated case. Just another night of you and Jay, sitting too close, speaking too sharply, trying too hard not to care about anything but the win.

But something cracked.

You’re standing at the long conference table, highlighting the opposing counsel’s strategy flaws on the whiteboard. Jay’s seated, flipping through a file.

“You’re missing it,” he says, calm but cold. “They’re not going to lead with that clause. They’ll bury it in discovery and use it to blindside us.”

You turn, marker still in hand. “They always lead with what’s aggressive. It sets the tempo.”

“This isn’t about tempo.”

You raise a brow. “It’s about seeing the angle they want us to miss. And this is the angle.”

He finally looks up. His expression is unreadable. Controlled. The kind of tone he uses in court when he's about to destroy someone with politeness.

“You’re reacting, not planning.”

That does it.

“No, Jay. I’m reading them, like I always do. Just because I don’t analyze it your way doesn’t mean it’s impulsive.”

He sighs — sharp, annoyed. “I’m saying we can’t afford to be sloppy on this.”

A beat.

“Sloppy?” you echo. “You think I’m being sloppy?”

Jay straightens in his chair. “If you’d just take a second and stop being so defensive—”

You snap the cap back on the marker. “Maybe if you didn’t talk to me like I’m a first-year who just got lucky.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. Right now. You're trying to shut me out when i'm disagreeing with your beliefs!”

Silence.

Jay’s jaw tightens. “Maybe we shouldn’t work this one together.”

The words are too calm. Too sharp. Too final.

Your chest goes still. “Fine.”

You gather your notes. Walk out of the room. You don’t look back.

He doesn’t stop you.

Day 1

The silence doesn’t feel like silence. It feels like punishment.

He passes you in the hallway with the same blank expression he wears for opposing counsel. Nods once. Keeps walking.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

You’ve always known how to be professional. Detached. Efficient.

But when his voice skips over you in the morning meeting — goes from “Let’s have Daniel draft that” to “I’ll take the close” without even glancing your way — something clenches behind your ribs.

You say nothing.

Just like he did.

Day 5

You stop waiting for coffee to show up at your desk.

You bring your own, bitter and wrong, because that’s what it tastes like now.

You see him in the glass of the conference room. His reflection moves behind yours, pacing as he speaks to clients. You catch your own eye in the glass.

Still sharp. Still composed.

And still waiting for something that never comes.

Day 7

The new associate leaves a coffee on your desk. Your favorite.

You smile. Say thanks.

Jay walks by your office thirty minutes later.

Doesn’t look at the cup.

Doesn’t say a word.

But the look on his face? Like someone quietly swallowed glass.

Day 10

The big case is done. You win. Clean. Without each other.

You say all the right things in the post-trial debrief. So does he.

He nods. You nod. You both pretend it’s not empty.

Day 11

You’re in the records room. Alone. Filing. Avoiding the silence of your office. You hear the door open. Then close. You turn. He’s standing there.

Jay.

Wrinkled shirt. Unreadable eyes. Stillness like a bomb that hasn’t gone off yet.

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” he says.

You freeze. “…Ten days ago?”

He exhales. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry.”

“Because I disagreed with you?”

“No,” he says. “Because I wasn’t used to not having the last word.”

You pause. Arms crossed. “And now?”

He steps closer. “Now I haven’t slept in a week. I'm sorry, baby.”

You laugh once — low, bitter.

And when you speak again, your voice is smaller. “You don’t listen sometimes. You assume you’re right. And I didn’t want to argue.”

His mouth twitches. “We’re lawyers. We argue for a living.”

“I’m not talking about court.”

Another silence. This one quieter. Closer. Jay runs a hand through his hair. He looks exhausted. And wrecked.

“I hate this,” he says softly. “Not talking to you. Walking past your desk like you’re not there. Pretending it doesn’t bother me that you won’t even look at me in meetings.”

You blink too fast. He exhales. “I miss you. I miss… everything.”

“You’re the one who started it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says quickly. “And I’d undo it. If I could.”

You finally step closer. That makes him smile. Just barely. He looks at you. Really looks at you.

“I miss you angel.”

Simple. Quiet. Like he’s saying it against his will.

“I was mad,” you admit. “Still am, maybe.”

“I know.”

“But I hated not talking to you more than I hated the fight.”

Jay steps forward. Close now.

“I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“You just did.”

Silence. Then, very softly:

“I missed you too.”

And it’s all he needs. Jay leans in — slow, deliberate — and presses his forehead to yours. His hand finds your waist. Your fingers touch his collar. And when he kisses you this time, it’s different. Not like the last kiss. Not like the angry silence.

This one says: I’m sorry. This one says: I’m still here. This one says: Don’t walk away next time.

You kiss him back like a promise. Like the silence is over. Like something cracked — and you both chose to rebuild it.

Together.

Later That Night

You’re back in his office, sitting beside him on the couch in quiet peace. His tie is undone. Your head’s against his shoulder.

No one else knows. They don’t have to. Because this? This isn’t about office gossip or whispered speculation.

This is the apology. The aftermath. The “I missed you” pressed into skin instead of spoken. Jay pulls you closer, murmurs into your hair:

“I won’t let us get like that again.”

And for once — the one who doesn’t trust easily, who controls everything — he means it.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie @jwyoceans @jaylaxies (lmk if u wanna be added!)

92 notes · View notes

saveyourblood · 7 months ago

Text

Pretty Boy - Ch 14 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13

Chapter Summary: Your relationship has some growing tension that leads to an explosive revelation.

Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: a whole lotta angst, violence, discussions of religion

The shifting of the relationship was gradual. You brushed it off at first, attributing it to working long shifts or a lack of a good night’s sleep.

It started after Eddie was held hostage by Mitch. He assured you and Buck countless times that he’s okay and just happy Mitch’s son made it out of surgery. His words didn’t match his actions, though. He stopped greeting you both with a kiss in the morning. He started coming to bed later.

Then, you saw the bruises.

They started on his arms and legs, only the occasional purple and green discoloration. You didn’t think much of it; if someone breathed on you wrong, it could leave a mark. One morning, though, you noticed something much more severe.

Eddie had a massive bruise between the tattoo on his arm and his elbow. It was a mix of blue, purple, and red; it looked fresh, raw, and painful .

“Jesus,” you remarked after setting down your coffee. “What happened to you?”

Eddie looked at his elbow as if he didn’t initially know what you were talking about. “Christopher and I were roughhousing.”

“Were you also playing with hammers?”

“I’m fine.”

The tone of his voice left no room for discussion. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the atmosphere around you. The words wouldn’t reach Eddie’s ears no matter what you said. They would simply linger in the space between the two of you.

You can feel him slipping through your fingers; that’s what you would say. You can feel the distance between you grow little bit bigger with each one-word sentence. You don’t know how to fix it, as much as you want to. You wonder if Eddie feels the same growing gap. You wonder if Buck does. You wonder if ignorance really is bliss, or if it’s just delaying the inevitable.

You’re called to a 10-51 outside of a bar — it’s a drunk and disorderly complaint. In all your years of working in paramedicine, they’re some of your least favorite calls. Nine times out of ten, they end up in custody, which means an officer has to ride with them to the hospital, which pisses them off even more. It’s a lose-lose-lose situation more often than not.

You have no clue why this guy is so angry. You hear him spout the usual complaints: work, taxes, the government, blah blah blah. You watch as four patrol officers shift and dance around him like he’s a feral animal they’re trying to cage.

You look between Buck and Eddie. “You boys ready?”

They both nod.

When both your boys are on a drunk and disorderly call, you have a system worked out: they each grab one side while you give IM Versed. Some patients take longer than others to calm down, and some of them require an additional dose, but so far, the Versed always comes out on top.

You hide the capped syringe behind your back. Both the boys push through some of the officers, while you sneak your way to behind the patient. You watch Buck raise one finger, then two, then a third, before they both advance. Buck grabs his right arm while Eddie grabs the left.

You approach them, uncapping the syringe and raising it to the patient’s deltoid, the muscle just below the shoulder. You’re normally pretty quick, but this guy is somehow quicker.

He breaks free from Eddie’s grasp, arm swinging violently. All of a sudden, your vision goes black and an external force knocks you to the ground.

There’s a lot of shouting, but you can barely make it out over the ringing sound in your ears. You can feel the knees of your pants and the fabric over your elbows begin to saturate. Damn, he knocked you all the way to the ground.

“Hey, are you okay?” A voice asks. “Baby, are you hurt?”

You have yet to open your eyes, but you’d know Eddie’s voice anywhere. You nod slightly, then let out a groan when the motion makes your head spin.

“Here, let me see,” Eddie says, gently guiding you to a sitting position.

You feel his fingers perch under your chin, tipping your head upward. You frown at the movement when it makes you feel dizzy again. When the dizziness subsides, you slowly open your eyes.

Your vision is bleary, but Eddie’s face is close to yours. In the foreground, you can make out Buck completely laying on the patient to subdue him while officers swarm around them both.

“You’ve never called me that,” you say as Eddie puts a penlight through your line of vision.

“Looks like your cheekbone took the brunt of it, not your eye,” Eddie observes. He clicks the button on his radio. “This is RA 118 requesting an additional unit, one of our medics was assaulted on our 10-51 call.”

“ 10-4, ” you hear Maddie’s voice respond.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Eddie whispers, setting a gentle hand on your cheek.

You can’t help but smile. “You called me ‘baby’ again. You never do that, but you should keep doing it.”

That at least earns you a grin. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes, though. You can tell he still feels guilty.

“It’s not your fault, Eds,” you whisper.

“I should’ve had a better grasp on him.”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time a little louder.

“Yes, it is,” he disagrees. “I… my elbow locked up. It’s my fault.”

“I’ll stop by in a few days to get your full statement. For now, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Sergeant Grant.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Athena.”

You smile. “Thanks, Athena.”

Athena smiles back. She looks at you, then at Buck and Eddie, who are on either side of you. Buck is sitting in the rolling stool meant for the ER staff, while Eddie has his back pressed to the counter.

“You boys take care of her,” she directs. “Make sure she gets home okay.”

Buck nods. “Yes ma’am.”

Eddie presses his lips together before eventually nodding.

Athena dismisses herself from the room, wishing you all a good night.

You hate being in the ER as a patient, mostly because you hate waiting. The ER doctor already ruled out an ocular injury, attributing your blurred vision to either a head injury, facial swelling, or both. He did order a head CT to rule out any internal injury, so after some blood work, you’re waiting for the scanner to be available.

The room is tense. Neither of the boys has left your side, but they haven’t said much, either. It’s an awkward combination.

Eddie shifts his arm and winces. He pushes off the counter with his good arm, then grabs his bad elbow. He rubs the bruise.

“The pain’s getting worse,” you observe. He doesn’t have to tell you with words because his body language is screaming.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie mumbles as he continues to rub his skin.

You turn to Buck, who’s holding your hand. “Do you know he got it?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Eddie interrupts.

“He won’t tell me,” you tell Buck, ignoring Eddie’s interjection.

Eddie says your name in a warning tone.

Buck looks at him, then back at you as he squeezes your hand. “He won’t tell me, either.”

Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes a little. “You two are making way too big a deal out of this.”

The ER doctor, Dr. Patel, knocks on the wall before pulling back the curtain and entering. “Hey, thanks for your patience. I wanted to let you know you’re next in line for CT.”

“Sounds great, thank you,” you say, shifting in the bed. “Hey, can you look at my friend’s arm?”

“Would you stop?” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Doc, my friends here are worried over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you press. “Move your hand, let him see the bruise.”

Eddie looks from you to Dr. Patel, who shrugs. “It’d be free of charge.”

Eddie sighs and relents, moving his hand.

With careful hands, Dr. Patel inspects Eddie’s arm. He pokes around the bruise on his elbow, which makes Eddie wince again.

“How did this happen?” Dr Patel asks.

“It happened at work,” Eddie says, “we’re firefighters.”

“You told me it happened when you were roughhousing with Chris,” you counter.

Eddie avoids your eyeline. “It’s probably a mix of both.”

When Dr. Patel pushes back on his hand, Eddie hisses and withdraws. “I’d recommend an X-ray to rule out a fracture, but since this is off the books, I’ll tell you that it seems to be a strain of the common extensor tendon.”

“So, off the books, how does one fix that?” You ask.

“Off the books, you treat a strain with rest, ice, and over-the-counter anti-inflammatories.”

Eddie purses his lips briefly, then extends a hand. “Thanks, doc.”

Dr. Patel smiles as he shakes his hand. “No problem. I’ll have someone show you boys to the waiting room.”

Buck kisses your temple and rubs your hand before letting go. He stands, clearing his throat. “Take care of her, okay?”

Dr. Patel smiles again, setting a hand on Buck’s shoulder as he slips out. “Of course.”

Eddie waves goodbye, and it leaves you alone in the room with Dr. Patel. You shift in your seat awkwardly.

Dr. Patel’s smile fades as he sits where Buck was moments ago. The sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere makes you sick with anxiety.

“Your blood work came back, and one of the results was… abnormal. I thought it would be best if we discuss it alone.”

“What the hell is going on with you?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Buck, I’m-”

“I swear, Eddie, if you say you’re okay one more time, you’re going to need an ER visit.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything; he just sets his elbows on his knees, dipping his head down.

Buck sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You know, when I was… working through things, I shut her out.”

Eddie casts a glance over his shoulder. “How did that work out?”

“It almost ended us.”

Eddie’s lips shift in contemplation.

“Then, I told her everything. And it got me everything I ever wanted.”

At this, Eddie chuckles a little. “Everything you ever wanted? Seriously?”

It sounds like a ploy more than anything, a hyperbole to get Eddie to talk. He’s been around that block once or twice, so it isn’t something he’ll fall for easily.

“Yeah,” Buck confirms, voice unwavering. There isn’t a trace of humor or doubt in his tone. He doesn’t sound cocky, just… confident. “It got me both of you.”

They go back to being quiet. It’s comfortable for Buck and absolutely suffocating for Eddie.

Buck’s hand is resting on the armrest. Eddie can see it shift in his periphery. He feels Buck’s hand on his thigh, slowly inching closer to his hand. Buck’s fingertips reach his wrist before he lets out a breath and sits back. His eyes scan across the waiting room.

“Eddie,” Buck says softly. In that moment, Eddie thinks he may be telepathic, or maybe he just knows Buck too well, because he knows exactly what he’s about to say. “They don’t know about us. They don’t care .”

It shouldn’t be a big deal, mostly because Buck is right: no one knows. They don’t know that Buck is only one of the two people he’s in love with. They don’t know that the other person he’s in love with is in an ER room. They don’t know that she’s there because of him. They look like two men in love, two men who should be able to hold hands in a waiting room.

So… why can’t Eddie bring himself to do it?

“Can you at least look at me?”

Buck’s voice breaks through, and Eddie’s racing thoughts come to a screeching halt. His tone dances on the edge of desperation, and it hurts Eddie’s heart, but it doesn’t hurt enough for him to listen.

“You boys ready to ditch this place?”

They look up. It’s you. You’re out of the hospital gown and back in your uniform. The bruise on your cheekbone is getting darker by the minute, but despite it, there’s a smile on your face.

“Woah, that scan was quick,” Buck remarks.

“Yeah, the longest part is always the waiting.”

It’s subtle, but Eddie catches it. He sees the way your smile faulters, the way the light leaves your eyes for a second. You recover quickly; your smile evens out, and the sparkle returns in less than a second. Eddie saw it, though. He knows that change anywhere. He’s been living in that change for the last few weeks.

You’re caught in a lie.

He just has no clue what you’re lying about.

You clear your throat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nursing school sucks.

You knew it would suck, but you didn’t know it would suck this bad. Your experience and certifications as a paramedic allow you to skip a year of coursework, and it still sucks really bad.

Whenever you aren’t working, you’re doing something for school. When you aren’t writing a paper, you’re working on a project. When you aren’t working on a project, you’re reviewing skills. When you aren’t reviewing skills, you’re studying. And there’s so much to study between medications and disorders and terminology. You’re barely a month into the term and you’re already looking forward to Thanksgiving break.

There’s a silver lining to it all — you’re too busy with school to think about anything else.

You can’t remember the last night you spent at Eddie’s house. Actually, you can’t remember the last time you kissed him. He’s been distant, and you’ve been busy, and that combination is intimacy’s killer.

It’s fine. Well, it’s probably not fine. But you don’t exactly have the time nor the resources to fix it. Besides, all things considered, it’s actually… comfortable. It's not the type of comfortable it started as, but a different type. It’s no longer the ‘everyone is okay and nothing else matters’ type of comfortable; it’s more of an ‘everything isn’t okay but it’s easier to pretend it is’ sort of comfortable.

It’s like seeing a deer standing in the road miles ahead. You’re going 55 on the highway, and the deer doesn’t see you yet. You know that, in a matter of seconds, everything will either be completely okay or it will end in blood. You know that, no matter what, someone’s gonna end up running.

But you’re not at the end yet. For now, you’re in that sweet spot where you see the deer and the deer doesn’t see you, but it doesn’t matter. You can see the end, but you’re not there yet. You don’t press on the gas, but you don’t move over the brakes yet, either. You know the ending, and you’re in no rush to see it, so for now, you’re just watching everything play out.

“Everything okay?” Hen asks.

You look up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You purse your lips as you shut your laptop. “No.”

In the last few months — and especially the last few weeks — you haven’t been a great friend to Hen. You haven’t been a deliberately bad friend, but the relationship has been very one-sided. Lately, your friendship consists of Hen asking questions about your relationship and you subsequently bitching about it.

“It’s Eddie, isn’t it?”

See, you were gonna try to talk about something else, maybe how Karen’s doing or if Denny’s school year started okay. But then she says something like that and she just… knows . She knows something is up, and she probably knows how badly you need to talk about it.

You’ve mentioned it to Buck more than once, but the conversation never seems to have a satisfying ending. You both always agree to let Eddie come to you in his own time. Eddie has yet to do so. He doesn’t have any new injuries, but that’s probably because he’s still healing his strain. He isn’t getting more avoidant, but he isn’t forthcoming like he used to be. Eddie’s in purgatory; all you and Buck can do is watch.

“He’s been acting weird, right?” you settle on saying. “I mean, it started with him keeping secrets, which I was… fine with. I mean, not fine, but I dealt with it, you know? But then the bruises started. He never had a good explanation for them, either.”

Hen shrugs. “He’s a guy.”

“That’s it? That’s your advice? ‘He’s a guy’?”

She chuckles. “I’m just saying that men tend to deal with these things differently than we do. For the most part, when things don’t make sense, women like to talk about it. Guys… they like to hit things.”

It turns out that ‘guys like to hit things’ was exactly the advice you needed. It’s the advice that led you to a boxing studio after hours. You responded to a call involving an injured boxer a while back, and the owner said to call anytime you needed a favor. You’re cashing it in.

“So… what exactly are we doing here?”

You dragged both of your boys with you. Words haven’t worked things out, so you’re hoping a little good old-fashioned sparring will do the trick.

You pick up a pair of boxing pads. You slide your hands into them before clapping them together, the sound muffled by the thick padding. “We’re gonna hit things.”

The boys share a look, then a chuckle.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Talking isn’t working, so we’re gonna start hitting,” you explain. “And if that doesn’t work, then I’m out of ideas.”

You reach for a pair of boxing mitts. You hold them out. “Who’s going first?”

Buck looks to Eddie, then shrugs. “I’ll try anything once.”

You and Buck spar in the ring. You both get quicker as you get more confident, and his punches get faster. You keep up with ease. You don’t stop until Buck’s forehead is pouring with sweat.

You lean against the ropes. “Feel better?”

Buck wipes a drop of sweat away from his nose as he breathes heavily. He nods wordlessly.

You smirk in satisfaction. “Alright, Diaz, you’re up.”

Eddie’s sitting on a stool in the corner of the ring. You could feel his eyes bounce between you and Buck the whole time you were sparring. When your attention shifts to him, he looks like he wants to argue. He must know he’ll lose the argument because he stands with a sigh.

As Buck walks by to trade places with him, he holds the boxing gloves against his chest. Eddie takes them, and Buck’s hand moves to his shoulder. He squeezes and leaves his hand where it is until Eddie approaches you.

You lift your hands and brace a foot behind you. “You ready?”

Eddie's answer is a fist landing on the pad.

He isn’t hesitant like Buck was — his punches are fast and relentless, like bullets coming out of a gun. You struggle to keep up at first, but the two of you eventually find your rhythm.

“What’s got you so pissed?” you ask.

Eddie’s eyes find yours for a moment. They’re dark by nature, but there’s something different about them now. It’s like there’s no trace of him behind them, just pure anger.

“Doesn’t matter,” he eventually huffs out between blows.

“Is it me? Is it Buck?” you continue.

“Neither,” he answers.

“Is it us?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. He punches a little harder.

“It is, isn’t it?” You prod.

“No,” Eddie says through his teeth. “It’s me.”

You frown. “What about you?”

“Everything. My thoughts, my actions, my relationships.”

“What about your relationships?”

“It’s wrong!”

The room quiets. Eddie stops throwing punches. Your hands fall limply at your sides.

“It’s wrong?” You whisper.

Eddie lets out a sound similar to a growl. He pulls off his gloves, throwing them to the side and running his hands through his hair.

“It’s… wrong,” Eddie repeats, his hands finding their way to his hips. “I was raised in a religion that believes marriage is between a man and a woman. But I was raised in El Paso, which is about as liberal as Texas can get. I have gay family members, and we’ve always loved them the same.”

Buck stands up, carefully approaching the two of you. “So what’s wrong about this?”

“It would be one thing if I was just dating a guy,” Eddie continues. “Dating more than one person, though? Dating a guy and a girl? It’s like… I can’t wrap my head around it. There’s no way my family could, no way that…”

“...That God could,” you finish.

You’re not a stranger to religion, but it isn’t your best friend, either. When your dad got too drunk, your neighbors across the street took you in for a few weeks, and they went to church every Sunday. They were Christian — you’re fuzzy on the exact denomination, but you know they weren’t Catholic. The Richardsons weren’t out in the street fighting for marriage equality, but from the time you spent with them, they seemed more ‘Love thy neighbor’ than ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ type of people.

“I don’t even know if I believe in God,” Eddie says with a bitter laugh. “I don’t know if I believe in Him, but I’m terrified of disappointing him. How does that even work?”

“You wouldn’t be a lapsed Catholic if you didn’t have at least a little guilt,” Buck offers. Eddie smiles a little, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

There’s a burning question, and you don’t know how else to ask it. “Do you still want to do this?”

Eddie swallows. “I… I don’t know. I just need… some time, I think.”

Buck wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. He’s much nicer than you.

See, you’re tired. You’ve given Eddie time — a lot of time. You’ve given him time to himself, time to work things through, time to come to you. You’re kind of tired of giving him time. Especially because now, you can hear the clock ticking. There’s only so much time left before everything changes.

You rip off the pads, tossing them to the side near Eddie’s gloves.

Buck frowns as he says your name. “What’s wrong?”

You laugh a little, and it brings tears to your eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 show #911 on abc #911 reader insert #evan buckley/reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader #Buddie x reader #buddie x reader #pretty boy fic #i can write

181 notes · View notes

theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming · 5 months ago

Text

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 8

Weeks [1] [2] [3] [4/5/6] [7]

Hello this weeks fic reading brought to you by the fact that I haven't "worked" since 2/18. Anyway.. if you notice a sudden trend in the Sterek fics I'm not sure what to say. I tripped into the "Firefighter Derek Hale" tag and haven't seen the light of day since oops.

Buddie: 14 Sterek: 15

that timelines chat by disasterbuck, Veronae | @disasterbuck | @veronae-buddie (2025•T•32.6K)

On a seemingly ordinary night in 2022, Buck receives a text from what he assumes is a wrong number and goes along with it for lack of anything better to do. But it quickly becomes evident that nothing about this night is ordinary, as he finds himself texting an Eddie Diaz five years in the past, before he's moved to LA and joined the 118. What happens during the next twenty-four hours will change Buck's and Eddie's lives forever. Eddie: like I said, I just wanted to update my phone Eddie: maybe I did something to it 👀 Buck: of course YOU would try to update your phone and end up texting the future 🤣 Eddie: hey! Buck: technology really doesn’t like you, does it? Buck: 😇

Was I even on your way? by rangerdanger (mxgicxltrxgedy) | @call-me-medusa (2025•M•3K)

A soft knock starts on the door. “Buck?” It’s Eddie. Of course it’s Eddie. “Are you feeling okay?” Buck feels like he’s going to throw up. “No." “Can I come in?” Buck closes his eyes. He tries to take another deep breath, trying to remind himself he’s in Eddie’s bathroom, in Eddie’s house, probably the safest place he’s ever been in L.A, and that he’s not in an office trying to talk about a kid’s death. He scoots closer to the toilet, resting his back on the edge of the tub, “Yeah.” - Or, Buck gets reminded of something that happened he'd rather forget.

come ride on me (i mean camaraderie) by heygirltimeformorning | @heygirltimeformorning (2025•E•4.5K)

“Eddie, this isn’t -- casual for me,” Buck says finally, like he’s cutting the wires to a bomb. “I can’t -- I don’t do casual anymore.” He looks up at Eddie, open and bleeding, totally disarmed. He’s the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. Buck takes a breath, looks down, shakes his head. “I mean,” he says, “I can’t do casual with you.” “Who,” Eddie asks, very quietly, “said anything about casual?”

Cheeseburger in Paradise by Bookworm0303 | @insertlovelyperson (2025•E•20.2K)

“Swingers,” Buck gasped, eyes wide and mouth agape, “Eddie, they’re swingers.” Immediately, Eddie blanked, fork clattering against his dish as he ran through every possible way he could try to deny it. More or less recovered, he eventually shook his head and laughed, “What? No. No, they’re not.” “Yes,” the other gritted out, frantically gesturing back at the two couples at the bar, “they are.” Turning in his seat, Eddie watched as the pair of husbands quite literally swapped wives, getting rather cozy with their new partner for the evening. And... ok, damn. Sure. Clearing his throat as he turned back around, he was willing to make a partial concession, “Ok. Fine. Maybe those four are, but—” That’s when Buck got to pointing: “And them. And them. And definitely them.” Each assessment more damning than the last. --- or Eddie plans a vacation for the first (and likely last) time in his life.

Second date update by kyote_ugly | @kyoteugly (2025•T•1.9K)

The story takes place between the 1st and 2nd seasons, different first meeting. Buck's friends convince him to go on a blind date to get over Abby, and Eddie, well, Eddie is training to be a firefighter - he's divorced, new in town, and of course his friend from the academy wants to help him navigate the LA dating scene. And you, my dear reader, you're sitting in traffic on your way to work, listening to the radio...

The Blondie Theory by facewithoutheart | @facewithoutheart (2025•T•5.7K)

Grace hates running into people from high school. But she always kind of wondered about Eddie Diaz. So when Eddie moves back to El Paso, Grace finally gets a chance to prove a theory, make a new friend, meet her long distance girlfriend, and end a ship war. AKA 5 times Grace Matthews runs into her former classmate, Eddie Diaz, and 1 time she runs into one of those two nurses, Evan Buckley.

do you believe in magic? by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•GA•5.6K)

Buck’s magic has been infatuated with Eddie since the moment Buck laid eyes on the man. It didn’t matter that Buck himself had less than pleasant feelings towards Eddie, his magic decided that Eddie was the love of its life and it was going to do anything it could to be near him. This went against Buck’s own feelings because of the whole not liking Eddie for exactly two days and also because Buck has always been told to keep his magic a secret.

reeling with the feeling by dykeries | @buddiesbian (2025•E•3.7K)

“We are not calling 911.” Eddie groans into Buck’s shoulder. “I don’t want to either. But I think we have to.” Buck shakes his head and then regrets it. He’s like, eighty percent sure there’s a bleeding cut on the back of his head and he’s gotten blood on the shower tile. “We’ll figure something else out.” “Like what?” Eddie tries to shift his weight off Buck again and immediately flops back down. “Ugh.” “I don’t know. Dying here. We had a pretty good run.” “They’ll put it on our tombstone,” Eddie says mournfully. “Here lie Buck and Eddie: too old for shower sex.” “Aw, babe,” Buck says, oddly touched. “You’d want a joint tombstone?”

No one can ever know about this. Except for Hen.

Eddie and the bee-tee-dubs by telldebatz | @singitforthegirls (2025•GA•1.6K)

Eddie didn't expect this once he got back from Texas with Chris, but somehow, he's not that surprised either. Buck acquires a cat in Eddie's absence, which is fine, but it shares Eddie's name, and that might become a problem. (It's a short, cute fic about Buddie and a cat. Enjoy.)

Inside Keeps Building by Minalover | @minalover (2024•E•34.4K)

"“My luggage got delayed coming in from Phoenix but it should be in tomorrow.” Eddie is, of course, not fine. He hasn’t been fine since he left for El Paso yesterday. He suspects he wasn’t fine long before that, but he was able to keep it beaten back with a stick. Not so much anymore. “That sucks.” They’ve been different since Eddie made the decision to move to El Paso a few weeks back. He could have sworn Buck was okay. He was okay in the kitchen that day, when he flipped the iPad over and unearthed Eddie’s tender familial burns. He was okay on the couch, the couch Eddie had to leave behind, the couch he mourns for reasons too complicated to think about. He was okay on the virtual call with the real estate agent. He was okay. They were okay. “Yeah, it really does. All of my underwear was in that luggage.” They don’t feel okay." or: Eddie follows Christopher to El Paso or or: the sexting fic I promised myself

i wanna feel you from the inside by shortndiaz (2025•E•4.2K)

Starts with ‘wanna go for the title?’ and ends in some blood and sex

Feeding by pickdotter (2025•E•2.4K)

Everything needs sustenance; matter, weaving into movement. Hunger is a passion for life. Eddie hungers, while Buck’s pulse thumps with it, blood. *** Vampire!Eddie shows up at Buck's front door.

forever is the sweetest con by becausebuckley | @becausebuckley (2025•E•37.9K)

“Buck,” Eddie says, a small smile curving at the edge of his mouth, “wanna get married? For our honeymoon, we’ll scam your parents out of some money and make Ravi’s accountant do our taxes.” “Well,” Buck says drily, “that sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, in his very best – meaning very bad – impression of Buck when he gets his hands on a clipboard. “What was that?” “Yes, Eddie,” Buck says, putting on an air of suffering despite the butterflies making themselves at home in his stomach. Man, whoever Eddie ends up proposing to for realsies is gonna be so lucky. “I’ll marry you.” or: buck is invited to a family reunion and realises that there's a good chunk of money waiting for him. there’s one issue, though: he has to be married to claim it, and right now, he’s painfully single. it’s a good thing he has such a great best friend in eddie, right?

H-E-A-T-A/B/O: A Buddie Anthology by Bucksbelly (drarryweasley) | @bucksbelly [WIP] (2025•E•41.2K)

An anthology of Buddie one-shots based in omegaverse settings. These stories are NOT connected; they each have slightly different lore and can be read in any order!Brought to you by I wanted to write my favorite trope but couldn't decide how to do it so I wrote a bunch of them

I don't want the world, but I'll take this city (2025•E•9.5K)

"Let. Him. Go." Eddie demands, deathly still so he doesn't pounce. "Why? Because he smells like yours?" The second prisoner taunts. "I bet you haven't even told him yet." "Told me what?" Buck snaps, slightly breathless. At least he's not choking. "Come on, Dom, stop fucking around," Mitchell agrees, rolling his eyes at the display. "We're on the clock, here." But Dom hasn't taken his gaze off of Eddie, and vice versa. His smirk grows. "You'll thank me for this one day," he says, and before anyone can move, he sinks his teeth into Buck's neck.

Thank You by JoMouse | @josjournal (2019•T•12.3K)

Stiles is a firefighter with BHFD Ladder 30. He hates the new guy...until he doesn't. For Sterek Week 2019 Scene Stealers - basically Sterek as Buddie from 9-1-1.

Anchoring by rororowyourboat | @rosieposiepuddingnpie (2025•T•3.1K)

Stiles is Derek's anchor, but Derek deserves so much more than one person as an anchor. Stiles decides to help Derek find joy in life again.

Champagne Problems by fairytalesandfolklore | @fairytales-and-folklore (2021•T•1.7K)

Stiles has got champagne problems. No, really. He's had way too many mimosas. A game of tipsy truth or dare at a New Year's Eve pack party ends with Stiles accidentally blurting out that he's in love with Derek…right in front of the sourwolf himself.

"Alright, fine," Erica simpers. "I dare you to tell us who you've got a crush on." "Because we all know there's someone," Lydia insists, giving him a pointed look. "Someone you've clearly been pining after for years now," Danny agrees. "So just come clean, Stilinski. Tell us who it is." Stiles, who is absolutely smashed off his ass at this point in the game, rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. "Nice try, assholes," he teases with a sing-song lilt and a self-satisfied smile. "But there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna tell you I'm in love with Derek, so you can just—" Somewhere in the distance, a champagne flute shatters, and suddenly, Derek is just there, looming in the distance, eyebrows arched so high they practically straddle his hairline.

nonchalant about your own mortality by honestlydarkprincess | @honestlydarkprincess (2025•T•1.1K)

Derek gets hurt after sacrificing himself for the pack yet again and Stiles is angry about it.

He's Not Mine by Sunnee (2013•E•68.5K)

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Stuck on Repeat by pyrrhical (anoyo) | @approximatelytrue (2017•M•77.2K)

Twelve years after leaving Beacon Hills, and everything it represented, Stiles is a well-respected analyst at the CIA. Unfortunately, life likes its irony, and Stiles finds his pretty fabulous CIA career turned on its side when an asset-turned-mark turns out to be a little less than human.

can't be trusted to treasure your heart like i do by honestlydarkprincess | @honestlydarkprincess (2025•T•1.3K)

Derek chases after Stiles and they make up.

Safe by Hedwig221b | @hedwig221b (2023•NR•976)

“Where is he?” Stiles rumbled, glancing at each member of the pack in front of him, before settling his incinerating gaze on one person he once considered a brother. “Tell me, Scott, where is my husband?”

The Faded Line by GrimReaperlover11 (2022•T•31K)

Stiles sometimes hated being an omega, always being treated like the low man on the totem pole. His ideology is only proven to be correct one night on his way home from a night out with Scott when an alpha tries to take advantage of him. however before he can be defiled, he finds a savior in another alpha, one that has his omega howling with want. when his hero takes him home and cares for him, Stiles doesn't want him to leave. Maybe he won't.

The Outstation by CabbageOriley (2020•GA•23K)

Stiles is the newest hire at the Beacon Hills Fire Department. What will happen when he gets stationed at the outstation referred to as the Hale Hole? He's going to die, that's what. He's going to die and… fall in love?

this loving could save me by hot_damn_louis | @bisexualagenda (2020•NR•16.9K)

“Someone put shaving cream in my helmet again,” Derek growled, his arms tense. “And who could that be?” Stiles asked, feigning innocence. He elbowed Derek playfully as he half jogged over to the rig, hopping into the passenger seat. aka Stiles and Derek have been working in the same firehouse for a while, and they might be a little more obvious about their feelings than they think.

Emergency Love by Kedreeva | @kedreeva (2012•E•13.5K)

Wherein Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a paramedic, and they just keep meeting.

stop, drop, and roll by thepsychicclam | @thepsychicclam (2014•M•12.2K)

Stiles knows he's in trouble when he invites the Beacon Hills Fire Department into his third grade classroom and he can't stop staring at a certain scruffy fireman. But after the third graders take a field trip to the fire station and participate in the fire department's holiday canned food drive, Stiles can't ignore his crush any longer.

a glimpse of you and me by Winchesterek | @sterekbros (2023•E•12.1K)

“You write about soulmates?” Derek asked, sounding curious as he leaned in. “I didn't know there was a market for children’s books about that.” “Yeah, it’s starting to pick up traction the last few years. I know there weren't many books like this when I was a kid, but maybe things would’ve been different if there had been.” Stiles shrugged. Then he paused, wetting his lips as he tried to control his breathing. “Do…you believe in soulmates?”

A drag queen and a cop walk into an apartment building... by DropsOfAddiction (2020•E•16.4K)

Stiles tries not to whimper as Derek gets closer. Stiles had forgotten just how intense space invader Derek could be. If Derek was boner inducing when Stiles knew him before, equal parts terrifying and sexy, back at the age of twenty four, well... it’s not a patch on what thirty year old Derek’s got going for him. Derek’s still got a stupid leather jacket and his black hair is slightly longer than Stiles remembers. The stubble is longer too, not quite a beard but still neatly shaped in a way that makes his cheekbones stand out. And the eyes, shit, the eyes. He’s staring at Stiles with this stormy mix of grey, blue and about a thousand other colours thrown in and Stiles couldn’t break eye contact if he wanted to. Derek fucking Hale, ladies and gentlemen.

#Sterek #Buddie #stiles stilinski x derek hale #evan buckey x eddie diaz #2025 Fic Rec List #Sterek Fic Rec #Buddie Fic Rec #did I technically finish the beautiful Marriage of Convenience fic 17 minutes past midnight last night.. yes shhhhhhhhh #i should not have done the math and saw this is 458K words LOL

121 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

Text

A Curse [Chapter 9: Hollywood]

A/N: We're in the home stretch now, besties! Only 3 chapters left until the curse is lifted 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, Maroon 5, illness/death, angst, ice cream, Sunshine makes her red carpet debut! 😍

Word count: 6.5k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Time machine, walls like glass, the dial turned back to 2009. It’s Viserys’ funeral, and no one can even pretend they’re sad. They stopped being sad years ago, and only relief is left. No more long nocturnal hours of the deathwatch, no more hushed sympathetic updates from the hospice nurses, no more unrecognizable white-haired organic matter contorted in his hospital bed. The chains are broken and they are free, all except one of them, the nineteen-year-old son who believes—without proof, without logic—that the curse is not lifted but only transferred, living on in him like an echo down a long hall.

It’s 2005, and Viserys has turned mean: paranoid, volatile, lashing out with fury at his increasing limitations as his brain is hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin, like a cored apple. He roars and he throws things. He forgets his family are not torturers. Alicent could shut him away somewhere, but she doesn’t, the guilt would eat her alive; and so while nurses are present at the Malibu mansion around the clock, the Targaryens are not spared his wrath. One night Viserys breaks a window and wields a shard of glass like a dagger, and when the nurses flee screaming, Aemond stops Alicent from entering the room and goes in himself to clean up the mess. Someone has to.

It’s 1999, and after years of anomalies that nobody knew were symptoms—mood swings, muscle weakness, difficulty making decisions, balance problems, memory lapses—Viserys has been diagnosed with a disease that must have been lurking in his forebearers for generations, unbeknownst to them without the longevity or genetic tests of modern medicine. And like so many absent husbands and fathers who experience a revelation of their impending doom, he is determined to make up for lost time. He bakes with Alicent in the kitchen. He walks with Helaena in the garden. He stops condemning nine-year-old Aegon for long hours spent with his favorite toy, a charcoal gray Nintendo 64, first edition; the Fire Orange console won’t be released until the following year, part of the Funtastic Colors series. And now that it’s too late, Viserys’ children learn to love him.

Viserys takes Aegon’s hand and asks the boy to show him how to play Nintendo 64, here at the very start like a mirage, already beginning to disintegrate around the edges.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, August 7th. You don’t have an appointment to see Aegon, but you’re here in Elysian Park anyway. You park on the curb and sweep out into the gilded morning glow, already mid-80s and rising, wrinkled goldenrod-yellow sundress that you left in the drier too long, flip-flops, bare-faced. You barely slept and ran out the door as soon as you clawed your way out of brief, fitful dreams, autumn leaves and endless corridors through apple orchards, distant stars and deep water.

At his desk, Brandon is on the phone and making notes with his flower pen. He gives you a smile; you can only manage a quick wave. You continue into Aegon’s office, where he is engrossed in Mario’s expedition into an ice world where snow falls in unhurried, harmless white spheres. The music is pleasant, but the pools of frozen water are so cold they burn. Mario is making his way towards a block of ice in which a star has been hidden, accessible by navigation through narrow tunnels. Aegon, his green Nike Killshots propped up on his cluttered desk as usual, is surprised but not disappointed to see you.

“Hey, sunshine!” he says, still clicking the buttons on his transluscent orange controller, still swiveling the joystick. “What are you doing here so—?”

“Your dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

He freezes, and on the television screen, so does Mario; a malevolent snowman entity appears and hurls snowballs at the abandoned avatar until he is dead. You wait for Aegon to say something—no, that’s not true, no, you’re wrong, no, that would be a death sentence—but he only sits there, jaw fallen open, eyes filling up his face…and then he jolts to his feet and goes for the door.

You whirl around to watch him leave. “Aegon…?”

He stops in the doorway to the lobby and calls out: “Brando, you’re done for the day. Bye.”

“Oh for cute!” Brandon replies. “Let me just send an email to that moving company and then—”

“No, now. You’re done right now.”

Brandon sounds perplexed. “Okay, literally right now, you got it.” You can hear him gathering up his things, the jangling of car keys, the snapping shut of a laptop, and you remember all the hours you’ve spent gazing into a small rectangular blue-light screen as you combed through Aegon’s filmography, inspired potential that came to a collision of a stop in his mid-twenties. From the threshold, as he waits for Brandon to leave, Aegon watches you with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes thrashing with dark choppy waves like the riptides of the Pacific. You stare back thunderstruck, and only now do you realize how desperately you were hoping you were mistaken.

Out in the lobby, the front door of the half-duplex opens and closes, and now you and Aegon are alone. He walks back to his desk—loose papers, manila folders, framed photographs, that ever-present bowl of Honeycrisp apples—and drops into his chair, drags his fingers through his slicked-back hair, gazes vacantly at the mint green wall and sighs deeply.

“Who told you?” he asks, like hardly anyone knows, like the few who do wouldn’t have said anything.

“Nobody,” you say, startled. “I just kept guessing different diseases, and I didn’t think it was cancer, and…and…Aegon, Huntington’s is genetic.”

He looks up at you. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“Have you been tested? Because if one of your parents had it then you have a fifty percent chance of inheriting the gene.”

“No, I haven’t been tested.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I just haven’t, okay?”

“Have your siblings?”

“Yeah, and they’re all negative. But I didn’t take the test.”

“I think you should take the test, Aegon.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you should know!” you burst out, and your hands are trembling like his do sometimes, dire adrenaline in your bloodstream and your voice frayed like someone has taken a razor blade to it. “Because if you’re negative then you’ll be relieved, and if you’re positive then you can…you can plan for it, you know? And there are treatments that can help manage the symptoms! I looked it up, I spent like four hours last night on Wikipedia—”

“But no one can stop it,” Aegon says. “They can’t even slow it down.”

“You think you have the gene,” you realize, horrified. “You forget things. Your hands shake. And that’s why you’re leaving Los Angeles and avoiding your family, and that’s why you’re marrying Becca—”

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” Aegon says, the first time he’s ever spat his venom at you, and his knuckles are unbruised and yet it feels like he’s hit you, a crack in a wall, bones that split and arteries that hemorrhage.

“Aegon, you can’t run away like that when you don’t even know for sure if you’re sick!”

“It’s actually really common for people in my situation to not want to take a test.”

You speak without any awareness of what you’re going to say. “I would take care of you.”

“You think I want to hear that?!” Aegon shouts. “You think I want to imagine you being there when I lose the ability to walk, and speak, and feed myself, and remember who the fuck I am?”

“I would do it,” you insist. “You believed in me. You helped me. I would help you.”

He shakes his head and glares at you, his eyes going slick and glassy. “You have no idea what you’re offering.”

“Your family has money, they can afford the best doctors and nurses. You wouldn’t be a burden on any of us, but we’d still get to be with you—”

“I saw what my dad dying did to my mom,” Aegon says bitterly, hatefully. “First he was himself, mostly. And then he was depressed, and then he was angry, and then he became a monster. He’s the reason my mother still has nightmares. He’s the reason Aemond lost his eye. You don’t do that to people you care about. You don’t inflict that on someone you love.”

“But what if you move to Texas and you’re fine, and you don’t have Huntington’s, and you don’t die and nothing terrible happens to you?!”

“Then it will be a relief,” Aegon says softly. “And I can always come back.”

“What about me?” you ask, your voice splintering. “If you’re sick, you’re just never going to see me again?”

Aegon smiles faintly, sad, resigned. “I would rather you remember me the way I am now.”

“Afraid? Avoidant? In denial?”

“Just get out,” he snaps, rubbing his face with his palms, wincing like he’s in pain.

“Aegon—”

“No, you don’t know what it’s like to watch someone die of this!” he roars, slamming his fist on the desk. Documents rustle; photographs fall over. “And if I don’t want a diagnosis, if I don’t want to live staring down the barrel of a gun, then that’s my fucking right and you don’t get to say I’m a coward for it!”

“You’re already living like you know you’re dying,” you moan, you plead. There are tears flowing down your cheeks and turning to salt on your lips; your face is hot with blood. “You don’t have anything to lose.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“But you’re making all these choices for the wrong reasons, and you deserve to know the truth, and if you take a test then you can make an informed decision about what you want your life to look like—”

“I would never pick you,” Aegon says, flat, direct, gutting. “So get that out of your head, because it’s not happening.”

You gaze at him helplessly. “Then what are we doing?”

He shrugs, like this is an idiotic question. “I’m your agent. I’m helping you get jobs.”

“That’s not what this is!” you sob. “It’s always been more than that, it’s been more than that from the very first day! Why did you sign me when no one else would? Why were you feeding me boneless spare ribs off your fork? Why did you throw me that apple?!”

Aegon is incredulous. “Why did I fuck you in this office, why did I fly to Minnesota to have dinner with your awful parents? Because I wanted to. Because I really like you, and I think I’ve been honest about that. But that doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

Never serious, you remember miserably. That’s how Aegon had described his affairs. “Does Becca know you could have Huntington’s?”

“No,” Aegon says. “But if she did, it wouldn’t change anything. She would still want to get married.”

“She would want to take care of you.”

“Yes, exactly. She would be upset for a while, yeah, but she…she needs someone to need her. Her parents were doctors, and they weren’t abusive or anything but they were gone all the time, and the house was like a museum, and now she’s…I don’t know, I guess she’s obsessed with creating warmth, and for Becca warmth means homemade bread and bento boxes and dogs and getting my suits tailored for me, and me being her full-time project…I think a part of her would enjoy that. Having me to herself, finally being the center of my universe. And when I get really bad, when I’m…” Aegon swallows noisily. “When I’m dead, she can move on. She can find someone else to marry and she can have kids, and she’ll always have that trophy on her shelf: I was a Targaryen, I was the perfect long-suffering wife. And Aegon loved me more than any of the others.”

More than me, you think. And then a ricochet of Aegon’s words: I would never pick you. “She’s not mad at you? Because of what we’ve done?”

Aegon chuckles uneasily. “I mean, I’m sure she’s not thrilled about you still being around. She’s been a little temperamental, she’s been suspicious. Right before we left for Minnesota, I woke up from a nap and she was swabbing my cheek for an STD test, can you believe that? But she knows this is temporary.”

What had Becca said the day she pushed you just outside this office? And if he was going to leave me, he has better options than you. You nod like any of this makes sense.

“Can we just be us again?” Aegon asks, and now he’s calm, gentle, exhausted. “We have a month left together. I don’t want to waste it.”

“Okay,” you say numbly.

“Don’t forget about the music video premiere tomorrow night. And I haven’t heard anything from the vampire movie people yet.” Then he adds: “That doesn’t mean you didn’t get it.”

“But it’s not a good sign.”

Aegon tries to soften the blow. “They might just be thinking it over. They might still be scheduling the callback for the other actress.”

You—unsteady, dazed, despondent—stare down at the scuffed wood floor and try in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of your sundress. “Sounds like we’ll both be leaving Los Angeles soon,” you tell Aegon; and then you walk until the walls disappear and only the city is left, sun glare, humming air conditioners, dogs barking, children laughing, engines revving, the immense metallic shadow of Downtown on the horizon.

At home in your apartment building, just as you are about to scan your keycard to unlock the front door, you hear Baela and Jace talking inside. The television is on and the microwave is purring—maybe Jace is making one of his favorite snacks, corn dogs or pizza rolls—and their voices are just barely distinguishable.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Baela asks, sounding distressed. “That I’m officially too rich and famous to need a roommate? I can’t just kick her out. It would break her heart. She’s so sweet, and I know she’s trying really hard but it’s just…well…”

“No, I get it,” Jace replies. “She’s chill.”

“It sounds like her parents are going to make her move home soon anyway, unless she lands a big part, and…you know…I don’t really see that happening.”

“Yeah.” The microwave beeps and someone pops open the door to retrieve the contents.

“So just please don’t say anything, okay? And when she’s gone in a few months we’ll start looking at apartments in Venice or Santa Monica…”

You put your back to the hallway wall and wait long enough that they won’t think you’ve overheard anything, listening to the sounds of cars whooshing by outside, people coming and going from the places where they belong in the world, and you wonder what that feels like.

~~~~~~~~~~

You stay up too late watching YouTube videos of people with Huntington’s disease, and so the next morning at Cold Stone Creamery you are in a haze, dull throbbing headache, eyes bloodshot from crying, and the frat bro you’re making a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Mintster for probably thinks you’re high but it’s the opposite: you’ve never felt lower, you’ve never been adrift like this, and you don’t know what to do next. You can’t unknot the threads fate has tied to Aegon. You can’t imagine a life for yourself back home. You can’t remember why you ever thought you’d be able to build something here in the City of Angels, glittering and golden and ever-rushing towards perfection, those who fall behind drug under the wheels.

“Can I get some gummy bears on that?” the frat boy is saying, but your gaze catches on someone behind him. The little metal bells on the glass door jingle and Aegon scrolls inside, khaki cargo shorts and a wrinkled short-sleeve white Oxford thrown over a pink tank top, and he’s traded in his Nikes for flip-flops, and his hair is gelled back from his face so you can see him clearly, vividly, and he leans against the window with daylight flooding in all around him and grins at you.

Why…?

“Can I please get some gummy bears?” the frat boy asks again.

Your manager Josh is blending up a strawberry banana smoothie and glowering at you. “Yo, what is wrong with you today?!”

But you don’t care what he’s saying, because Aegon pulls his black aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and slides them on and beams at you, and you hear the words as if he’s spoken them aloud: You are so bright, sunshine.

“I got the part?” you say from behind the counter.

Aegon nods. “You got the part.”

You scream and sprint to him, and when you throw your arms around Aegon he catches you, laughing and warm, and right now his hands are perfectly fine, steady and strong as they cradle the small of your back, the arc of your neck.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josh snaps from the blender. The frat boy, still waiting for his Cookie Mintster, is glaring at you impatiently. “I didn’t say you could take your break yet!”

“Hey,” Aegon says, taking a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and waving it around so Josh can see before dunking it in the tip jar. “She’s quitting. Call someone else.” And then he pulls you, grinning and exhilarated, out of the Cold Stone Creamery and into the August air, moving swiftly beneath a cerulean sky full of cumulus clouds, 90-degrees and diesel fumes.

“Aegon, I can’t quit yet, I still have to pay my rent—”

“I’ll pay your rent,” Aegon says. He stops when you are under the shade of a palm tree and stands there with you in the oasis. His Sebring is parked illegally in a fire lane; it is adorned with a new malady, a massive dent in the bumper. “You’re going to have costume fittings and table-reads, and you have to learn the script, and you’ll have appointments with hair and makeup, and you’ll have a personal trainer, and promo obligations…you won’t have time to work.”

“You didn’t force them to hire me, did you?” you ask, the effervescent high dissolving away. “You didn’t threaten to blacklist them with your whole family or anything, right? Because I don’t want this if it’s not real.”

“What?” Aegon says, mystified. “No. No, I swear, I wouldn’t do that. And I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d tried. First billing is a huge deal. Not even Taylor Swift has managed to buy herself a starring role in a movie yet. They liked you. They wanted you.”

The hope quivers in your voice. “I’m going to be an actress?”

Aegon smiles. “You already are one.” He takes off your red apron and your grey hat and stuffs both in a nearby trashcan. “Are you parked around here?”

You point to your Honda Accord, 2003, Desert Mist Metallic paint that gleams under the sun. “I’m just across the street.”

“You aren’t bringing Jace to the Maroon 5 thing tonight, right? Because it’s in your best interests to appear unattached.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Unattached?”

“Yeah. Being ostensibly single makes you confident and alluring and mysterious. Dragging along your mop-haired boyfriend makes you look like a high school kid at prom.”

“And how does dragging along my sulky, disillusioned Targaryen agent make me look?”

“Like a star,” Aegon replies simply.

“I’m not bringing Jace. Or anyone else besides you.”

“Great.”

“Can we drive to the premiere together?” You don’t want to be away from Aegon; you are a little petrified of the fanfare that awaits you in Downtown tonight. You have no idea what to expect.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, outwardly casual, unmistakably pleased. “I have a driver booked. We’ll swing by your apartment in the limousine around 7 p.m.”

“Why aren’t we taking the Sebring?”

“Because people don’t drive themselves to premieres, sunshine,” he says, like he’s explaining to a child an obvious and fundamental truth: the sky is blue, the Earth is round. Then he gestures to his white convertible and its sizeable new dent. “And also I keep running into things and I don’t want you in the car when I’m driving.”

Because his hands shake? Because his reflexes are slowing until they inevitably stop? “Maybe you’re just stressed because of the wedding,” you say softly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Or it’s psychosomatic. You expect to see symptoms, so you do. But really you’re fine.”

Aegon sighs as wind blows eastward from the Pacific Ocean. He wants to change the subject. You can’t stop yourself from talking. “It’s possible.”

“Maybe whatever’s wrong with you isn’t Huntington’s. Maybe it’s something else, like a vitamin deficiency or a thyroid disorder or lupus or fibromyalgia, or diabetes from all the super unhealthy food you eat. Maybe it’s something a doctor can fix.”

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Aegon says; and he kisses your cheek and climbs into his Sebring and speeds off towards the interchange of the 110.

~~~~~~~~~~

You told your parents you needed a dress for Clara’s bachelorette party so they wouldn’t yell at you when they saw the charge on the credit card. You will have to devise a new strategy for future purchases; you are running out of wedding-related excuses. The gown is electric yellow and less formal than the one you wore to the charity gala, sufficiently frivolous for a music video premiere, a V-neck and a high-low hemline. Your hair is down and your eyeshadow warm and smokey: Gilded Ganache and Semi-Sweet by Too Faced, Night Star by NARS. You drench yourself with sugary Shimmer Mist from Bath and Body Works, then realize that was probably a stupid idea. But there’s no time to try to scrub it off; Aegon has texted you that he’s five minutes away.

You click out into the kitchen in the yellow heels you found at T.J. Maxx. Jace is sprawled on the couch and bobbing his head as he sings along to a Charli XCX song pulsing out of his iPhone:

“You wanna guess the color of my underwear,

You wanna know what I got goin’ on down there…”

Baela, who had been getting a can of La Croix from the refrigerator, turns and is startled when she sees you. “You’re glittering. And that looks like a prom dress.”

You scrutinize yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it bad?”

“No!” Baela cries, overcorrecting, not wanting to hurt your feelings. “No, it’s so cute. Jace, isn’t it so cute?”

“Totally,” he says from the couch, not looking at you.

“No contrast, huh?” Baela muses, glancing at your shoes and clutch purse.

“Doesn’t yellow go with yellow…?”

“Of course it does.” She beams, too broadly. “Have fun tonight! Walk really slowly on the red carpet. It will feel ridiculous, but that’s how they get good photos. And cycle through four or five different poses. Count to ten in your head and then switch to the next one. And don’t smile too much! You’ll look creepy and your cheeks will get tired and go numb and you’ll start twitching. Do a small smile and then laugh a lot when the interviewers make their dumbass jokes. It’s good television and they’ll like you and give you more airtime.”

You try to commit this to memory. “Okay.”

“Here.” She gifts you an ice-cold can of La Croix, coconut flavored. “Drink this on the ride over, then make sure you have a lot of water at the premiere. Stay hydrated. Keeps you peppy and glowing.”

“Okay,” you say again, a good little foot soldier.

Baela gives you a quick hug goodbye; but you catch the way she frowns at your carefree hair, the deep but not-so-revealing V of your neckline. Maybe she’ll reconsider the implants thing, Baela’s face reads. You can feel cold beads of sweat bleeding from your ribs, your spine. Then you are out the door, descending in the elevator, trotting onto the sidewalk to find the limo already waiting there, black and sleek under a sky that is slowly sickening from midday blue to dusk embers. The windows are tinted so dark you can’t see anything from outside.

“Hey, sunshine,” Aegon says as you slide into the back where he is waiting in the suit he wears to auditions and film shoots and, apparently, premieres: skinny black tie, slightly rumpled and untucked white shirt. He sees the La Croix. “Don’t you not like that?”

“My roommate gave it to me.” You set the can, wet with condensation, in a cupholder. Aegon hands you an iced vanilla latte to replace it. And as you buckle your seatbelt and the limo driver coasts east to hook into the 110 and then heads dead north towards Downtown, Aegon pulls a tiny spiral notebook out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and reads off names to you: people who were involved in the production of the music video you filmed over a month ago, people to praise, people to thank. You’re trying to listen to him, but your thoughts are fuzzy and your heart is racing.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks, and you return to him and smirk guiltily.

“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Why? You’re not nervous when you’re acting.”

“Because I’ve acted a million times, but I’ve never done a red carpet before. Not even a mini one like this. What if they ask me something I’m not expecting and I freeze up? What if I accidentally offend someone? I’m always saying things that make people think I’m stupid.”

Aegon laughs lazily, peering through the window as the freeway takes you through Vermont Vista, Broadway-Manchester, Florence, blurs of houses and palm trees and graffitied concrete barriers. “Yeah, you are always saying ridiculous things. But that’s who you are, and it’s charming.”

“You think it’s charming.”

Aegon smiles at you. “I do.”

You stir your latte so the ice cubes clink together and you make a jittery little sound, half-sigh, half-whimper. Aegon puts a palm on your bare thigh, pushing the hem of your dress just above your knee; his hand is warm, and gentle, and heavy enough to ground you.

“You’re shaking,” he says, alarmed.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I’m fine. I think it’ll stop once we get there.”

Aegon lifts his hand away—no! you think, pathetically—and then unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls over to the window just behind the driver’s seat, which is all the way down. The limo driver is in his fifties, salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard, classic rock radio station. The opening notes of Dani California pump out of the speakers, the bass reverberating through the leather seats. “Hey,” Aegon says to the driver, thumping his fist on the window slot. “Roll that up.”

“Yes sir,” the driver assents immediately.

“Don’t park or unlock the doors until I tell you to.”

“Yes sir.”

The dark opaque window closes, the driver disappears, and Aegon comes back to you. He takes your half-finished latte out of your hand and places it safely in a cupholder.

You’re smiling as you ask: “What are you going to—?”

He reaches beneath your dress—tulle ruffles the color of unclouded daylight, or lemons, or butter, or sunflowers—and his fingertips know where to go, their corporeal memory is perfect, and they apply divine spiraling pressure over your panties, silk to leave no lines beneath your dress; that’s a trick Baela taught you. You gasp and clutch for the back of the seat, sweated skin on black leather, your spine arching, your blood cascading south as the freeway runs northbound.

“Are you nervous now?” Aegon whispers; and his words are taunting but his voice is hushed, and he’s in front of you, leaning in so close your lungs are filled with him, Juicy Fruit and sunlight and the heat and the city, and his other hand turns your face away from him so he won’t ruin your makeup. Instead of your lips, his mouth finds your throat and collarbones, and he kisses you there as his fingertips press down more forcefully beneath your dress, so insistent, so hungry, and you are blinded by the realization of how much you have craved him, how desperately you miss him each time you’re apart, and only being with him feels like this, you don’t belong anywhere else, and your chances to touch him are vanishing like sandcastles turned to ruins by the surf.

He’s getting married in a month.

But he’s here now, and you want him.

He’s choosing Becca.

But his hands are choosing you, and his lips, and the outline of his hardness that you can feel when he leans against your thigh, nudging your legs further apart, and surely even through the silk he can feel how wet you are.

“You shouldn’t have taken your seatbelt off,” you say breathlessly. “That’s not safe.”

Aegon laughs as if this is a ludicrous concern, and maybe he doesn’t think that dying in a car accident of a fractured skull or an aortic dissection would be the worst thing in the world. “Don’t worry about me.” He breezes the fingers of his left hand through your hair, nuzzling you, inhaling you, saccharine sweetness and young frenetic nerves, endorphins pouring from your bloodstream.

He’s good, he’s very good; but for you it can take a while, and how far is the limo from the premiere venue? “I’m not going to be able to finish—”

“Yeah you are,” Aegon says, drawing back to look at you, his eyes locked with yours; and you moan as his fingers move the strip of silk aside and sink into you, and you are filled with him as his palm keeps up the euphoric friction, and then it collides with you—knuckles, gravity, riptides, fate—and it takes everything left in you, worn wrung-out scraps, not to cry out, because you’re not alone now, and you’ve never truly been alone with him when this happens, and you know you never will be. The sweetness and the bitterness are coiled up together like threads of fabric, like the lines of a family tree.

You are still panting as Aegon sweeps his left thumbprint just beneath your eyes, clearing away the eyeliner and mascara that has begun to run as your eyes water.

“Don’t cry, sunshine,” he murmurs, concerned.

You chuckle shakily. “I’m sorry. You know I get like this.” When it’s good. When it’s with you.

“Are you still nervous?”

“No,” you answer truthfully.

“You’re going to do great.”

“What should I say?”

“Whatever you want,” Aegon tells you. “Be yourself. Be real.” Then he kisses you on your lips only once: feather-light, immaterial enough to not mar you. “Oh, we have to clean up,” he realizes, panicked, and he hasn’t thought this through.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You open the can of coconut La Croix that Baela gifted you and soak a handful of napkins that Aegon gets from the driver. You erase the evidence between your legs as best you can; Aegon cleans his hands and gives himself a generous squeeze of hand sanitizer from a tiny travel bottle in your clutch. Then he uses the corner of a napkin to dab away stray flecks of mascara on your cheeks. You check your face in the mirror of your makeup compact: dewy, but acceptable. Natural. Lived-in. Aegon rearranges a few wayward strands of your hair. You slurp down the rest of your vanilla latte. The limo is rolling to halt. You reach for the door handle.

“No,” Aegon says, stopping you. And he gets out first and then waits for you, hand open, until you emerge from the limousine and into a new world: flashbulbs, video cameras, microphones, assistants dressed in black, screaming Maroon 5 fans. Aegon fluffs the train of your electric yellow gown and then leads you into the chaos.

The music video premiere is being held at the historic Broadway Theater. The red carpet rolled out for the occasion, in a nod to the name of the band, is not a bright bloody red but a deep maroon. People are shouting and waving at you, and you have no idea what’s going on; and yet in your ribcage your heartbeat is slow and measured and strong. Aegon has a hand on the small of your back, and you think: I want it to be like this all the time. I want it to be like this forever.

Now a young man in a teal suit is rushing up to you and Aegon has disappeared to the sidelines, and the man is telling you that he is from E! News, and although he says his name you immediately forget it. You don’t panic; you smile softly and try to listen through the noise of the crowd. Now Maroon 5 has arrived and is posing for photographs as the fans screech and beg for autographs.

“So how’s your day going?” the man from E! News asks, a microphone held to your lips.

“It’s been so exciting, this morning I got to quit my job!”

The man laughs hysterically. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’ve been working at an ice cream place for months, but not anymore!”

“And do you have a passion for ice cream?”

“Not really, I just had to pay rent, you know?”

“Girl, do I ever!” the man says, still laughing. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

You smile sheepishly. “Vanilla.”

“Oh, so you’re a vanilla girl, huh?”

“I am, I really am, and I know the joke. But vanilla can be great! It’s a classic, and it’s sweet and uncomplicated, and it’s not trying to be anything it’s not. It’s pure. It’s innocent.”

“Oh my God, that was poetry! I might have to give vanilla another shot. You’ve convinced me.”

“Cool,” you say. Aegon is watching you from behind the video camera that you’ve just noticed; he is nodding, he gives you a little thumbs-up.

The man from E! News asks next: “So, ice cream expert, if I was an ice cream flavor, which one would I be?”

You ponder this. “Well someone once told me that interesting adults like strawberry, and you seem really interesting, so I’d say you’re strawberry ice cream.”

“Adorable,” the man sighs, marveling at you. “What are you going to be up to now that you aren’t working at the ice cream shop anymore?”

“Well according to my agent—and I have the best agent in the world, he’s absolute magic—I just got my first starring role in a movie.” The E! News man shrieks in excitement. “And I can’t really tell you anything more about it just yet, because I don’t know what I’m allowed to say publicly, but I’m so so so excited and so grateful, and Los Angeles is an incredible place. I’m in heaven and I’m thrilled to be here with you tonight.”

Another E! News correspondent, a woman in a salmon-colored dress, dashes in to join the conversation. She has blindingly white veneers and so much Botox she can’t move her forehead. “Could you tell us what it was like working on this music video?”

“It was an amazing experience,” you say; and in this moment you believe that, and Dan doesn’t exist, and neither does the bathtub scene that almost happened, and neither does the terror that threatened to consume you before Aegon smothered the flames. Now, Aegon is watching closely as Dan navigates the red carpet. They make split-second eye contact, Aegon glares fiercely, Dan keeps a wide swath of space between you and him as if you are radioactive, a silent poison that cooks malignancies into blood and bones. “We filmed in this gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills, and everyone involved in the production was so imaginative and professional. I got to wear outfits designed by Schiaparelli and Rodarte, oh, and Phoebe Philo, and the actor playing my awful ex-boyfriend was fantastic, and there were these weird exotic cats that kept trying to bite me…”

You keep talking and interviewers keep descending, appearing out of nowhere, and then you are posing on the red carpet—you even take a few awkward photos with Maroon 5, none of whom remember who you are—and to your surprise, several fans even ask you for an autograph. Without thinking, you add a tiny sun after you sign your name each time.

“There, a little bit of sunshine,” you say to a preteen girl who beams up at you. “Not that you need it, look how brightly you’re shining!”

As you are about to enter the theater, you glance back to see where Aegon has gone. An interviewer has entrapped him, although Aegon clearly resents being caught on camera. He’s a good sport though; he forces a smile and answers the questions. He’s being asked about you.

Aegon says: “She has a great attitude about work, and about life in general. She’s very talented. And obviously she’s beautiful, so…yeah. I feel really lucky to have found her. She’s usually the best part of my day.”

“And are we going to see you in any upcoming films?” the woman from Entertainment Tonight asks flirtatiously. “We all know you have the chops!”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles. “No. You wish. Okay, thank you very much for your time, I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

“Thank you, Aegon!” the interviewer calls out, waving, and you think: He really could have been a star if he never left acting.

You and Aegon sit together at the screening, and he keeps feeding you pieces of popcorn—your lips brushing his fingertips, salt stinging on your tongue—and you have to resist the urge, no, the gravity, the effortless instinct to rest your head on his shoulder. Maroon 5 do a panel after the music video and take questions from the audience. They manage a few comprehensible responses.

Afterwards, Aegon doesn’t take you straight home to Harbor Gateway. He doesn’t take you to his office in Elysian Park either. Instead, he tells the limo driver to follow the 101 northwest to Hollywood, and he drags you out into the cool indigo night—veined with florescence and neon—and onto the intersection of Vine Street and Sunset Boulevard at the genesis of the Walk of Fame, a trail of 2,800 stars carved into the sidewalk, into eternity.

Aegon stands on a star of this earthbound constellation and says: “You’re going to have one of these someday.”

And here under the aisle of a streetlight with Aegon smiling like that, kind and radiant, you could almost believe him.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you

115 notes · View notes