#and i say this as someone that’s been working with kids professionally their entire life

[kyunghwannie]

Love Production💫

TWICE's Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

➤Word Count: Approximately 18.8K+

➤Tags: Deepthroat, Outercourse, Sensation Play, Choking, Breeding, Impact Play (Spanking), Face Off, Reverse Cowgirl, Prone bone, Missionary, Doggy Style, Rough Anal Penetration, Creampie, Carry fucking, Squirting, Facial

➤Description: You have been a valuable asset of JYPE due to your contributions to their big artists like Stray Kids, ITZY. But you primarily were TWICE's main producer. And now, Tzuyu was having her solo debut "abouTZU" which is being lead produced by you. And during the recording time and production of her title track, You and her surely didn't only produce a song for her but something else in your heart as well

The hum of the fluorescent lights in the JYPE office building echoed faintly in the otherwise still night. You were seated at your desk in the producer's lounge, surrounded by an organized chaos of sheet music, sound mixers, and a half-empty coffee mug. The clock read 11:47 PM, but time felt irrelevant in the world of music production, where creativity often struck when the rest of the world was asleep.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, a soft groan escaping your lips. Another long day, but you didn't mind. Producing music for TWICE was both a privilege and a challenge, and you relished every moment of it. The group's diverse talents kept you on your toes, and their latest project-a solo album for a special someone-was no exception.

Tzuyu.

You'd worked with her countless times before, but there was something different about this project. It wasn't just that it was her first solo venture; it was her attitude. Despite being the youngest member of TWICE, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that often left people in awe. And yet, there was a vulnerability about her-something she rarely let slip but couldn't entirely hide. A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Y/N: "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Tzuyu stepped in, her figure framed by the warm glow of the hallway lights. She was dressed casually in an oversized hoodie and jeans, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Despite her simple attire, she radiated an effortless elegance that made you pause for a moment.

Tzuyu: "I hope I'm not interrupting."

You shook your head, gesturing for her to come in.

Y/N: "Not at all. I was just going over some tracks for tomorrow's session."

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her gaze flickered to the cluttered desk, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Tzuyu: "You work too much."

Y/N: "Says the idol who spends half her life in dance practice and the other half recording."

She chuckled, the sound light and melodic, as she took a seat on the couch across from you.

Tzuyu: "Touché. But at least I get breaks. When was the last time you took one?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

Y/N: "Breaks are overrated. Besides, someone has to make sure your album sounds perfect."

Her cheeks tinted a faint pink at your words, and she quickly looked away, pretending to study the guitar leaning against the wall.

Tzuyu: "No pressure, right?"

Y/N: "Pressure? Nah. If anything, it's exciting. You're ridiculously talented, Tzuyu. It's just about bringing that out in the music."

She glanced back at you, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, she settled for a quiet "thank you," her voice almost too soft to hear. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with familiarity. You'd known Tzuyu for years, ever since you joined JYPE as a producer. Back then, you were just a fresh face trying to prove yourself, and TWICE was already a global phenomenon. Despite the overwhelming star power, Tzuyu had always been approachable, though reserved. Over time, you'd built a rapport-a professional camaraderie that occasionally dipped into moments of genuine friendship. You admired her work ethic and her ability to stay grounded despite the chaos of fame.

Y/N: "So, what brings you here this late?"

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I couldn't sleep. And I figured you'd be here."

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Y/N: "What gave it away? The never-ending coffee supply?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Tzuyu: "That, and you're predictable."

Y/N: "Ouch. Should I be offended?"

Tzuyu: "No, it's... comforting, actually. Knowing you're always around."

Her words caught you off guard, but you quickly recovered, offering a lighthearted grin.

Y/N: "Well, someone has to keep you idols in check."

She rolled her eyes but didn't respond, her gaze drifting to the window. The city lights shimmered in the distance, casting a soft glow that reflected in her eyes. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tzuyu: "Do you ever feel like... you're not enough?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You straightened in your seat, studying her expression.

Y/N: "Is this about the album?"

She shook her head, her hands clasping tightly in her lap.

Tzuyu: "It's everything. Being in TWICE, living up to expectations, trying to prove that I'm more than just the youngest member or 'the visual.' Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it's not enough."

Her vulnerability took you by surprise. Tzuyu was always so composed, so poised. Seeing her like this-raw and uncertain-made your chest tighten. You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees as you spoke.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, listen to me. You're more than enough. You're talented, hardworking, and you care about what you do. That's all that matters. And anyone who doesn't see that? They're not worth your time."

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw them glisten with unshed tears.

Tzuyu: "Do you really think so?"

Y/N: "I know so. And if you ever need a reminder, just come find me. I'll set you straight."

A small smile broke through her solemn expression, and she nodded.

Tzuyu: "Thank you, Y/N."

Y/N: "Anytime."

The tension in the room eased, replaced by a newfound sense of connection. You weren't sure what had prompted her to open up, but you were glad she had. Tzuyu was strong, but even the strongest people needed someone to lean on sometimes.

She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I should probably let you get back to work."

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

Y/N: "Stay. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

She hesitated for a moment before sitting back down, her posture more relaxed this time.

Tzuyu: "Alright. But only if you promise to take a break soon."

Y/N: "Deal."

The two of you exchanged smiles, the air between you lighter now. As the rain began to patter softly against the window, you couldn't help but feel like this was the start of something different-something more.

The clock on the studio wall ticked past midnight, its hands moving steadily into the early hours of the morning. The dimly lit room was filled with the soft hum of equipment and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You sat behind the mixing console, adjusting levels and fine-tuning the track for Tzuyu's solo song, "Run Away." The lead single from her debut mini-album, abouTZU, it was a synth-pop track with nostalgic piano melodies and a bold synth bass that evoked a sound reminiscent of the late 2000s to mid-2010s. Tzuyu stood in the recording booth, her headphones snug over her ears, and a focused expression on her face. She had been practicing the song tirelessly, determined to deliver a performance that would captivate her audience and showcase her growth as an artist.

Y/N: "Alright, Tzuyu, let's take it from the top. Remember to channel the emotion we discussed earlier. Feel the lyrics and let them guide your voice."

She nodded, her eyes meeting yours through the glass window separating the booth from the control room. The instrumental intro began to play, the nostalgic piano melodies setting the tone. As the verse approached, Tzuyu took a deep breath and began to sing.

Tzuyu: "이건 내 warning 날 향한 네 yearning. 정말 확실한 건지 널 내게 turn in, 한 후엔 no turning back..."

Her voice was clear and melodic, but there was a hint of hesitation, a barrier preventing her from fully immersing herself in the song's emotion. You stopped the track and pressed the talkback button.

Y/N: "That was good, but I think you can dig deeper. This song is about yearning and the desire to escape. Try to connect with those feelings and let them come through in your performance."

Tzuyu bit her lip, nodding slowly. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching within herself for the emotions needed to convey the song's message.

Tzuyu: "Okay, I'll try again."

The track restarted, and this time, as she sang, there was a noticeable difference. Her voice carried a depth of emotion that resonated with the song's themes. You could feel the yearning in her tone, the desire to break free and run away from the constraints holding her back.

Tzuyu: "Run, run away. I'll give you a chance before it's too late. Once you're in my arms, You will beg, beg to stay..."

As the chorus approached, she poured her heart into the performance, her voice soaring with passion. You watched, captivated by the transformation. This was the Tzuyu you knew she could be-vulnerable, expressive, and utterly compelling. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence. Tzuyu looked up, her eyes searching for your reaction.

Y/N: "That was incredible, Tzuyu. You really brought the song to life."

A shy smile spread across her face, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Tzuyu: "Thank you. I felt more connected that time."

Y/N: "It definitely showed. Let's do a few more takes to capture that same energy, and I think we'll have it."

Over the next hour, Tzuyu delivered several more stellar performances, each one imbued with the same emotional depth. As the final notes of the last take faded, you leaned back in your chair, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

Y/N: "I think we've got everything we need. Great job tonight."

Tzuyu stepped out of the booth, her face flushed with exertion but glowing with pride.

Tzuyu: smiles at you "I couldn't have done it without your guidance. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper."

Y/N: "It's all you, Tzuyu. I just helped you find what was already there."

She looked down, a hint of bashfulness in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Still, I appreciate it."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest at her gratitude.

Y/N: "Anytime. Now, how about we take a break? I think we've earned it."

She nodded, and the two of you settled into the studio's lounge area, the atmosphere relaxed and comfortable.

Tzuyu: "You know, this song means a lot to me. It's about wanting to escape, to find freedom. Sometimes, with all the pressures of being an idol, I feel that way."

Her admission was candid, and you felt honored that she trusted you enough to share her feelings.

Y/N: "I can understand that. It's important to have an outlet, a way to express those feelings. Music can be that escape."

She looked at you, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude.

Tzuyu: "I'm glad I have someone like you to help me through it."

The connection between you deepened in that moment, a shared understanding passing silently between you.

Y/N: "And I'm glad to be here for you."

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. In the quiet intimacy of the studio, amidst the shared passion for music, something new and beautiful began to blossom. The low hum of the studio was replaced with an eerie silence after Tzuyu finished the last take for her solo track. You turned away from the mixing desk, stretching your back as the weight of the late hour finally caught up to you. Your fingers ached from adjusting levels all night, but there was a sense of accomplishment, of creative fulfillment that came with a job well done. You glanced at the clock on the wall: 2:45 AM. Tzuyu stepped out of the recording booth, her light footsteps padding softly on the polished floor. She let out a yawn, her long hair slightly messy, her face flushed with a mixture of fatigue and satisfaction.

Tzuyu: "That was intense..."

She smiled, her eyes still soft with the lingering emotion of the song. You couldn't help but admire her, the way she could pour herself into her work, the quiet intensity in everything she did. She looked a little more vulnerable tonight-tired, but still glowing.

Y/N: "You did great, Tzuyu. I think we've got a perfect take. You really nailed the emotion in that last one."

Tzuyu tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her shoulders dropping in relief. She looked like she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders during the recording, but now, there was a sense of ease in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Thank you... I was nervous at first, but... after you gave me that feedback, I felt like I could really let go."

She walked over to the lounge area, a small corner of the studio with a couple of couches and a table covered in snack wrappers and empty cups of coffee. You followed her, taking a seat across from her.

Y/N: "I'm glad. Sometimes, it's just about finding that moment where you can really connect with the music. You were amazing tonight."

Tzuyu smiled, and for a moment, the tiredness in her eyes was replaced by something else-gratitude, maybe even a little bashfulness. She picked up a half-empty bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a sip. The sound of the water pouring into the bottle felt almost therapeutic.

Tzuyu: "You know, I was kind of nervous about doing this solo album. Being a part of TWICE is one thing, but this... it feels more personal, you know?"

Y/N: "I get that. Being solo means you're fully in control of your sound, your image. It's a lot more vulnerable, but I think it's also a chance for people to see a different side of you. You've got this, Tzuyu."

She nodded thoughtfully, looking down at her water bottle. There was a pause, a quiet moment between the two of you where neither of you spoke. It felt peaceful, like a mutual understanding had passed between you. Tzuyu wasn't just the idol you worked with; she was someone who had her own fears and dreams, someone who trusted you to guide her through this new step in her career.

She leaned back on the couch, her arms resting on the back as she looked up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

Tzuyu: "I guess... I never really talked about how overwhelming all of this can be. The expectations, the pressure... sometimes it feels like I'm just supposed to be this perfect image."

Y/N: "But you're not just an image, Tzuyu. You're human. And that's what makes your music so special. It's your voice, your heart that comes through in everything you do."

She turned her gaze back to you, her eyes soft and appreciative. There was something about the way she looked at you, a quiet vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

Tzuyu: "Thanks, Y/N. You always know just what to say."

You could feel the weight of the moment, the quiet understanding that hung in the air between you two. It wasn't the kind of bond you usually shared with colleagues. It was different. Tzuyu was always kind, but tonight there was something more-something more open. It made you wonder how long this had been growing, this unspoken connection between the two of you.

Y/N: "Well, someone's got to keep you grounded."

You chuckled lightly, trying to ease the growing tension. Tzuyu laughed softly, the sound light and melodic, and for a second, everything felt lighter. She reached over and grabbed a packet of chips from the table, her fingers brushing against the edge of your hand as she did. It was subtle, but it didn't go unnoticed. You both pulled your hands away quickly, but the air seemed charged for a split second.

Tzuyu: "You're right. Sometimes I feel like I need someone to remind me to breathe."

You took a moment to reflect on her words. For all her success, for all the grace and poise she carried herself with onstage, Tzuyu was still someone who had to fight through self-doubt and the overwhelming weight of expectations. She was only human, after all.

Y/N: "Well, I'm happy to remind you to breathe. Just make sure you take care of yourself too, okay? Music can be all-consuming, but you need time to just... be yourself."

Tzuyu smiled, her eyes meeting yours again. There was a warmth in her gaze, something that went beyond professional appreciation.

Tzuyu: "You're right. I think I forget that sometimes."

She sat up, moving a little closer, as if the closeness between you both was starting to feel more comfortable. The studio, which had felt like a sterile work environment just hours ago, suddenly felt like a space where time could slow down.

Tzuyu: "Can we take a little longer break? I don't want this night to end just yet."

You nodded, suddenly aware of how late it was. The recording session had gone on for hours, and yet, there was still this unspoken desire to extend the time you shared together, to keep talking and to share moments in this little studio world you two had created.

Y/N: "Yeah, I'd like that too."

Tzuyu smiled, and this time, it wasn't just a polite smile. It was one of genuine affection, one that made you feel warm inside. She scooted over so she was sitting closer to you, her legs brushing against yours as she settled into a more comfortable position. There was a small, playful spark in her eyes now, something that hinted at her usual playful demeanor but softened by the quiet mood of the moment.

The world outside felt like it had slowed down, the rain creating a sense of peace that allowed everything else to fade into the background. It was just you and Tzuyu in this small corner of the studio, sharing a moment of quiet comfort in the middle of the night. As the rain continued to pour outside, the rhythmic patter on the windows grew almost hypnotic, like a gentle lullaby coaxing the world to rest. Inside the studio, the atmosphere was warm and calm, and you found yourself sinking further into the comfort of the moment with Tzuyu. Her presence beside you felt effortless, like this was where you were meant to be-two people in the quiet, simply enjoying each other's company. Tzuyu stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She looked over at you, her expression soft, and for a moment, the exhaustion from the recording session seemed to vanish. It was replaced by something more relaxed, more human.

Tzuyu: "I think... I think this is the most relaxed I've felt in a while." She shot you a wide smile.

You turned your head to face her, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'm glad you're able to unwind. It's been a long night, and you deserve it." Her eyes met yours, and this time, there was something deeper in the way she looked at you. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, but neither of you seemed to mind. It felt natural, comfortable, like it was a continuation of the quiet bond you had started building hours ago.

Tzuyu: "It's rare that I get time like this... just to sit and talk. I'm always running around or on stage, but moments like these, where I'm just... here, with someone who gets it, feel nice."

Her words hung in the air, and they felt heavier than anything you'd heard in a long time. Tzuyu wasn't just talking about the music industry or her work. She was talking about the moments in life when you could truly connect with someone, when you didn't have to hide behind a persona or the noise of the world around you. You were just two people, existing in the same space, sharing a quiet, honest moment. You leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing your arms, allowing the peaceful moment to settle in.

Y/N: "I get it. You know, I've always admired how well you handle everything. You make it seem so effortless. But I also know that behind all that, you have moments like this-when you just want to breathe."

Tzuyu smiled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her coffee cup.

Tzuyu:"I think everyone has those moments, right? When they just need to catch their breath?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. It was a humbling reminder that, no matter how successful someone might seem, they too had their quiet struggles, their moments of doubt. Tzuyu had just shared one of those with you. And that vulnerability, that openness, made her even more real, more relatable than she had ever been in the studio lights.

Y/N: "Of course. And you deserve to take those moments whenever you need them."

Tzuyu let out a small, content sigh, her gaze softening as she let her head rest against the back of the couch. The way she seemed to settle into the space beside you felt... natural, as if she were finding peace in the moment, in the quiet, in your company. There was a sense of trust here, a sense of calm between the two of you that had developed over the course of the night.

Tzuyu: "It's nice to just... be with someone who understands. I feel like I don't always have to explain myself. You know?"

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat. There was an intimacy in what she had just said, a rawness that made you feel incredibly close to her in that moment. You didn't need words to convey the understanding between you two. It was there in the way she held your gaze, the way she relaxed into the couch beside you. You could feel the air between you shift just slightly, like the space between you was shrinking, becoming more charged with something you couldn't quite put a name to.

Y/N: "I get that," you said softly. "I never want you to feel like you have to explain anything to me, Tzuyu. Not about your music, not about you..."

Tzuyu blinked a couple of times, her eyes softening further. She seemed almost... moved by your words. Her hand shifted slightly, now closer to yours, and for a brief moment, your fingers brushed against each other. It was a simple touch, but it sent a shiver through your body, something unspoken passing between you both. She looked down at her hand, then back up at you, a playful glint returning to her eyes.

Tzuyu: "You know, I think I like the way you see me. Like I'm not just Tzuyu to you as in TWICE."

The quiet intensity of her gaze made your heart race. She had caught you off guard with that statement, but it also made you realize something-you had never seen her as just another idol. Tzuyu was more than that, and tonight, it was impossible to deny how strong the connection between the two of you was becoming.

Y/N: "You're not just another idol to me, Tzuyu. Though iam honoured that you like smth about me at least"

She smiled again, this time a little more coy, a little more knowing. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as if she were contemplating something. You could feel the energy shift between you, the tension building as the moments stretched on.

Tzuyu: "Good. Because... I don't think I want to be just an idol to you."

You felt your pulse quicken at her words. The underlying meaning was clear, but neither of you had openly acknowledged it yet. Still, the words hung in the air, and the more you let them linger, the more you realized that you, too, were starting to feel something stronger than just professional admiration. Something deeper.

Y/N: "I think... I don't want you to be just an idol to me either."

The words felt like a revelation, like something that had been buried beneath layers of professionalism was finally surfacing. Tzuyu's eyes softened at your confession, her lips curling into a smile that was both gentle and full of promise. She moved just a little closer, her hand resting a little closer to yours. You could feel the warmth of her proximity, the electricity that seemed to crackle between you. Her hand gently brushed against yours again, this time lingering for just a heartbeat longer. And then, her fingers curled lightly around yours, a silent invitation for you to hold her hand. And you did.

The night was winding down, but the energy between you and Tzuyu hadn't quite fizzled out. The rain had softened into a steady patter against the windows, and the dim lights of the studio illuminated the room in a soft glow. You both sat close to one another, yet there was an undeniable distance between you two-one that was begging to be bridged. Tzuyu's hand, still resting lightly in yours, felt like the spark you'd been waiting for all night. The quiet tension between you two had grown, each moment stretching the boundaries of your professional relationship, moving it into something more.

Y/N: "Tzuyu..."

You spoke her name softly, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the silence. She turned her head to look at you, her eyes still soft but filled with curiosity. Her hand squeezed yours lightly, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

Tzuyu: "Hmm?"

Her voice was soft, almost teasing, like she knew you were on the verge of saying something important. The air between you two felt thick with anticipation, but you didn't know where to begin. There was an almost magnetic pull between you and her, an invisible force drawing you in. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, stretching the space between you two thinner and thinner.

Y/N: "You're... really something else, Tzuyu."

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled with mischief at your words. She raised an eyebrow, teasingly.

Tzuyu: "What do you mean?"

You glanced at her, noting how her lips curled into that coy smile, how her fingers still intertwined with yours, almost as if she were testing the waters. Her playfulness made you want to dive deeper, but you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you.

Y/N: "I mean... just... you." You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck in nervousness. "I've been around a lot of people, Tzuyu. But there's something different about you. Something that... I don't know, makes me feel like I want to know you more. In a way that goes beyond just... work."

Tzuyu didn't speak right away. Instead, she regarded you with a thoughtful expression, her fingers playing gently with yours as if she were weighing your words.

Tzuyu: "I feel the same way."

Her words hit you like a wave, and your heart skipped a beat. The simple honesty of it made the room feel even smaller, more intimate. The barrier that had been there between you both-unspoken, but undeniably present-seemed to dissolve in that single sentence. The space between you two was suddenly charged. Her fingers tightened around yours, the contact sparking something deep within you. Your body leaned in just slightly, and she mirrored the movement without hesitation, closing the small gap between you. There was no longer any distance, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Tzuyu: "You're not like other people, you know that?"

You felt a soft laugh bubble up in your throat at her words. The way she said it was almost serious, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

Y/N: "You're not so bad yourself."

Tzuyu chuckled, her laughter melodic and warm. It made the atmosphere around you feel even more comforting. The way she was looking at you, the quiet intensity in her gaze, made your pulse quicken. She seemed to be studying you, reading the silent language between you both. And in that moment, you realized just how much you wanted to be closer to her. She leaned in, her lips just inches from your ear as she spoke softly.

Tzuyu: "Do you feel it too? The spark?"

You didn't even hesitate. Your voice was low and sincere as you nodded, your eyes locking with hers.

Y/N: "Yeah, I do."

And before either of you could say another word, the tension finally broke. Tzuyu closed the remaining distance, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender but full of intention. It wasn't rushed or frantic-it was as if the world had paused just for the two of you. She pulled you closer, her free hand gently cupping your cheek, as if grounding her to you. Tzuyu's fingers slid up to your jaw, her touch light but deliberate. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the connection between you both intensifying with every second that passed. The world outside seemed to disappear, and it was just you and Tzuyu in that moment-two people who had been circling around each other for hours, waiting for the right time to finally close the gap. When you pulled away for a brief second, Tzuyu's eyes were wide, a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. Her lips were slightly parted, and she let out a small, shaky breath.

Tzuyu: "Wow. I didn't think it would feel like that."

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as you leaned your forehead against hers.

Y/N: "Neither did I."

But the truth was, you both had known from the very beginning that this moment was inevitable. The sparks had been there from the start-the chemistry, the shared understanding, the quiet tension that had built up over time. And now, here you were, finally acknowledging what had been simmering beneath the surface all along. Tzuyu smiled softly, her hand now resting against your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her palm. Her touch was gentle, but there was an undeniable warmth radiating from her that made you feel grounded.

Tzuyu: "You... make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in her words made your heart race. You felt your own emotions swell as you pulled her closer again, this time not as a colleague, not as an artist and producer-but as two people who had found something unexpected in each other.

Y/N: "I'm glad I'm here with you, Tzu." Her smile was all you needed. It was a promise, an unspoken vow that whatever this was-whatever it had become-it was real. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything in your life had finally clicked into place.

As the rain continued to pour outside, you stayed there with her, savoring the quiet, the closeness, and the feeling that something beautiful was just beginning. The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of rain against the windows. You had been sitting in front of your computer screen, reviewing Tzuyu's recent recordings for her upcoming solo album, but you couldn't focus. Your mind kept drifting back to her-the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she seemed to carry herself with such grace and confidence. The longer you spent with her, the more you realized that there was something about her that made everything feel right.

Tzuyu had stepped out for a quick break, giving you the time you needed to clear your head. But it hadn't worked. The quiet space only gave you more time to think, to realize just how much you cared for her, how much you wanted to be close to her. And now, with her absence in the room, you couldn't ignore the truth any longer: You were falling for her. Hard. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Tzuyu standing there, her long hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She had changed into a more comfortable outfit-a simple hoodie and jeans-but the way she carried herself still made her look effortlessly beautiful.

Tzuyu: "I'm back," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody. "Got caught up in a few things." You smiled, though you could feel the tension in the air between you both. The moments you shared earlier had been lighthearted, playful even, but now that she was back, it felt different. The atmosphere was thick with something unspoken. You both stood at the edge of something, neither one willing to take that first step.

Tzuyu moved to sit beside you at the desk, her gaze meeting yours. There was a softness in her eyes, but also a flicker of curiosity-like she could sense the shift in the air too. Her fingers brushed against yours as she reached for the coffee cup you had placed beside the keyboard. The touch sent a shock through your body, and you had to fight the urge to pull back, to avoid the growing tension between you two. You swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. You had been so sure of your feelings before, but now that the moment had come, you weren't sure what to say. The words were stuck in your throat, and you struggled to find the courage to speak them.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, there's something I need to tell you."

She paused, her hand frozen in mid-air as she looked at you. There was an intensity in her gaze, and for the first time, it felt like you were truly seen. The playful banter and the friendly gestures from earlier were gone, replaced with something deeper. Something real.

Tzuyu: "What is it?" Her voice was soft, almost tentative, like she was bracing herself for something important.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This was it. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the moment where everything could change. You looked at her, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was the truth.

Y/N: "I've been trying to ignore it, to pretend like it's just... you know, nothing. But it's not nothing. Tzuyu, I... I think I'm falling for you. I know i said before that it was just liking and feeling the spark you talked about. But tbh, it felt like lying to myself because It's not only liking for you that i have."

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain, like they could shatter everything between you two. You watched her face closely, waiting for a reaction-any reaction. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the nerves twisting in your stomach. Tzuyu didn't say anything for a long moment. She just sat there, staring at you with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if she was shocked, confused, or... something else entirely. You felt your anxiety rising, and before you could say anything else, she spoke.

Tzuyu: "You're... falling for me?"

The way she said it was gentle, almost like she was trying to understand it, to make sense of the words. Her voice was soft, and you could see a small blush creeping onto her cheeks even though her expression had concentration and subtle tension

Y/N: "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know when it happened, but... it's been building up, and now I can't ignore it anymore. I care about you, Tzuyu. More than I should, maybe, but I do."

Tzuyu blinked a few times, clearly processing your confession. She let out a small, nervous laugh, her eyes not leaving yours.

Tzuyu: "I had a feeling... I mean, I've been feeling something too. But I didn't want to say anything because... well, I didn't know if you felt the same way."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You weren't alone in this. She felt it too. Her gaze finally softening as she leaned in closer. Her hand found yours again, and this time, you didn't pull away. You let her fingers intertwine with yours, the contact warm and reassuring.

Tzuyu: "I didn't want to admit it either, but... I really like you, Y/N. More than I thought I would."

The air between you two shifted again, this time in a way that made you feel lighter, more at ease. The tension had melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth that filled the room. You smiled, your thumb gently brushing against the back of her hand.

Y/N: "I'm glad... I was afraid I might have ruined everything by saying it."

Tzuyu shook her head, her smile growing wider.

Tzuyu: "No, you didn't ruin anything. I'm happy you said it."

There was a quiet moment where you both just sat there, hands still entwined, the weight of your confession sinking in. The uncertainty that had plagued the air earlier was gone now, replaced by a shared understanding. You both knew where this was going, and it felt... right.

Y/N: "So, what now?"

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled as she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing your ear.

Tzuyu: "Well... I think we should take it slow. But if you want, we can figure it out together."

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness. She wasn't pulling away; she was leaning into this, just like you. And just like that, it felt like everything had fallen into place. You both leaned back into your seats, still holding hands, as the quiet music of the studio filled the space between you. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, but inside, everything felt peaceful. You didn't need to rush. You didn't need to figure it all out right now. All that mattered was that, for the first time in a long time, you both understood each other-and that was enough.

---------

The quiet hum of the studio equipment fades into the background as Tzuyu’s fingers tighten around yours, her breath hitching ever so slightly. The air between you two crackles with something new—something hungry. Her dark eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, a shy but unmistakable desire burning behind her gaze.

"Y/N…" Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with a nervous tremor. "I-I’ve never… done this before. But I want to. With you."

Your thumb strokes the back of her hand gently, reassuringly. "We don’t have to rush, Tzuyu. You did say we can take it slow. We can stop anytime—"

She shakes her head, cutting you off with a sudden boldness that surprises you both. Her free hand lifts, fingertips brushing against your jawline before sliding down your neck, over your collarbone, and finally resting against your chest. You can feel your heartbeat thundering under her palm. "I don’t want to stop, i changed my mind," she murmurs, her voice dropping lower, huskier. "I’ve thought about this… about you… too much."

Before you can respond, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that starts soft—hesitant—but quickly deepens as her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You groan into her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as the other grips her waist, pulling her closer until she’s straddling your lap. The heat of her body against yours is intoxicating, her hips grinding down instinctively, making your cock twitch painfully against the confines of your pants.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen. "Fuck…" she breathes, eyes darting down to where your erection strains against your zipper. "I knew you’d be big, but—" Her fingers tremble as she undoes your belt, then your button, her breath coming in short, eager bursts. "Can I… see it?"

You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help her tug your pants and boxers down just enough for your cock to spring free, thick and already leaking at the tip. Tzuyu’s lips part in a silent gasp, her fingers wrapping around your shaft experimentally, giving it a slow, tentative stroke. A bead of pre-cum glistens at your slit, and before you can even process it, she leans down, her tongue darting out to lick it up with a soft "Mmmf~" that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Shit, Tzuyu—" you choke out, hips bucking slightly as her warm, wet mouth closes around your tip, sucking gently. Her doe eyes flick up to yours, watching your reaction as she takes you deeper, her lips stretching obscenely around your girth. "Fuck, your mouth feels—ahh~!"

She moans around your cock, the vibration making your toes curl, and then—without warning—she pushes further, her nose brushing against your pelvis as she takes you all the way down her throat. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t pull back, her throat fluttering around you as she gags slightly before relaxing, adjusting. "Hnngh~! Tzuyu, you’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep—"

She pulls off with a lewd pop, saliva stringing from her lips to your cock as she pants, her voice wrecked already. "Good," she rasps, her fingers stroking you lazily. "I want to taste you… all of you." And then she dives back down, swallowing you whole again, her head bobbing faster now, her free hand cupping your balls, massaging them as she works your length with a desperation that belies her earlier shyness. The wet, filthy sounds of her throat taking you fill the studio, her muffled whimpers of "Nggh~! Mmmf—!" sending you hurtling toward the edge. You fist her hair, not forcing, just holding, as your hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into her mouth. "Tzuyu, I’m—I’m gonna—"

She hums in response, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes you deeper, her throat milking you as you finally spill down it with a broken groan, your cum flooding her mouth in thick, hot pulses. She swallows every drop, her tongue lapping at your oversensitive tip until you’re twitching, oversensitive, pulling her off with a gasp. She sits back on her heels, lips glistening, chin slick with spit, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she meets your dazed gaze.

"Did… did I do okay?" she asks, voice small but her eyes gleaming with something smug, something hungry. You let out a breathless laugh, dragging her into a searing kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. "More than okay. Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me." She giggles—soft, sweet, and sinful—her fingers already trailing lower, toward the button of her own jeans. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet."

Tzuyu pulls back from the kiss with a devilish glint in her eyes, her fingers already working the button of her jeans. She stands up slowly, swaying her hips just enough to make your mouth go dry as she shimmies out of the denim, revealing toned thighs and that mouthwateringly tight ass of hers—round, plush, and begging to be gripped. The way her panties cling to her curves makes your cock twitch again, already half-hard from the sight alone. "Like what you see?" she teases, biting her lower lip as she peels off her top next, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts—not big, but perky, perfectly shaped, her nipples already pebbled under the thin fabric of her bra—make your fingers itch to touch. She unhooks the clasp with practiced ease, letting the garment drop, and your breath catches.

Goddess. Absolute fucking goddess.

She steps closer, her bare skin glowing under the dim studio lights, her abdomen soft yet toned, her hips sinfully curved, leading your gaze downward like a temptation you can’t resist. She kneels between your legs again, her fingers tracing up your thighs before wrapping around your cock, already hardening again under her touch. "Y/N…" Her voice is sweet, almost innocent, but the way her thumb swipes over your leaking tip is anything but. "Can I try something?"

You nod, swallowing hard as she leans in, her lips brushing against your shaft before she looks up at you through her lashes, doe-eyed and demure—but the words that leave her mouth are anything but.

"I want to choke on it." Your brain short-circuits. Did she just—?

Before you can even process it, she’s taking you deep, too deep, her throat fluttering around you as she forces herself down until her nose presses into your pelvis. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t pull back, her fingers digging into your thighs as she holds herself there, gagging slightly before relaxing, her throat milking you. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—!" You instinctively thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just guiding, your voice strained. "You don’t have to—ahh~!—hurt yourself, Tzu."

She pulls off with a wet gasp, saliva dripping from her swollen lips, her chest heaving. "I like it," she admits, voice wrecked, her fingers stroking you lazily. "Feels… good. Like you’re claiming me." Your cock throbs at her words, at the filthy way she says them—so sweetly, so earnestly, like she’s confessing something sacred. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"You’re perfect," you murmur, heart swelling as she nuzzles into your touch. "But I don’t want you to push too hard, okay? We go at your pace." She smiles—genuine, warm—before her expression shifts into something hungrier, her tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length. "Then let me practice," she purrs, before swallowing you down again, deeper, slower, her throat working around you like she was made for this

. And as her head bobs, her moans vibrating against your cock, her free hand sneaking between her own thighs—fuck, is she touching herself?—you realize one thing with dizzying clarity: This angel-faced, soft-spoken, Tzuyu you think you knew? She’s a fucking needy slut for you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tzuyu pulls off your cock with a lewd, wet pop, her lips glistening with a mix of spit and your cum. She looks up at you through her lashes, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven—and there’s something unbearably smug in her expression as she licks her lips clean. "You came so fast," she murmurs, her voice a mix of awe and pride. "Was I… that good?"

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Too good," you admit, your thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I didn’t expect you to be so… natural at this." She giggles—soft, sweet, but with an undercurrent of something darker, something hungry. Her hands trail up your thighs before she rises, straddling your lap again, her bare skin pressed flush against yours. The heat of her is intoxicating, her perky tits brushing against your chest as she leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. "I like it," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you lose control because of me. It makes me feel… loved."

Your heart clenches at her words, at the raw honesty in them. You cup her face, pulling her into a slow, deep kiss, your tongue sliding against hers in a lazy dance. She melts into it, her fingers tangling in your hair, her hips grinding down against yours in slow, teasing circles. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark, her lips swollen. "I want to make love first," she murmurs, her fingers trailing down your chest. "Before we… fuck."

You blink, tilting your head. "What’s the difference?"

She bites her lip, her fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. Slowly, teasingly, she peels them off, revealing smooth, flawless skin, the faintest hint of pink between her thighs. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. "Making love is… slow," she explains, her voice trembling slightly as she guides your hand between her legs. "Gentle. Like you’re worshipping me." Her breath hitches as your fingers brush over her slick folds, her hips jerking slightly at the contact. "Fucking is… harder. Rougher. When you ruin me."

Your cock twitches against her thigh at her words, at the way her voice drops into something filthy despite her innocent face. But then her next words make your heart stop. "I’m a virgin," she admits, her eyes locked onto yours. "But… don’t worry about blood. My hymen tore a long time ago from using tampons." She swallows, her fingers tightening around yours. "I just… I want you to be my first. In every way." Your chest tightens, your grip on her hip unconsciously tightening. "Tzuyu…" She silences you with a kiss, her body pressing closer, her warmth seeping into you. "Please," she breathes against your lips. "I want to feel you. All of you."

You nod, your hands sliding down to grip her thighs, lifting her slightly as you shift, laying her back against the studio couch. Her breath comes in short, eager bursts as you hover over her, your eyes tracing every inch of her—her perfect tits, her toned stomach, the way her hips curve, the drenched heat between her thighs. You kiss her again, slow, deep, your hands mapping her body like you’re memorizing her. She arches into your touch, her nails digging into your shoulders as you trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, finally taking one pert nipple into your mouth. She gasps, her back arching off the couch as you suck, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak.

"Ahh~! Y/N—!" Her voice is already wrecked, her hips grinding up against nothing, seeking friction. "P-please…" You smile against her skin, your hand sliding down her stomach, fingers dipping between her folds. She’s soaked, her arousal coating your fingers as you circle her clit, slow, teasing.

"You’re dripping, Tzuyu," you murmur, your thumb pressing down just hard enough to make her whimper. "All for me?" She nods frantically, her legs spreading wider, inviting you in. "A-all for you," she whines, her back arching as you slide a finger into her, her tight walls clenching around you. "F-fuck, more—!" You add a second finger, curling them just right, and her entire body jolts, her moans turning shrill, desperate. "Hahhh~! There, there, there—!"

You watch, mesmerized, as she falls apart under your touch, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry, her thighs trembling around your hand. She collapses back against the couch, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. You lean down, kissing her gently as she comes down, her fingers weakly tangling in your hair. "Ready?" you whisper against her lips. She nods, her eyes hazy but determined. "I want you inside me," she breathes. "Now."

You don’t make her wait. You line yourself up, your cock pressing against her entrance, and with one slow, agonizing thrust, you sink into her, her tight heat engulfing you.

She gasps, her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Oh fuck—!" she chokes out, her walls fluttering around you. "S-so big—!" You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you still, letting her adjust. "Okay?" you rasp, your voice strained with the effort of not pounding into her. She nods, her hips rolling experimentally, making you both groan. "M-move," she whimpers. "Please, move."

You obey, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, slow, deep, worshipping her like she asked. Her breath hitches with every thrust, her moans soft, sweet, her body melting into yours. This—this is making love. The way she clings to you, the way her lips find yours in messy, desperate kisses, the way she whimpers your name like a prayer— And when her second orgasm hits, when she screams but trying to lower it, her walls milking you, you know— You’re ruined for anyone else. Just like she wanted.

Tzuyu's tight, velvety walls clench around your thick cock as she rides you in the intimate face-off position—her forehead pressed desperately against yours, her breath hot and ragged against your lips. Every slow, deep thrust draws a whimper from her swollen mouth, her nails digging crescent moons into your shoulders as she bounces in your lap, taking you deeper with each roll of her hips. "Y/N—ahh~! F-feels so... so good inside me," she gasps, her voice trembling with each upward grind of your cock against her sensitive walls. Her slick arousal coats your length, the lewd squelch of her dripping pussy filling the studio air as she clings to you, her body trembling on the edge of another climax.

You exhale sharply, your hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements—slow, deep, worshipping—just like she wanted. The way her tight cunt grips you, the way her breath hitches every time you bottom out inside her, the way her swollen clit rubs against your pelvis with every bounce— It’s maddening.

But despite the overwhelming pleasure, you force yourself to hold back, your teeth gritting as you slow her hips. "Tzuyu—fuck, I’m close, but you’re not on birth control—" She whines, her hips stuttering, her pussy clenching around you in protest. "N-no, please—I want you to—ahh~!—finish in me!" Her voice is desperate, her thighs shaking as she grinds down harder, her walls fluttering around you. You moan your fingers digging into her hips to still her. "Tzuyu, we can’t—"

She cuts you off with a frantic kiss, her tongue sliding against yours before she pulls back, her eyes dark with need. "M-my purse," she pants, nodding toward her bag on the studio table. "I—I have had pills. Emergency ones." You blink, stunned. "You... planned for this?" Her cheeks flush crimson, her lashes fluttering as she avoids your gaze. "I... might have thought about it. A lot." She bites her lip, her hips giving a slow, teasing roll that makes you groan. "I wanted to be ready... in case we ever... did this."

Your grip on her tightens, your cock throbbing inside her at her admission. "Fuck, Tzuyu—" You crush your lips to hers, your tongue delving deep as your hips snap up, harder now, no longer holding back. "You’re gonna be the death of me." She moans, her back arching as you fuck up into her with rough, claiming thrusts, her nails raking down your back. "Hahhh~! Yes, like that—fuck me, ruin me—!"

Her words send a jolt of white-hot lust straight to your cock, your thrusts turning brutal, possessive, your forehead still pressed to hers as you pound into her dripping cunt. Her moans turn shrill, her body quivering as her third orgasm rips through her, her walls milking you desperately. "C-cum in me," she sobs, her voice breaking as she clenches around you. "P-please, fill me—!"

You snapped like clip at her words, burying yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you empty yourself inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight channel. She whimpers, her body trembling as she takes every last drop, her own climax still wracking through her. When the aftershocks finally subside, she collapses against your chest, her breath coming in ragged pants, her sweat-slick skin pressed against yours. You hold her close, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back as you both come down from the high.

After a long moment, she lifts her head, her lips curling into a shy, sated smile. "...So. That was making love and fucking." You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And we’re definitely doing both again." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet." And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— You’re fucked in the best way possible.

Tzuyu pulls back from your embrace with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her fingers already reaching for her discarded panties. She slides them back on with deliberate slowness, the fabric clinging to her still-damp folds as she bites her lip playfully. "Now you," she murmurs, nodding toward your boxers. "Put them back on."

You raise an eyebrow, confused but intrigued, as you tug your boxers up over your half-hard cock, the fabric straining slightly against your renewed arousal. Before you can ask what she's planning, Tzuyu straddles your lap again, this time with the thin barrier of clothing between you. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I'm going to edge you until you're begging to be inside me again."

Her hips roll forward in a slow, torturous grind, the heat of her pussy pressing against your cock through the layers of fabric. The friction is maddening—not enough to push you over the edge, but just enough to keep you achingly hard, your breath hitching as she controls the pace with teasing precision. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—" you groan, your hands gripping her waist as she rides you through your boxers, her wetness seeping into the fabric. "You're killing me."

She giggles, her breath warm against your neck as she grinds down harder, her clit rubbing against the base of your cock with each movement. "Mmhn~... You like this, don't you?" Her voice is sweet, innocent, but the way she rolls her hips is anything but. "Feeling me so close but not letting you cum?" You grit your teeth, your cock throbbing beneath her, the pressure just shy of enough to tip you over. She’s taunting you, her movements calculated to keep you right on the edge, her own pleasure evident in the way her breath hitches with each grind. Then, without warning, she stops, her body stilling as she pulls back to look at you, her lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Oops. Too close?"

You exhald sharply almost like an airy groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you pinned her beneath you. Her eyes widen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as you hover over her, your voice a low, soft whisper, "Your playing a lot, Tzu. Like fire or something?" She grins, her legs wrapping around your waist as she pulls you closer, her voice a breathy whisper. "Then burn me." And just like that, the game resets—but this time, you're in control.

Tzuyu's breath hitches as your fingers hook into the waistband of her panties once more, peeling them down her toned thighs with deliberate slowness. The air between you crackles with anticipation as you reveal her glistening, shaved pussy—her delicate pink lips already swollen and dripping with arousal.

The sight makes your cock twitch painfully against your boxers, and with one swift motion, you push them down, freeing your thick length once more. You hover over her, caging her between your arms as you brush your nose against hers, your voice low and tender. "Tell me what you want. Hard? Or slow?" Her dark eyes search yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she considers your question. A shy smile tugs at her lips before she murmurs, "Start... mid. Then—ah—faster when I say." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "I want to feel you build up inside me."

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before guiding your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her slick folds. She gasps as you push in, her tight walls fluttering around you as you sink in slowly, giving her body time to adjust to your girth. Her breath comes in short, shaky bursts, her nails digging into your biceps as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. "O-oh fuck—" she whimpers, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Y-You feel... so big..."

You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you begin to move—mid-paced, just as she asked. Each thrust is deep, measured, your cock dragging against her sensitive walls in a way that has her toes curling. Her breathy moans fill the studio, her hips lifting to meet yours with every roll of your hips. You watch her face—every flicker of pleasure, every bitten lip, every flutter of her lashes—as you make love to her. Your hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, your touch reverent. When your thumb brushes over her clit, she jolts, a broken cry tearing from her lips.

"Y/N—! R-right there—!. P-please, harder now—!" You obey, your thrusts growing more forceful, more urgent, but never rough—never without care. Your hips snap forward, driving into her with enough force to make the couch creak beneath you, but your hands cradle her face, your lips capturing hers in a searing kiss to swallow her moans.

She screams into your mouth, her walls fluttering wildly as her climax crashes over her, her body shaking beneath you. But you don’t stop—can’t stop—not when she’s clinging to you, her nails raking down your back as she sobs for more. "D-don’t stop—! Fuck, don’t stop—!" You won’t. Not until she’s begging you to.

Your thrusts falter for just a moment as your brain buzzes with arousal at her request—but concern still lingers at the edges of your lust-drunk mind. Your lips brush along the shell of her ear, your voice ragged but tender as you murmur, "Tzuyu... , are you sure you took the pill? It's—hnngh—it's safe? Despite me cumming in you earlier?" Her answer comes between gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as she nods frantically. "Y-yes, yes—ahh~!—took it s-seven days ago... made sure—haah!—to be extra safe..." Her breath hitches as you grind deep, her walls fluttering around your cock as she arches beneath you. "W-wanted—wanted you to breed me... fill me up... please—!"

The raw desperation in her voice sends a jolt of white-hot need straight to your cock. You pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in swollen, panting breaths, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at you with pure devotion. The sight of her like this—goddess-like in beauty, yet ruined with pleasure just for you—makes your chest ache with something deeper than lust. To the world, she is Chou Tzuyu—TWICE's untouchable visual, the ethereal maknae with a face sculpted by the heavens. But here, beneath you, she is just yours—her body trembling, her perfect tits bouncing with each thrust, her toned stomach quivering as you drive into her over and over. The way her tight little pussy grips you, so warm and dripping, as if her body was made to take you... You can't help but groan, your hips snapping forward with renewed intensity, your voice a loving murmure against her skin. "Fuck—look at you... so perfect... taking me so well—" Her answering whimper is filthy, her legs locking around your waist to pull you deeper. "M-more—! Harder—! Wanna feel you—ahh~!—cumming inside me—!"

You oblige, your thrusts turning brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the studio. Her moans grow shrill, her back arching off the couch as her nails rake down your back, her pussy clenching around you like a vice. You know you won't last much longer—not when she's begging for it like this, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. But you want to savor this—savor her—for just a little longer.

So you slow, just for a moment, your forehead pressing against hers as you catch your breath. "Tzuyu... look at me." Her hazy eyes meet yours, her lips parted in a silent gasp as you roll your hips in a slow, deep circle, grinding against her sweet spot. "I love you," you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Her breath catches, her eyes widening—before she melts, her entire body going pliant beneath you as she pulls you into a desperate, sloppy kiss. "I love you too," she whimpers against your lips. "Now please—fuck me like you mean it—!"

The moment the words leave her lips, something primal snaps inside you. Your grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as you pull her impossibly closer, your cock throbbing deep inside her. The knowledge that she's safe—that she wants this, planned for this—sends a surge of possessiveness through you. "Fuck—Tzuyu—" Your voice is a ragged breath, your thrusts turning feral, each snap of your hips driving into her with enough force to make her gasp. "Gonna fill you up—gonna breed you so good—"

Her answering moan is broken, her back arching off the couch as she clings to you, her nails scraping down your back. Her pussy clenches around you, her walls fluttering wildly as she teeters on the edge of another climax. "Y-yes—! Please—!" she sobs, her legs trembling around your waist. "W-want it—want your cum—want you to own me—!" The filth spilling from her perfect lips is your undoing. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you spill deep inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight little cunt. She screams, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milks you for every last drop, her body shaking beneath you.

You collapse against her, your breath ragged as you press feverish kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her jaw—anywhere you can reach. She whimpers, her fingers carding through your hair as she comes down, her walls still fluttering around your softening cock. After a long moment, you pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dazed with pleasure.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, your voice soft. "Okay?" She nods, a lazy, sated smile curling her lips. "Mmm... more than okay." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "You... really did it, huh?" You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Yeah. Just like you wanted." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I'm definitely not done with you...for a long time~"And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— this lovely night ain't over yet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, Tzuyu suddenly pushes against your chest with surprising strength—rolling you onto your back before straddling your thighs. Her smirk is downright sinful as she trails her fingertips down your sweat-slicked chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. "Tired already, oppa?" she teases, her thumbs circling your nipples with deliberate slowness. "And here I thought my producer-nim had... boundless stamina."You groan at both her words and the way she grinds her dripping slit against your thigh—her arousal leaving slick streaks on your skin.

Even spent, your cock twitches back to attention beneath her, betraying your hunger. "Fuck—you're relentless," you rasp, hands sliding up her toned thighs to grip her waist. Her answering laugh is pure velvet as she leans down, her breasts pressing against your chest as her lips brush yours—just out of reach when you try to kiss her properly. "You love it," she whispers before suddenly twisting her body in one fluid motion—her back now facing you as she settles into reverse cowgirl, her perfect ass pressing against your hips.

Her back is a fucking masterpiece—the elegant curve of her spine dipping into the lush swell of her ass, her shoulder blades shifting like wings with every slight movement. The studio lights catch every ripple of muscle as she lifts herself slightly, reaching behind to guide your cock back to her entrance. Her skin glows—flushed and dewy from exertion—and when she glances over her shoulder, her eyes are dark with intent. "Watch," she breathes, sinking down onto you in one torturously slow motion. "Watch how tight I take you like this."

And god —she's right. The angle makes her feel even tighter, her walls fluttering around you as she starts to ride you with shallow, experimental bounces. Her hands brace against your thighs for leverage, her back arching as she throws her head back— perfectly framing the way her silky hair spills between her shoulder blades. You can't resist sitting up slightly—one hand gripping her hip while the other trails up the ladder of her spine, making her shudder. "You're  gorgeous," you whisper, nipping at her shoulder. "Look at you—riding me like you were made for it."

She moans, her rhythm stuttering as your fingers tangle in her hair, gently tugging her head to the side to expose her neck. You lick a hot stripe up her pulse point, reveling in her gasp. "I was," she pants, her voice breaking as you thrust up to meet her next descent. "M-made for y-you—ahh~!" Her words unravel you. Your grip on her hip tightens as you help her move—guiding her into a faster, harder pace. The lewd slap of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by her high, breathy whimpers. Every time she sinks down, her ass bounces against your pelvis—the sight so obscene you have to bite back a groan.

One of your hands slides around to her front, fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. She jerks in your lap, a broken cry tearing from her lips as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with her movements. "Ngh~! T-too much—!" she sobs, but her hips don't stop—if anything, she grinds down harder, chasing the overstimulation.You chuckle, your lips against her ear. "You asked for this, Tzu. Wanted me to use you, remember?" Your fingers press down just enough to make her legs shake. "So take it. Take everything I give you."

Her answering whine is filthy, her body clenching around you as she nears another peak—but you slow your hand, denying her release. She whimpers, her rhythm faltering as she glares at you over her shoulder. "Y-Y/N—!"

"Oops~"

You smirk, pressing a kiss to the corner of her pouting lips. "Not yet. Gonna make you beg for it." And with that, you flip her onto her back again—her legs hooking around your waist as you loom over her, your cock still buried to the hilt. Her chest heaves, her eyes blown with lust as she realizes— You're far from done.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow gasps as she arches her back, her fingers gripping the couch cushions beneath her. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks, laced with both hesitation and desire."Y/N... can you...?" She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing even deeper as she glances back at you over her shoulder. "I want you to... spank me. Just—just a little. Please?"

Your heart races at her timid request, your hands immediately soothing over the curve of her ass, massaging gently before you lean down to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Only if you're sure, Tzu. And we stop the second you want to, okay?"She nods eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. "I trust you."

You start slow, your palm connecting with her right cheek in a light, almost playful tap. The sound is crisp in the quiet studio, and Tzuyu lets out a surprised little gasp—more from the sensation than any real pain. You rub the spot gently, watching the faint pink bloom under your fingertips."Okay?" you murmur, your other hand still caressing her hip reassuringly.She nods, pushing back against you slightly. "Mhm... again?"

You oblige, this time a little firmer—your hand landing on the other cheek with a soft smack. Tzuyu whimpers, her fingers tightening in the couch cushions, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she rocks her hips back, silently asking for more. You continue like this—alternating between soft spanks and soothing strokes, letting her adjust to the sensation. Each strike is measured, careful, never enough to truly hurt—just enough to make her skin flush a deeper shade of pink. Her breath hitches every time your palm connects, her body growing more pliant beneath your touch.

As Tzuyu grows more comfortable, her moans become louder, needier. She starts rolling her hips in time with your strikes, her slick arousal coating your thighs as she grinds against you. "H-harder," she whines, her voice trembling. "Please, Y/N—I can take it." You hesitate for only a second before giving her what she asks for—your next spank landing with a sharper crack, the sound echoing in the studio. Tzuyu yelps, her back arching, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she pushes back, her ass now a pretty, rosy red under your attention.

You alternate between spanks and gentle rubs, your other hand gripping her waist to steady her as she starts bouncing in your lap again. Each time your cock slides back into her, her walls clench around you, her pleasure mounting with every strike. "F-fuck—!" she sobs, her rhythm growing erratic. "It feels—ahh~!—so good—!" You watch, mesmerized, as her body reacts—her skin flushed, her breath coming in ragged pants, her pussy dripping around you. The contrast between the sharp sting of your spanks and the overwhelming pleasure of your cock inside her has her teetering on the edge, her moans turning shrill with desperation.

Even as you indulge her request, you never lose sight of her comfort. Between strikes, your fingers trail over her heated skin, soothing the slight sting before building it back up again. When she whimpers, you pause, pressing a kiss to the small of her back. "Still good?" you murmur, your voice thick with concern. She nodded, clearly eager for you to go on.

You oblige, your next spank landing just a little harder, making her jolt in your lap. Her pussy squeezes around you, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry. Her thighs tremble, her nails digging into the couch as she milks you through her climax, her body going taut before collapsing forward, spent. You catch her, pulling her against your chest as you both catch your breath. Your hands roam her back gently, tracing the faint marks left by your touch—not bruises, just a temporary blush of pink that’ll fade soon. She turns in your lap, as she nuzzles into your neck, her voice soft and sated. "Thank you..." You press a kiss to her forehead, your heart full. "Always, Tzuyu-yah."

Tzuyu's body is still trembling from her last climax, her oversensitive walls fluttering around your cock as you continue to move inside her—slow, deep thrusts that make her whimper with every drag of your length. Her fingers clutch at your shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint crescents in your skin as she tries to steady herself. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!—i-it's too much—!" Her voice is a broken plea, her thighs quivering as you push her further into overstimulation. But you don’t stop—not yet.

You want to see just how far she can go. You shift slightly, angling your hips to grind against that sweet spot inside her with every thrust. Her back arches off the couch, a strangled cry tearing from her lips as her pussy clenches around you like a vice. "I know, baby," you murmur, your voice rough with restraint as you press a kiss to her collarbone. "But you can take it. Just a little more—"

Her response is a garbled moan, her head thrashing against the cushions as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving her closer to the edge again. Her legs lock around your waist, her heels digging into your back as if she’s trying to pull you even deeper. And then— It happens. A sharp, desperate cry rips from Tzuyu’s throat as her body seizes beneath you—her back bowing off the couch, her fingers scrambling for purchase against your skin. For a split second, you think she’s just coming again—but then you feel it.

The first gush is hot, slick, flooding between your bodies with enough force to drench your thighs. Tzuyu screams, her entire body convulsing as her pussy pulses around you, her release coming in waves—not just the thick, creamy femcum from before, but something more, something primal. The scent is musky, heady, the liquid gushing out of her in a near-geyser of pleasure and desperation, soaking the couch beneath you both. Her eyes are wide, her mouth agape in shock as she squirts—her body betraying her in the most filthy, beautiful way possible. Your hips snap forward, pounding into her through the mess, your cock sliding effortlessly in the slick heat of her ruined pussy. Tzuyu sobs, her hands flying to her face as she shakes, her thighs dripping with the evidence of her surrender.

"O-oh my god—!" she chokes out, her voice wrecked. "I-I didn’t—hahh~!—I didn’t mean to—!" You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against hers as you claim her moans. "Shh, it’s okay," you growl against her mouth. "You’re perfect. So fucking perfect." Her answering whimper is broken, her body yielding to yours as you fuck her through the aftershocks, her pussy still clenching around you in weak, sporadic flutters.

The squelch of your thrusts is obscene, the sound of her dripping arousal filling the studio as you push her further, deeper into bliss. And when you finally spill inside her—your cum mixing with her mess—Tzuyu wails, her nails scoring down your back as her body locks around you, milking you for every last drop. You collapse against her, both of you panting, shaking, ruined. And as you press a kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead, her dazed, sated smile tells you everything you need to know.

You slowly pull out of Tzuyu's thoroughly used pussy with a soft, wet sound, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. Your cum spills out of her in thick, messy ropes, dripping onto the already ruined couch beneath her. Her thighs tremble as she instinctively tries to clench them together, but she’s too spent—too open after taking you so many times.

Tzuyu lets out a breathy sigh, her fingers lazily trailing through the mess between her thighs before lifting them to her lips. She licks her fingers clean with deliberate slowness, her dark, sparkling eyes locked onto yours with a mischievous glint you rarely see from her. "Mmm… delicious," she purrs, her voice still husky from exertion. Then, with a giggle that sounds almost wicked coming from someone as composed as her, she murmurs, "Think you can fill me one more time, oppa? Or are you finally tired...?"

You blink, stunned for a moment—both at her boldness and the way her usually elegant diction melts into something downright filthy in the afterglow. But then a slow grin spreads across your face as you lean in, trapping her beneath you again, your lips brushing her earlobe. "Oh, Tzu" you murmur, voice dripping with playful warning, "You’re gonna regret teasing me when I pin those pretty legs back and pound another load into you so deep you’ll taste it tomorrow." She shivers, nibbling her lip—but there’s no real hesitation in those doe-eyes. Just challenge. And when her fingers slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over her swollen clit.

Tzuyu slowly peels herself off the couch, her legs still trembling slightly as she lowers herself onto the plush carpet of the production room. She gets on all fours, her back arching elegantly as she presents her perfect, round ass to you—high, tight, and still faintly pink from your earlier attention. With a playful wiggle, she glances back over her shoulder, her usually composed face now flushed with a mix of shyness and boldness. "I... I want to try it," she murmurs, her voice softer now, less teasing—more vulnerable. "I-I brought... lube. Just in case." She nods toward her purse nearby, where a slim bottle of strawberry-flavored edible lube peeks out from the side pocket.

You blink, surprised but touched by her thoughtfulness—how she had planned for this moment, how she trusted you enough to explore this with her. Your heart swells as you reach for the bottle, your fingers brushing against hers gently before you take it. "You're sure?" you ask, your voice warm, your thumb stroking the back of her hand reassuringly. "We don’t have to if you’re not ready." She bites her lip, her eyes flickering with a mix of nervousness and determination before she nods. "I’m sure. I... I want to feel all of you."

You pop open the bottle, squeezing a generous amount of the sweet-smelling lube onto your fingers before warming it between them. Then, with deliberate tenderness, you drizzle it over her ass, watching as the pink-tinged liquid trails down the curve of her cheeks before pooling at her tight, puckered entrance. Tzuyu shivers at the sensation, her breath hitching as your fingers glide over her skin, spreading the lube in slow, soothing circles. "O-oh—" she whimpers, her hips shifting slightly. "It’s... cold." You chuckle softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of her back

"It’ll warm up soon," you murmur before gently pressing a slick fingertip against her rim, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. You take your time—rubbing, massaging, letting her body adjust to the foreign sensation before slowly pushing the tip of your finger past the tight ring of muscle. Tzuyu tenses immediately, her fingers curling into the carpet beneath her. "Breathe, Tzu," you remind her, your free hand stroking her hip soothingly. "Relax for me... that’s it." She exhales shakily, her body gradually loosening around your finger as you work it deeper, gently stretching her. The lube makes the glide smooth, and soon, you’re able to move in and out with ease, her walls fluttering around you in hesitant pulses. "H-how does it feel?" she asks, her voice small, uncertain. You chuckle, your fingers still moving with painstaking slowness. "Yeah, baby. Good weird." By the time you’re three fingers deep, her body is pliant, accepting, her earlier tension replaced by soft, breathy moans. She’s ready—but you still take a moment to lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as you nuzzle against her neck. "Still okay?" you whisper, your lips brushing her ear. She turns her head just enough to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss before nodding. "Mhm... more than okay."

And with that silent permission, you finally—finally—line yourself up, your cock slick with lube as you press against her entrance, your heart pounding in your chest. This is going to be slow. This is going to be careful. And—if the way Tzuyu is whimpering beneath you is any indication—this is going to be perfect.

Your fingertips trace delicate patterns along Tzuyu’s spine as you hover over her, your bodies connected only by the heated anticipation between you. She shivers beneath your touch, her back arching ever so slightly—a silent plea for more. You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to the curve of her shoulder, your lips whispering against her skin: "You’re doing so well, hun… so perfect for me." Your voice is barely above a murmur, warm and thick with affection.

Tzuyu turns her head just enough to catch your lips in a slow, achingly sweet kiss, her lashes fluttering as she sighs into it. When she pulls back, her lips are glossy and slightly parted, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. "Y/N…" Her voice is small, vulnerable—so unlike her usual composed tone. It makes your chest tighten. "Will you… keep talking to me? Like this? It—ah—it helps." You nuzzle into the crook of her neck, your hands roaming her sides in slow, soothing strokes. "Of course," you promise, your lips brushing her pulse point. "Every second. I’ve got you."

You shift slightly, lining your cock up with her slicked entrance, your tip pressing just enough to make her tense for a fleeting moment. Instantly, you still, your hands returning to her hips in a grounding grip. "Breathe, Tzuyu," you remind her, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles into her skin. "In… and out. Just like that." She obeys, her body gradually relaxing beneath yours as you push forward—inch by agonizing inch. The heat of her is overwhelming, her walls hugging you in a vice-like grip, so tight it feels like her body is trying to fuse around you. A choked whimper slips from her lips, her fingers clawing at the carpet beneath her. You freeze. "Too much?" She shakes her head frantically, her voice shaky but determined. "N-no… j-just… full." She pants, her hips pressing back just slightly—enough to make you groan. "D-don’t stop."

You exhale a shuddering breath, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you resume your slow, painstaking thrust deeper. Every movement is measured, careful, your cock sheathed in slick warmth as her body reluctantly yields to yours. When you’re finally fully seated, buried to the hilt, you both pause—breathing heavily, trembling against each other. Tzuyu’s fingers unclench from the carpet, her hand blindly reaching back to grasp at your thigh. "O-oh my god," she whimpers, her voice wrecked. "I-I can feel you… everywhere." You press a kiss to the damp skin between her shoulder blades, your hands roaming her body in slow, worshipful strokes. "You’re amazing," you murmur against her skin. "Taking me so good, so perfectly…"

She whines at your praise, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You grind deeper experimentally, earning a sharp gasp from her—but before you can pull back, she pushes against you, her hips rocking back in a silent plea for more. You chuckle, breathless, your lips curling into a smile against her back. "Greedy, huh?" you tease, your hands gripping her waist as you finally—finally—begin to move. And when she moans, loud and filthy, her body arching beneath yours, you know— You’re both ruined for anything else.

Tzuyu's ass is a work of art—high, round, and perfectly sculpted, the kind that makes your mouth water just looking at it. The soft globes are still faintly pink from your earlier spanking, the skin warm under your palms as you grip her hips. Her asshole is a tight, fluttering ring of muscle, clenching and unclenching nervously around the thick head of your cock. The strawberry lube glistens around her rim, making the stretched skin shine under the studio lights.

You move with agonizing slowness, letting her body adjust to the overwhelming stretch. Every inch you push in feels like a victory—her muscles resisting at first, then reluctantly yielding to your girth. Her breath comes in shaky gasps, her fingers twisting into the carpet as she tries to relax. "S-so big," she whimpers, her voice trembling. "F-feels like you're splitting me—"

You pause when you're halfway in, your cock throbbing inside her impossibly tight heat. Leaning over her, you press a kiss to the small of her back, your hands soothing up her sides. "Breathe, Tzuyu-yah," you murmur against her skin. "Just relax… you're doing so good." She nods, exhaling shakily as her body slowly loosens around you. You resume your slow push forward, watching with rapt attention as her ass swallows more of your length. The way her rim stretches around you is obscene—her pink flesh clinging to your shaft like it never wants to let go.

When you're finally fully sheathed inside her, you both freeze, panting. Tzuyu's whole body is trembling, her back arched beautifully as she adjusts to the overwhelming fullness. "O-oh god," she whines, her voice breaking. "I-I can feel you everywhere—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you fight the urge to move. "Fuck, you're perfect," you grit out. "So tight… like you were made for me." She whimpers at your words, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You pull back just an inch before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has her moaning into the carpet. And as her body finally accepts you, her moans turn from pained to pleasured—her ass squeezing you just right with every thrust. She was made for this. Made for you.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as she arches her back further, presenting her perfect ass to you in the most obscene invitation. The strawberry lube glistens around her stretched rim, her hole still fluttering from the initial penetration.

She glances back over her shoulder, her dark eyes hooded with lust, lips swollen from biting back moans. "Y/N…" Her voice is a breathy whisper, raw with need. "Start slow… but don’t be too gentle. I want to feel you—all of you " Her words send a jolt of heat straight to your cock, already buried to the hilt inside her tight heat. You lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as your lips find the shell of her ear. "Tell me if it’s too much," you murmur, your hands sliding down to grip her hips. "I’ll stop the second you need me to." She nods, her fingers twisting into the carpet beneath her as you finally—finally—begin to move.

You pull out almost completely, watching with rapt attention as her asshole clenches around nothing, trying to keep you inside. Then, with deliberate slowness, you push back in, your cock sinking into her tight heat inch by torturous inch. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as her body struggles to adjust to the stretch all over again. "F-fuck—" she gasps, her voice trembling. "S-so deep—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you bottom out, your pelvis flush against her ass. The way her walls grip you is unreal—like her body was made to take you like this.

You pause, letting her adjust, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into her hipbone. "You’re doing so good, love" you praise, your voice rough with restraint. "Taking me so well…" She shudders at your words, her hole fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur.

Encouraged, you pull back again, this time setting a slow, steady rhythm—each thrust deep and measured, each withdrawal just enough to make her whine in protest. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, her body gradually relaxing into the rhythm as pleasure begins to outweigh the initial discomfort. Her ass bounces slightly with each thrust, the lewd slap of skin on skin filling the studio. The sight is obscene—her perfect cheeks jiggling, her hole stretched wide around your cock, the lube making every movement slick and effortless.

After a few minutes of this agonizingly slow pace, Tzuyu pushes back against you, her voice a desperate whine. "Y/N—please—" Her fingers claw at the carpet, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. "I-I can take more… harder—" You groan, your grip on her hips tightening as you oblige, your thrusts growing faster, harder. The force of your movements sends her sprawling forward, her chest pressing into the carpet as you pound into her from behind. Her moans turn shrill, her walls clenching around you like a vice as pleasure overwhelms her. "O-oh god—!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—ahh~!—s-so good—!"

You lean over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips find her ear. "You love this, don’t you?" you whisper, your voice thick with lust. "Love getting your tight little ass fucked like this?" Her answering wail is filthy, her body quivering beneath yours as you ruin her. And when your hand slides around to her front, your fingers finding her dripping pussy, she screams, her orgasm crashing over her with brutal intensity.

But you don’t stop—not when she’s begging for more, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. No, you’re just getting started.

Tzuyu's body arches beautifully beneath you, her flushed skin glistening under the studio lights as she takes every deep, rough thrust—her tight hole gripping you just right as she whimpers into the carpet. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with her desperate moans. Her fingers scramble for purchase, nails digging into the plush fibers as she pushes back against you, "M-more—ahh~!—p-please, more—"

But despite the ferocity of your movements, your hands remain tender—one gripping her hip possessively, the other stroking down her spine in soothing, worshipful caresses. When her moans pitch higher, her body tensing as she nears another overwhelming climax, you suddenly slow—just enough to give her a moment to breathe. "Shh, I've got you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "You're doing so good, baby—taking me perfectly." She whines, her hips squirming impatiently beneath you. "N-no—don't stop—!"

You smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the rosy blush already coloring her ass from earlier—but it’s not enough. Not when she’s begging so prettily. Your hand lifts, hovering just above her heated skin. "You want more?" you tease, your voice thick with affection. "Then tell me where." Her breath hitches, her body trembling as she glances back at you with wild eyes. "M-my… a-ass," she stammers, her cheeks flushing darker. "P-please…?" Your palm comes down in a sharp, stinging smack—just hard enough to make her jolt, her walls clenching around you in a way that has you groaning. She yelps, her back arching, but then— "A-ah! Again—!"

You comply, your strikes alternating between cheeks, each one landing with a crisp sound that echoes in the studio. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, needier, her body rocking back to meet your thrusts as her skin turns a delicious shade of red. Yet, even as you mark her, your touches remain reassuring—your free hand rubbing circles into her lower back, your lips pressing apologetic kisses to every spot you strike. "That’s it," you praise, your voice a heated murmur against her skin. "Taking my cock and my hand like a good girl." She sobs at your words, her hips grinding down as another orgasm rips through her—her ass fluttering around you in rhythmic pulses. You groan, your thrusts turning erratic as her tight heat threatens to undo you, but you hold back, refusing to spill just yet.

Tzuyu whimpers softly as you guide her onto her stomach, her body stretching out in a straight line along the plush studio carpet. Her fingers curl into the fibers, gripping tightly as she presses her flushed cheek against the soft material, her breath coming in shallow pants. The curve of her back is a smooth, elegant slope, her ass still beautifully reddened from your earlier attention—just begging to be marked even more. "L-like this?" she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly as she glances back at you over her shoulder. Her dark eyes are wide, pupils blown with lust, her lips parted as she waits for your next move. You nod, running a soothing hand down her spine before settling over her, your chest pressing against her back as you line your cock up with her slick, stretched hole. "Perfect," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear

The angle is unreal. With her legs together beneath you and her hips slightly raised, her ass swallows you whole, her walls clenching around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You sink in slowly, savoring every inch of her tight heat, your hands gripping her waist to keep her steady. "O-oh fuck—" Tzuyu gasps, her fingers scrambling against the carpet as she struggles to adjust. "Y-You’re—ahh~!—s-so deep—" You groan, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. The sensation is overwhelming—her body hugging you in a way that feels made for this position. You stay like that for a moment, letting her adjust, your lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses along her spine.

"Breathe, Tzu, " you murmur, your voice rough with restraint. "Just relax… you’re taking me so well." She nods, her body gradually loosening beneath yours, and when you finally move, it’s with a slow, deep roll of your hips—pulling out almost completely before sinking back in with leisurely precision. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as the new angle hits her in ways she’s never felt before. "Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—different—!" You smirk against her skin, your hands sliding up to pin her wrists gently against the carpet as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving you deeper than before.

The slap of skin on skin is obscene, her ass jiggling with every brutal snap of your hips. Tzuyu's body trembles beneath you, her fingers twisting into the carpet as your thrusts grow deeper, more relentless. The angle of the prone bone position allows you to reach unimaginable depths, each snap of your hips drawing out broken, breathy moans from her lips. Her skin is slick with sweat, her back arching beautifully as she takes every inch of you, her tight hole fluttering around your cock in desperate pulses.

"Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice cracking as another wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her thighs quiver, her body tensing—and then, with a sharp cry, she squirts again, her release soaking the carpet beneath her as her walls clench around you in rhythmic spasms. You slow your movements, your hands immediately soothing over her heated skin, rubbing gentle circles into her hips as she gasps for air. "Shh, it's okay," you murmur, your voice soft, tender. "You're doing so good, baby. Just breathe for me." She nods weakly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm.

You press a kiss to the nape of her neck, your lips lingering against her damp skin as you give her a moment to recover. When her breathing steadies, you lean back slightly, your cock still buried inside her, and brush her hair away from her face. "Where do you want me to finish, Tzuyu?" you ask, your thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "Tell me, and I'll give you exactly what you want." She turns her head just enough to meet your gaze, her dark eyes hazy with pleasure but still so trusting. A shy smile tugs at her swollen lips as she whispers, "On my back… please? I-I want to feel it… see it." Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she adds, "And later… you can breed my ass properly."

A pause occured on you at her word. That's hot

Your heart swells at her words—not just because of the filthiness of them, but because of the trust behind them. You press another kiss to her shoulder, your voice warm as you murmur, "Anything for you." You pull out slowly, your cock glistening with lube and her arousal, and guide her onto her back. She goes willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch as you settle between her thighs. Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watches you with hungry eyes.

You stroke yourself lazily, your thumb swiping over the head of your cock as you admire the mess you’ve made of her—her ass still red from your spanks, her thighs sticky with her own release. When your orgasm finally hits, you groan, your release painting thick, hot stripes across her stomach and chest. Tzuyu gasps, her fingers trailing through the mess with a look of awe. "So warm…" she murmurs, her voice breathless. You collapse beside her, pulling her into your arms as you both catch your breath.

Your fingers trace idle patterns along her spine, your lips pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. "You were amazing," you whisper, your voice full of affection. "So perfect for me." She nuzzles into your chest, her body still humming with pleasure as she sighs contentedly. "Mmm… next time, breed me like you promised?" You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Whenever you want"

The studio air still hummed with the heat of your earlier passion, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to your skin as you both caught your breath. Tzuyu lay half-draped across your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns through the thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone. The quiet between you was comfortable, intimate—the kind that only exists when two bodies have learned each other so thoroughly that words become unnecessary.

But then her fingers trailed lower, her nails scraping lightly over your abdomen before wrapping around your half-hard cock with a playful squeeze. You groaned, your hips jerking instinctively as her thumb swiped over the sensitive head, still slick with lube and her own arousal. "Tzuyu—" you warned, but your voice lacked any real protest. She knew it too, her lips curling into that mischievous smile that always meant trouble.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she stroked you slowly, her touch feather-light. "I thought you were done." You caught her wrist gently, your fingers circling the delicate bones as you pulled her hand away—but not before your body betrayed you, your cock twitching in her grip. She giggled, the sound bright and infuriatingly pleased with herself. "You’re impossible," you muttered, but the fondness in your voice gave you away. She knew exactly what she was doing—knew how easily she could unravel you with just a look, a touch. And God help you, you loved it.

You sat up, pulling her with you, your hands settling on her hips as you guided her to her feet. She went willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch, but there was a glint in her eyes now—a challenge. She wanted to see how far she could push you before you snapped. And you were more than happy to oblige. The couch was still a mess—crumpled fabric damp with sweat and lube, the armrests bearing the faint imprints of her nails from earlier. You guided her toward it, your hands sliding up her back as you bent her over, her palms flattening against the leather. The position arched her back beautifully, her ass on full display—still red from your earlier attention, her hole slightly puffy from how thoroughly you’d fucked her.

You stepped closer, your cock sliding between her thighs, the heat of her skin maddening even before you lined yourself up. the head of your cock brushed against her entrance, her body remembering the stretch, the fullness. "Y-Y/N—" she gasped, her fingers tightening on the armrest. "I-It’s—" You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips found her ear. "It’s what, baby?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing. "Too much? Or not enough?" She shuddered, her hips rocking back impatiently—her answer clear. You chuckled, your hands gripping her waist as you pushed forward, your cock sinking into her with agonizing slowness. The angle was different this time—deeper, tighter, her walls clenching around you in a way that made your vision blur.

Tzuyu cried out, her back arching as she took you, her body yielding perfectly to yours. You paused when you were fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her hips. "Breathe," you reminded her, your voice soft despite the fire burning in your veins. "Just like that… good girl." She nodded, her exhale shaky as she relaxed beneath you.

Only then did you move—pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with a deep, measured stroke. Tzuyu moaned, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the couch as you set a relentless pace, each snap of your hips driving you deeper than before. The sound alone was enough to undo you—the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of lube and her own arousal as you fucked her, the broken little whimpers spilling from her lips with every thrust.

And the sight—God, the sight. Her ass jiggled with every impact, the reddened skin clapping against your thighs as you pounded into her. Her back was a perfect, elegant curve, her shoulder blades shifting beneath smooth, sweat-slicked skin as she arched into your touch. And when you reached around to cup her breast, her nipple pebbling against your palm, she sobbed, her walls fluttering around you in a way that made your knees weak.

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you fought for control. She was ruining you—wrecking you—and she knew it. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she cried, her voice breaking as you hit just the right spot. "I-I’m gonna—please—" You knew what she was asking for—knew she was close again. But you slowed, your thrusts turning shallow, teasing, just to hear her beg. "What do you want, Tzuyu-yah?" you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Tell me." She whined, her hips rocking back desperately, trying to chase her release. "F-fuck me harder—please—"

You obliged, your hands tightening on her hips as you snapped forward, your cock pounding into her with brutal precision. Tzuyu screamed, her body locking around you as she came, her orgasm ripping through her with violent intensity. And when you followed her over the edge, your release spilling deep inside her, she collapsed against the couch, her body trembling from the aftershocks.

You caught her before she could slide to the floor, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her close, her back pressed to your chest. She melted into you, her head lolling against your shoulder as you pressed kisses to her damp skin. "You okay?" you murmured, your voice rough but gentle. She nodded, her fingers tangling with yours as she brought your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Mmm… better than okay."

Tzuyu's fingers still traced lazy circles on your chest, her touch feather-light and teasing. The way her lips curled into that mischievous smirk—so unlike her usual composed, elegant self—made your breath catch. She was playful, bold, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and amusement as she watched your reaction.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she dragged her nails down your stomach, stopping just above where your cock lay half-hard against your thigh. "You look surprised." You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I just…" Your fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as you studied her—the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips were still slightly swollen from earlier. "I didn’t know you could be this naughty."

For a second, her smirk faltered. Your words—spoken with such open admiration—seemed to catch her off guard. The teasing glint in her eyes flickered, replaced by something softer, shyer. Her fingers stilled against your skin, and suddenly, she wasn’t the bold, demanding vixen from moments ago. She was Tzuyu again—the Tzuyu who got flustered when complimented too directly, the Tzuyu who hid her face in her hands when the members teased her.

Her gaze dropped, her lashes fluttering as she bit her lower lip. "I…" She hesitated, her voice suddenly small. "I didn’t mean to be too much." Your heart squeezed. God, she was adorable. One second, she had you wrapped around her finger, and the next, she was blushing over it. You cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to meet your eyes. "You weren’t," you assured her, your thumb brushing over the apple of her cheek. "I love when you’re like this. When you’re… confident." Her breath hitched, her eyes searching yours—as if she couldn’t quite believe you meant it. Then, slowly, a shy smile tugged at her lips. "…Really?" You grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Really."

She giggled—a soft, girlish sound—before burying her face in your neck, her arms winding around your waist. You could feel her smile against your skin, the way her body relaxed into yours. And just like that, the moment shifted. The air between you wasn’t charged with lust anymore—just warmth, affection, the kind that made your chest ache. But then her fingers danced lower again, her touch light, testing—and when you groaned, she laughed, the sound bright and triumphant. "…So," she murmured, her lips brushing your ear, "does that mean I can be naughty again?" You groaned, tipping your head back against the couch as her hand wrapped around you, her grip firm, knowing. Yeah. You were doomed.

The moment Tzuyu's hands fisted in your shirt and yanked you upright, you barely had time to process the sudden movement before her legs were wrapping around your waist, her bare thighs squeezing your hips with surprising strength. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you instinctively braced your hands under her ass, her weight settling against you as she clung like a koala—her lips already seeking yours in a messy, impatient kiss.

"Tzuyu—!" you gasped against her mouth, your voice equal parts exasperated and fond. But she just giggled—that breathy, mischievous sound that always meant trouble—and ground her hips down against yours, the slick heat of her already making your cock twitch back to full hardness.

"Carry me," she demanded between kisses, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Fuck me like this. Please."

you pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. The angle was unreal—her legs spread wide around your hips, her body stretched open as you filled her completely. Tzuyu arched off the wall with a sharp cry, her head falling back as her walls fluttered around you, adjusting to the sudden stretch.

You paused, your forehead dropping to hers as you both caught your breath. Her panting breaths fanned across your lips, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. Up this close, you could see every tiny freckle dusted across the bridge of her nose, the way her pupils were blown so wide her irises were nearly swallowed by black. She was beautiful—wrecked already, and you'd barely even moved.

"Okay?" you murmured, your thumb brushing over her hipbone in slow, soothing circles.

She nodded frantically, her fingers tightening in your hair. "M-move—please—"

You obliged, pulling out almost completely before snapping your hips forward again, the force of it driving her harder into the wall. Tzuyu yelped, her legs tightening around you as you set a brutal pace, each thrust jolting her higher up the wall. The sound alone was filthy—the wet slap of skin on skin, her gasping moans, the way the wall creaked slightly with every impact.

And the feel—God, the feel of her.

Her walls clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, her body milking you with every inward stroke. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You ducked your head, capturing one in your mouth, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak as she sobbed above you.

"Y-Y/N—! Ahh~!" Her back arched, her thighs trembling around you as her orgasm crept up on her. "I-I'm gonna—hnngh~!"

You groaned around her nipple, your hips stuttering as her walls fluttered around you. But you held back, focusing entirely on her pleasure, on the way her body tightened, on the broken little noises spilling from her lips.

When she came, it was with a scream—her body locking around you, her nails scoring down your back as she shook in your arms. You held her through it, your thrusts turning shallow, gentle, prolonging her pleasure until she was whimpering from overstimulation.

Only then did you still, pressing her firmly against the wall as you both panted, your foreheads resting together.

And as her dazed, sated eyes met yours, you knew—

You'd do anything for her.

Tzuyu's back arched as her palms flattened against the cold surface of the production room table, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth metal edge. The shift in position made her gasp—her legs still locked around your waist, but now her upper body was braced against the table, giving her just enough leverage to rock her hips at her own pace. You could feel the tremors running through her thighs, the way her inner muscles fluttered around your length as she adjusted to the overwhelming fullness. Her breath came in short, uneven pants, her lips parted in a silent 'O' as she experimentally rolled her hips, testing the angle.

"S-slow…" she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyelashes fluttering like delicate butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. "It's too… ahh~… too much right now…"

You immediately stilled, your hands moving to cradle her hips, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the dip of her waist. The way she looked in this moment—her usually pristine hair tousled and sticking to her damp forehead, her lips swollen from kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly—it made your chest ache with something far deeper than lust. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat on your tongue.

"Take your time," you murmured against her skin, your voice rough with restraint. "However you need me… I'm here."

She exhaled shakily, her fingers flexing against the table as she began to move—tiny, experimental rolls of her hips that gradually grew more confident. The drag of your cock inside her was exquisite, the wet heat of her almost too much to bear. You bit back a groan, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you let her set the rhythm, your hands remaining gentle but firm on her waist, guiding but never forcing.

The production room around you was silent save for the sound of your mingled breathing and the occasional creak of the table as Tzuyu shifted. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over her skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat along her collarbones, the way her small, perky breasts bounced ever so slightly with each shallow thrust. They were perfect—not overly large, but beautifully shaped, the pink nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You couldn't resist leaning down to capture one in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the stiff peak as Tzuyu moaned, her back arching off the table.

"Y-Y/N—!" Her hands flew to your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled, her hips stuttering. "T-that's—ahh~!—too sensitive now…!"

You released her with a soft pop, grinning up at her through your lashes. "But you taste so good," you teased, your voice dripping with affection. "Like honey and salt… perfect."

She whined, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink at your words, but her hips didn't stop moving—if anything, they grew more desperate, her thighs tightening around your waist as she sought more, deeper.

As much as you wanted to let her take the lead, the feel of her—her tight heat, her trembling thighs, the way her walls clenched around you with every tiny movement—was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. Your fingers dug into her hips, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you fought to hold back.

"Tzuyu…" you warned, your voice strained. "I'm close… so close…"

Her eyes—dark with lust but still so clear, so trusting—met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Then, with a suddenness that stole your breath, she pushed against your chest, her legs unwrapping from your waist as she slid off your cock and dropped to her knees in front of you. You barely had time to process what was happening before her small, delicate hands were wrapping around your length, her fingers just barely meeting around your girth as she began to stroke—fast, firm, her thumb swiping over the leaking tip with every upward motion.

"Ah-ah," she chided, her voice breathless but playful, her dark eyes glinting up at you through her lashes. "My turn."

Your breath caught as she leaned in, her pink tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe from base to tip, her lips wrapping around the head with a filthy pop. The contrast was staggering—one moment, she was a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath you; the next, she was devouring you with a confidence that made your knees weak. Her free hand cupped your balls, her fingers massaging gently as she took you deeper, her throat fluttering around the tip in a way that had you seeing stars.

You groaned, your fingers tangling in her hair—not to guide her, just to feel, to anchor yourself as she worked you over with single-minded determination. The sight of her like this—Chou Tzuyu, the ethereal visual of TWICE, on her knees for you—was enough to send you spiraling. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue pressing against the sensitive vein on the underside of your cock, her moans vibrating through you like electricity.

And then, just as you were about to lose it, she pulled back, her hand stroking you rapidly as she tilted her face up, her lips parted in invitation.

"Come here," she whispered, her voice hoarse from use.

Your hips jerked involuntarily, your release barreling toward you with unstoppable force., your release coming down across her face in thick, pulsing ropes. The first stripe splashed across her cheekbone, glistening against her flawless skin. The second landed on her chin, dripping down toward her throat. The third—God, the third—painted her lips, her tongue darting out to catch the last drops with a smug little hum.

She looked ruined—her hair mussed, her face glazed with your cum, her eyes dazed but triumphant. And yet, she was still beautiful, still Tzuyu, still the girl who made your heart stutter with just a smile.

Someone really needed to give you the "Luckiest Guy on Earth" title.

"Pretty?" she asked, her voice lighter now, playful.

You choked on a laugh, your fingers trembling as you brushed a stray drop from her chin. "So pretty," you breathed, your voice wrecked. "The prettiest."

She beamed up at you, her nose scrunching in that adorable way it always did when she was happy, and in that moment, you knew—

You were the luckiest man alive.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

because i liked a boy - spencer reid x fem!reader

somehow a reporter finds out about reader's relationship with none other than her coworker, dr spencer reid and shames her for it during a press conference

genre: flangst wc: 1355 warnings: medialiaison!reader established relationship, slut-shaming, feminism talk, upset spencer, morgan mention, mentioned case involving children

"This is a rough composite sketch of the UnSub. If anyone sees him, please call us using the number on the screen. Any questions?" you speak clearly, eyebrows raised and back straight.

It's a tough case this time, not that any are easy. The ones involving children–like this one–are the worst. You know that. It’s yet to hit you this hard, though. You're used to being in front of a camera all fake smiles and airbrushed to look porcelain but you're struggling to hold it together today. It’s never been easy to see grieving parents begging for their kid’s life on national television.

It also doesn't help that you haven't seen Spencer much these past two days. Ever since HR found out about you two, he’s been trying to keep his distance for professionalism’s sake. You appreciate it, of course, but you wish everything could be normal again. You miss working alongside him, sneaking tiny waist pinches every little while. Maybe you’re codependent.

One of the male reporters holding a microphone asks plainly, like it isn’t rude, “how do you expect this case to go to trial with your ongoing relationship within your team? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Now, how did they find out about that?

Luckily, Hotch steps in before you need to form a response. You’re left flushed and out of sorts, needing some water or something. It’s not like you’ve never had a bad press experience but nothing that came after you specifically. Why do they even care in the first place? Are you really that interesting? Is your love life really that interesting? His mustn’t be.

To Hotch, he spits, “it’s a valid question, Agent, you can’t expect no one to comment on one of your unit’s members sleeping her way to the top or… sleeping her way to getting a case dismissed.”

You want to stay, fight, cry, maybe even guilt him into apologizing, but, to your dismay, you’re pulled away by Morgan who looks just as upset as you do. If there weren’t a room full of people stopping him, you’re sure he would’ve hurt the guy. You don’t want to be dragged away by the action figure that is Derek Morgan so you try to pour your feelings into words. “The conference– the case–!”

Morgan stares at you in a way that very clearly says are you done? And, yes, you guess you are. You sigh, nodding reluctantly.

“Hotch will figure it out,” he assures softly but firmly.

You’re escorted to the break room where you watch the television only to see that very same reporter, spewing his nonsense again. Low and behold, he’s still stuck on the topic of you.

“An anonymous source discloses the identities of two FBI agents with the Behavioural Analysis Unit that are in a relationship of hidden rendezvous.”

The pitter-patter of your heart is louder than usual as he reads out your names along with the loving message, “I guess this proves that women really can’t be trained. What a shame, she’s certainly got–”

With that, you shut off the disgusting noises coming from someone claiming to be a man. You’ve never been good at taking insults but this was something else entirely. Your chest burns. You’re being perceived as a person you’re not. Everything you’ve tried so hard to build could all come crashing down at this very moment if you let it.

All because you liked a boy?

It feels ridiculous, like a step in the wrong direction for all womankind. That’s dramatic, you’re sure, but this is so twenty years ago. What happened to feminism, for fuck’s sakes? You wouldn’t give Spencer up for anything less than solving world hunger, but you wish this whole ordeal could’ve never happened. What if you lose your job? What if you lose this case because you’re too sensitive to male attention for your own good? Unfortunate circumstances led here and you wish it could be simple. It’s a tall order, but you wish UnSubs and all the people who enjoy pinning others down would simply cease to exist. You wish Spencer was here.

As if reading you all the way from canvassing the neighborhood, he’s suddenly visible, walking towards the doorway with quick Converse-sounding steps, Morgan’s hand on his shoulder. He looks worried. What worries you, though, is that he looks guilty. That hurts.

Familiar arms wrap around you as he kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Spencer whispers, lips pressed into the fabric covering your shoulder.

You ponder the question for a moment before nodding. You’re not quite sure how you feel, if you’re being completely truthful. Criticism was never something you’ve taken well. Not ever. Maybe you deserve it, though. After all, you are sleeping with a coworker. You’re an agent, it’s not appropriate of you in the least. You should’ve kept to yourself, been the good girl the world wanted you to be. Female agents in the big bad FBI are already seen a certain way. You just happened to worsen it with wide-eyed affection.

How he always does, he mutters an explanation, “people like that don’t have anything going for them, you know. They report on others because their own life is insignificant.”

It’s wildly the wrong time to laugh but you do, flushed cheeks plumping from a happy smile. He pulls away and your hands find his face like they always seem to do. “I know.”

He nods. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

He’s so unbelievably pretty that it almost makes you want to cry. Those same somber eyes that you’re sure mirror yours stare deep.

“It just sucks… you know?” you say so very quietly.

Nodding, he chews on his lip. “I know.”

“It’s like… I thought slut-shaming was over,” you laugh bitterly.

You can tell he feels bad. It’s not like this is his fault. You know he believes it is, anyways.

“It should be. It’s ridiculous. This isn’t your fault. That useless guy should be spending the night in a cell for harassing an agent not on the ten o’clock news airing out our personal matters.”

It’s really not often you see him like this, upset and wielding pain-filled threats. It never fails to amuse you. You’re not sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of his usual sweet demeanor and this annoyed ranting one, you suppose.

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

You smile and nod, your thumb tracing his lower lip. “A little. We’re the most enthralling news in all of small-town-Colorado.”

While Spencer doesn’t find it quite as giggle-inducing, he mimics the pull of your mouth’s corners and shows his reluctant agreement with a bob of his head. “That is… silly, I guess.”

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

In honest disbelief and certainly awe for your ability to brush off the event with humour, he shakes his head, curls falling out of place. Your fingers rush to correct it. The golden eyes you love stay stubbornly put on your own. Breaths mix together in the close proximity despite you not recalling how you got so close. It’s proven difficult to care when his plush lips find yours. Carefully and with love, he kisses you. With no intent, no desire other than to make you feel better. It breaks stickily, the shimmer that once was on your lips now ghosting around his mouth. You grin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer tenderly mutters.

Gently, you answer, “I’m sure. I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

You believe yourself. You’d never doubt your relationship with Spencer. It just sucks that they had to poke holes in your safe place. That safe place being Spencer. Your home. You know because of your profiler-by-association background that he was right about the reporter being not fulfilled enough in his own life that he had to insert himself into yours. That didn’t make it drastically better, anyway. Perhaps your personal life should be kept away from work.

But it’s not your fault that work happens to include Dr. Spencer Reid.

[4linos]

between the lines 3.

lee minho x f!reader

synopsis: after a quiet and amicable separation, you and minho learn to navigate the subtle emotional terrain of co-parenting, discovering that the bonds between you aren’t entirely severed. when a new relationship enters the picture, old emotions come into play, forcing you to reassess what it means to truly move on.

warnings: angst, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,585

[part 1, part 2]

Minho had been walking around with a storm sitting in his chest ever since that day.

The day he stood at your door like a fool, dressed in a shirt he hadn’t worn in over a year, holding flowers that felt heavier with each second that passed, only to have the door swing open and find you radiant, glowing and not alone. Jisung had been behind you, comfortably smug, and Minho had felt the shift in the air the moment your eyes met his.

That was the day he realized what it felt like to be on the outside of a life he used to belong to.

Since then, the world hadn’t really settled around him. He kept his head down at work, avoiding eye contact with people he normally didn’t care enough to avoid, especially Jisung. His thoughts twisted in knots, a toxic mix of guilt, regret, and something sharp like jealousy. He hadn’t even known he still could feel that kind of jealousy. But the image of Jisung standing behind you like he belonged there haunted him.

He didn’t go near your name. He didn’t bring up your daughter. He didn’t mention what happened that day to anyone, not even Chan or Changbin, who had been trying to gently pry the story from him for days.

And yet, despite every effort to keep his distance, there it was again Jisung’s voice, slicing through the low hum of office conversation like it always did: too loud, too casual, too damn confident.

Minho sat at his desk, pretending to review something on his monitor, eyes unmoving as Jisung leaned against a cubicle wall a few rows away. He wasn’t even being subtle, as if he wanted everyone to hear.

“So I think I’m gonna ask her,” Jisung said with a short laugh. “To be my girlfriend, officially. Maybe on a little trip, just us. It’s been casual but I want more, you know?”

Minho didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet, not even once,” Jisung went on. “But I’ve been trying to respect her pace, especially with the whole, you know, kid thing. She’s amazing though. She’s worth waiting for. But I’m getting real impatient.”

Chan, seated across from Minho, glanced over, likely aware of the simmering tension behind Minho’s controlled expression.

Minho’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

He hated this. Not just hearing about you like that, like you were someone else’s now, but hearing about you from him. From the same guy who once tried to argue over printer supplies his first week on the job. From someone who didn’t know what it meant to hold your hand through contractions, or stay up with a crying Hana at 3 a.m., or even remember that your favorite scent was vanilla and your favorite season was early autumn.

Minho could picture it, Jisung asking you to be his girlfriend on some beach or city getaway, Hana with you or not, and you saying yes because why wouldn’t you? He was safe, funny, attentive. Minho had no right to judge, no right to compete, and yet every muscle in his body was tight with the urge to do something.

But he didn’t.

He stayed still.

He didn’t storm over. Didn’t shove Jisung against a wall. Didn’t say she’s not yours to talk about like that. Because what right did he have anymore?

He swallowed his rage, even as it blistered in his chest, and he stared at the screen like he was made of stone.

If he’d said anything… it wouldn’t have been professional. And more than that, it might’ve pushed you further away than he already had.

But as Jisung kept talking, Minho made a quiet vow to himself:

If you really were going to move on with Jisung… it wasn’t going to happen without Minho telling you exactly how he felt first.

Even if it broke him.

Minho hadn’t even realized how tightly his hands were wrapped around the edge of his desk until his fingers started to ache.

It was like his body reacted before his mind could catch up, jaw locked so tight he could hear the tension in his ears, shoulders stiff, chest heavy with something he didn’t want to name. Rage, maybe. Or heartbreak. Or both. It was stupid. He knew that. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t still be this affected. But hearing Jisung talk about you, his you, the you that used to fall asleep on Minho’s chest, that used to wear his shirts around the house, that used to light up at the tiniest, most mundane things like you were just some conquest he was hoping to claim, some check box on a romantic resume, it made Minho feel sick.

He didn’t even notice he’d been holding his breath until he heard a quiet voice beside him.

“Minho?”

He turned slowly, blinking himself out of whatever haze had fallen over him.

Chan was watching him with concern from the cubicle next to his, brow slightly furrowed, his tone gentle like he knew. And maybe he did. Chan had always been good at reading people. Too good sometimes.

“You alright?” he asked again.

Minho swallowed, loosening his grip on the desk, flexing his fingers to get the circulation back. He gave a stiff nod, not trusting himself to speak yet.

Chan leaned slightly closer, his voice even softer now. “You know, I’m still here if you need to talk. Doesn’t matter that it’s been a while. I get it, people need space sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in what felt like months. Chan hadn’t changed much, still looked like the same dependable, steady friend who’d been there through the good years he worked with him.

It made something twist in Minho’s chest guilt, maybe, for pushing everyone away. Or maybe it was relief that not everyone had left.

“I’m fine,” Minho muttered, his voice hoarse.

Chan didn’t push. He just nodded. “Okay. But if you need a break from… whatever this is,” he tilted his head subtly in Jisung’s direction, “I was gonna hit that ramen place after work. Come with. First round’s on me.”

Minho hesitated.

His first instinct was to decline. That’s what he’d been doing for a while now, closing himself off, burying everything, convincing himself that it was easier to sit in the silence of his own making. But after everything lately after the flowers, after seeing Jisung in your doorway, after hearing him talk like you were his, it felt like the weight on his back was finally too much to carry alone.

“…Alright,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Chan gave him a small smile. Nothing pushy. Just understanding. “Cool. After five, then.”

Minho nodded and turned back to his screen, but the tension in his shoulders had eased just enough.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do. He still didn’t know how he was going to face you, or if he even could. But maybe talking to someone again, someone who knew what it used to be like might help him figure out what came next.

Because pretending like it didn’t hurt wasn’t working anymore.

-

Chan didn’t even ask, he just showed up at the front of the building, passenger-side window already rolled down, calling Minho’s name out like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to talk about feelings,” he grinned. Minho rolled his eyes but felt the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, something like amusement, or maybe gratitude.

He climbed in, grateful that Chan insisted on driving. It gave him one less thing to think about, one less responsibility to shoulder for just a little while.

When they got to the ramen place, it was warm inside, filled with the soft hum of casual conversation, clinking bowls, the occasional hiss from the kitchen. It was quiet enough to talk, but noisy enough to let Minho breathe a little like the world wasn’t staring directly at him for once.

Chan talked first, about nothing in particular. The weather, their idiot coworkers, a story about Changbin getting caught sleeping at his desk again. He didn’t let the silence settle, didn’t let anything get heavy too quickly, and Minho was thankful for that. He didn’t think he had the strength to drag himself into a conversation about his heart right away.

He laughed once, maybe twice, dry, quiet, but it was more than he’d done in days.

They placed their orders. Chan let Minho sit in his head for a moment before gently nudging the conversation in the direction he’d probably planned from the moment he invited him.

“So,” Chan started, playing with his chopsticks, “you gonna tell me what’s actually going on or do I need to drag it out of you over spicy broth and cold beer?”

Minho didn’t answer at first. His jaw tightened again. His eyes stayed focused on the table.

“Minho.”

He looked up, met Chan’s eyes and found no judgment there. Just concern. Familiarity. Patience.

He sighed and leaned back in the booth.

“It’s her,” he said quietly.

Chan nodded once. No need to ask who.

“I figured.” He took a sip of water, gave Minho time. “You still love her?”

That question hit harder than Minho expected. He didn’t even have to think. “Yeah,” he said softly. “So much.”

“And she’s with Jisung now?”

Minho hesitated before nodding again. “Not officially. I don’t think. But… it’s getting there. He’s going to ask her soon. I overheard him talking about it.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

That made Minho look up, scoffing slightly. “How do you think?”

“Alright, alright,” Chan held up his hands, not to tease but to ground him. “Just checking.”

There was a long pause.

“I saw her,” Minho said after a moment, voice low. “A few days ago. Brought flowers. It was our anniversary. Stupid, I know.”

Chan blinked, genuinely taken aback. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered.”

“And?”

“She opened the door with Jisung behind her. They had just… spent the morning together, I guess. He was all smug about it. And I felt like a fucking idiot standing there with flowers like I still mattered.”

Chan’s expression softened. “You do still matter. You’re Hana’s dad. You were her person for a long time. I don’t think that just disappears.”

“She didn’t even remember the date,” Minho whispered. “At least it didn’t seem like it.”

Silence passed between them again before Chan leaned forward, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Minho, if you want her back, really want her back then you need to stop waiting for the universe to hand her to you. You need to show her. Not just with flowers or old memories, but with who you are now. With how much you’ve grown, how much you still care. She’s not going to read your mind. Especially if she thinks you’ve moved on, or worse if she thinks she was the only one who ever held on.”

Minho stared down at the table. The food had arrived, steam curling up between them, but he didn’t touch it.

“I’m scared, Chan.”

“I know,” Chan said gently. “But if you don’t fight for what matters, someone else will. And you’ll lose more than just a girl. You’ll lose a family.”

Those words stayed with Minho long after they left the restaurant, long after Chan dropped him off with a pat on the shoulder and a quiet, “You’re not alone, man.”

Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you closed the door on Minho.

It had been days, and still, that moment kept looping in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to stop watching: Minho standing there, hands full of flowers, one giant bouquet meant for you, and a single delicate rose, no doubt for Hana. His expression shifting from hopeful to hollow the second he caught sight of Jisung behind you. That familiar, automatic way your lips had parted to say thank you before he turned, muttering something about how ridiculous he felt for even showing up.

And then he walked away.

That was the part that stuck with you the most. The silence he left behind.

You hadn’t reached out. Part of you wanted to, desperately. But you didn’t know what you’d say. I’m sorry I forgot felt empty. I didn’t expect you to remember felt worse. You weren’t even sure why you forgot. Maybe you’d trained yourself to. Maybe the date had started to feel like a memory that belonged to someone else. A version of you and Minho that lived in a different chapter, one you weren’t sure you had permission to revisit.

You were going to see him in a few days for Hana’s weekend pick-up. The thought of how awkward it might be made your stomach twist. Would he ignore it? Pretend it never happened? Would you? Could you?

You were still thinking about it that morning as you knelt in front of the couch, carefully working your fingers through Hana’s freshly washed curls, gently tying them into neat puffs as she munched on apple slices and watched a cartoon. You’d gotten so lost in the rhythmic process section, detangle, smooth, tie, that the knock on the door startled you.

You stood, quickly wiping your hands on your sweatpants. “Hana, finish your snack, baby. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, eyes still locked on the screen.

You walked toward the door, pulling it open and blinked.

Jisung stood there, holding up a pink pastry box and grinning. “Donuts,” he said simply, tilting it slightly like he was presenting a rare treasure. “They’re from that tiny corner store near my place. I’ve had them once. Life-changing.”

Your initial shock melted into a soft laugh. “You and your spontaneous visits,” you said fondly, stepping aside slightly, but not far enough to invite him in.

“I like surprising you,” he said, shrugging as he looked past you, toward the living room. “I figured we could have coffee and sugar before I run off to work again.”

You smiled, but hesitated. “I would invite you in, but… Hana’s here.”

He paused. His smile faltered just slightly, but not in offense, more in understanding. “Ah. Of course.”

Then, gently, like he was testing the edge of something fragile, he asked, “Is it too soon to meet her? I mean. Just a… ‘This is Jisung, Mommy’s friend who brings donuts’ kind of thing.”

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust Jisung, he’d been nothing but kind, respectful, and patient, but because it made everything real. It made what was happening real. You were moving forward. Introducing someone new into a part of your life that had, up until now, been protected.

And there was still the ghost of Minho standing on your doorstep, holding flowers, blinking back heartbreak.

Jisung noticed the shift in your eyes. He opened his mouth to backpedal. “Hey, it’s okay. Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to push or make it weird—”

But then Hana’s voice came from the living room, innocent and sweet. “Mommy, my show is over!”

You turned your head toward the sound and made a decision in the space of a breath.

You looked back at him and nodded.

“Okay,” you said. “You can meet her.”

Jisung lit up immediately, almost disbelieving. “Really?”

“As a friend,” you added firmly, still trying to convince yourself that this was fine.

“Of course,” he said quickly, “just a friend.”

You stepped aside, and he followed you in, the pink donut box in his hands and gratitude in his smile.

Still, your heart beat fast, not from nerves about Jisung meeting Hana, but from the echo of something else. Something you couldn’t name yet.

Something that hadn’t left since the flowers. Since the rose. Since the look in Minho’s eyes.

Jisung stepped in through the doorway like he was bracing for impact, carefully toeing off his sneakers and clutching the pink donut box like it was a peace offering or maybe armor. He looked around, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Hana.

She came running from the living room, socked feet slipping slightly against the floor as she called out to you with purpose: “Mommy! My show is over, I need a new one!”

You crouched instinctively to her level, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Okay, baby, I’ll be there in a second.”

That’s when she noticed him.

Jisung stood still, offering the warmest smile he could muster, and gave a small wave like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Hi,” he said gently.

But Hana didn’t return the wave. She didn’t even move. Her expression was unreadable, mouth a flat line as her eyes flicked from him to you, then back again. Slowly, cautiously, she shuffled behind your legs, peeking around the curve of your hip.

It surprised you. She was normally so open with people, even strangers. Sweet, talkative, curious. But now, she was silent. And still.

You looked down at her and rubbed her back reassuringly.

Jisung cleared his throat softly and crouched slightly, pulling one of the donuts from the box. It was pink-frosted with rainbow sprinkles, undeniably the “fun” one. He held it out to her like an olive branch.

“I brought these just for you,” he said with a smile. “This one has sprinkles. Sprinkles make everything better, right?”

Hana looked up at you again. Her brows furrowed into a frown, her fingers curling slightly against your leg.

You gave her a soft nod. “It’s okay, baby. You can take it. Say thank you.”

Still unsure, she stepped forward, grabbed the donut without saying a word, and immediately scampered off back toward the couch. She didn’t even take a bite just sat, holding it like she didn’t quite trust it yet, picking at a few of the sprinkles like they were puzzle pieces.

Jisung let out a long, breathy exhale like he’d been holding it in the whole time.

You glanced at him, shaking your head with a small apologetic smile. “Sorry. She’s usually not this shy.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? That went way better than I expected.”

You laughed gently, leading him toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get some plates. And milk, donuts need milk.”

“Totally agree,” he nodded, following you, the pink box resting on the counter as he opened it to point out his favorite. “This one, the chocolate glaze with the maple drizzle, game changer. Trust me.”

You smiled at how specific he was, reaching into the cabinet to grab three cups while he pulled napkins from the holder and arranged the donuts like it was some kind of tasting menu.

But even while the two of you moved in easy rhythm talking, laughing, light chatter, you kept one ear tuned toward the living room.

You peeked over the counter. Hana was sitting back down, now with a new cartoon playing, one you assumed she’d managed to turn on herself with the remote. She wasn’t eating the donut, just plucking off the sprinkles and lining them up along the edge of her plate.

Something about it tugged at your chest.

“Hey, Hana,” you called softly, “come get your cup of milk, baby.”

She looked over, then slid off the couch, padding her way into the kitchen on quiet feet. Her small hands wrapped around the cup you handed her, and she looked up at you for a second before turning back around to return to the living room.

“Thank you,” you said gently, prompting her.

She paused. Then mumbled, “Thank you,” so softly it barely passed her lips.

Jisung smiled. “She’s really cute.”

You nodded, but your smile faltered slightly.

Something about the way she looked at him, like he was unfamiliar, like he didn’t belong lingered with you. You didn’t expect instant affection. You knew that. But still.

You glanced over at her again. She was sipping her milk now, still peeling tiny bits off the donut and inspecting them like they might tell her something.

Jisung leaned against the counter, watching you with soft eyes. “Thanks for letting me meet her. Even if I was downgraded to ‘mommy’s friend with donuts.’ I’ll take it.”

You smiled again, but it was quieter this time. “Yeah,” you murmured, “of course.”

But your mind wasn’t fully there anymore.

Because as sweet as this morning was… you couldn’t stop hearing the unspoken silence in Hana’s small voice.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, even while Jisung told you about maple-glazed donuts and a new show he’d recently started watching, you couldn’t stop wondering if Hana was waiting for a different face to show up at the door. One with flowers in one hand… and a single rose in the other.

-

You and Jisung sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, each with a donut in hand and mugs of milk between you.

Every now and then Hana would glance back at the two of you, not suspicious, just observing. Still quiet.

Jisung followed your gaze and smiled softly. “She’s really smart. She doesn’t miss anything, huh?”

You nodded. “Nope. Not a thing.”

He sipped from his mug, then set it down, suddenly quieter. You could sense the change before he even spoke, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, how he seemed to be working something out in his head. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“So…” he started, tone casual, too casual, “I actually came by for more than just donuts.”

That caught your attention. You sat a little straighter, setting your half-eaten donut down on the napkin. “Yeah?”

He finally met your eyes then, nervous energy buzzing just under the surface. “I was wondering… if you’d be around this weekend. If Hana’s gonna be with your ex.”

He said the word ex like it was a mild annoyance in his throat no name, just a placeholder. Minho.

You nodded slowly, uncertain. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be with him this weekend. Why?”

Jisung gave a little exhale, then leaned his elbows onto the table, lacing his fingers together. “I was thinking maybe you and I could get away for a few days. Just a weekend trip. Nothing fancy or anything, there’s this cabin a few hours outside the city. I’ve been a few times before, and it’s really quiet, peaceful. I figured… maybe you could use a break.”

You blinked. A cabin trip. Just the two of you?

“I’d take care of everything,” he added quickly, maybe sensing your hesitation. “The food, the drive, the plans. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. I thought it’d be nice for us to have some time away… uninterrupted.”

There was a pause. Not a long one. But just long enough for your stomach to twist with something warm and uneasy.

He was nervous. He hadn’t said so, but you knew him well enough now to recognize when something was important to him. And even though he hadn’t spelled it out yet, even though he hadn’t said what the cabin trip meant to him, why he wanted you alone with him for a weekend, your heart knew. Something about the way he looked at you, hopeful and a little too still, gave it away.

He was planning something. Something big. Something meaningful. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes drifted again to Hana. Her cup of milk sat untouched on the floor beside her as she stacked the rainbow sprinkles into little piles like tiny colorful coins. She glanced up and met your eyes, blinking slowly, then returned to her sprinkles.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said carefully, not quite smiling. “It sounds nice, but I just need to check on a few things.”

“Of course,” Jisung said quickly, brushing off the awkward beat with another one of his easy smiles. “No pressure. Just wanted to ask before the weekend snuck up on us.”

You nodded, but your thoughts weren’t with the cabin. They were drifting.

Back to all the almosts, the what-ifs, and the impossible decisions you’d been balancing between your heart and your mind.

Jisung reached for another donut, trying to fill the silence. You offered him a quiet thank-you as you sipped your milk, but your gaze once again found its way back to Hana, your little girl with sprinkles on her lap and a frown on her face you couldn’t quite read.

And that was when you realized: no matter what your answer would be about the cabin… you weren’t going to be able to give it lightly.

Minho had woken up already tangled in his thoughts, that familiar, heavy storm cloud settled over him before his feet even hit the floor.

So when Chan approached him at his desk, Minho barely looked up. He didn’t mean to sound cold when he said, “Not now. I’m really not in the mood.” But Chan didn’t walk away.

“It’s about Y/N and Jisung,” Chan said quietly.

Minho’s head snapped up.

His whole body stiffened as the haze of his irritation shifted into something sharper. “What about them?”

Chan glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, Jisung had the annoying habit of popping up like a stray cat when you least expected it. He leaned down, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Jisung told me they’re going on a trip this weekend. Like, a cabin trip. Just the two of them.”

Minho's heart dropped into his stomach.

Chan kept going. “He said he’s planning to ask her to be his girlfriend there. Some big romantic thing. It’s happening soon. Like, this weekend.”

Minho blinked, his mind going blank for a second. Then it filled with a low hum of panic.

“It’s Wednesday,” he said, voice barely above a breath. He could already see it, Jisung grinning like a fool with his smug confidence, setting the scene perfectly, saying all the right things. You smiling, maybe surprised, maybe even touched. Saying yes.

“Yeah,” Chan nodded. “And if you don’t do something about it now, Minho, he’s going to get there first. You’re running out of time.”

Minho sat back in his chair, the pressure building in his chest. “What the hell do I do, Chan? She hasn’t said anything to me. I didn’t even know they were going away.”

Chan studied him, clearly trying to think quickly. “Hana’s staying with you this weekend, right?”

Minho nodded.

“Okay. That’s your in. Say something came up. That you can’t take Hana. That you have to work or—” Chan waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t know—make something up. She can’t go if she has Hana. At least it buys you time.”

Minho hesitated. It felt… wrong. Like sabotage. Like something a desperate guy would do.

But he was desperate.

Chan put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not the most honest thing in the world, but do you really want to sit around and wait for her to come back with a boyfriend? If you’re going to fight for her, then fight, Minho.”

Minho exhaled slowly, wrestling with the knot in his stomach. He didn’t respond right away, but Chan seemed to know he’d gotten through to him.

“Whatever you do,” Chan said, voice softer now, “don’t wait. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Just then, someone called out for Chan across the office. He gave Minho a final nod and turned to go, his footsteps already fading as Minho sat frozen at his desk.

Jisung. Cabin trip. This weekend. Girlfriend.

Minho ran a hand down his face and leaned back, eyes unfocused, heart thudding in his chest like a slow drum of panic.

He needed to act.

But this time, it couldn’t just be jealousy driving him.

It had to be love. The kind that mattered more than pride or bitterness. The kind that didn’t want to stop you from being happy, but wanted to be the one who made you happy.

So as Minho sat there, staring blankly at his screen, he began to plan. Not just how to keep you from going, but how to show you that what you had with him wasn’t just a memory worth mourning…

It was a future worth choosing.

-

Minho was halfway home when his phone buzzed in the passenger seat. The sky outside was a hazy, fading blue, streetlights flickering to life one by one as the city settled into its quiet, humming dusk. He didn’t recognize the number at first, he had your contact saved under your full name, something formal and almost defensive, something he never changed after the breakup because changing it to anything softer felt too dangerous.

But he knew it was you.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. He never did.

“Hey,” he said, quietly. Warily. The same way someone opens a letter they’re afraid to read.

Your voice came on the other end, soft and cautious. “Hey, Minho.”

It was the first time you’d spoken since your anniversary. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Since then, the silence between you had stretched long and heavy, filled with the weight of all the things neither of you had said.

“I just—I wanted to ask if there was any way you could pick up Hana a little earlier this Friday?” you said carefully, like you were trying not to make it sound like a big deal. Like it was just another scheduling thing.

But Minho already knew what this was.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter with one hand, even though he was already parked outside his apartment building. The other rested on his thigh, tapping anxiously against his jeans.

You never asked for early pickups unless you had a good reason. You knew the routine. Knew he left work and drove straight to you, always arriving just after five, never late. And he never said no. No matter how inconvenient or last-minute or chaotic it made his day, he always worked around your requests. For Hana. For you. He never wanted to make things harder.

But today, today was different.

Today, he already knew the reason behind the ask, and it made his chest burn.

He let the silence stretch just a little longer before responding, voice low. “Why?”

You hesitated. Not long. Just long enough for him to hear you scrambling. “I just have… plans. Something came up.”

“Something,” he repeated, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his tone. “What kind of something?”

“Minho,” you said, gently. Like you knew what he was doing. Like you knew he was testing you.

He stared at the empty seat beside him, jaw clenched, emotions churning. He could’ve called you out. Could’ve said what he knew, what he’d heard from Chan that you were planning to go away with Jisung. That this weekend was the weekend. That your “something” wasn’t vague at all.

But he didn’t say it.

Because he didn’t want to hear you lie. And he didn’t want to hear the truth either.

So he exhaled and said, simply, “I can’t. I’m busy.”

There was a pause on your end. He imagined you blinking in surprise. You weren’t used to him saying no, not when it came to Hana. And not like this.

“Oh,” you said finally. “Okay.”

You didn’t press, but he could hear the disappointment in your voice. It was subtle, but it was there. That quiet frustration, like something had shifted between you and you didn’t know why.

He felt it too.

“I’ll see you at the usual time,” he said, softer this time. “Five.”

You didn’t argue. “Yeah. Okay.”

You both sat there on the line for a beat longer, as if waiting for the other to say something else. Something more. But nothing came. Just the sound of breath and distance and words unspoken.

“Goodnight, Minho.”

“Goodnight.”

When he hung up, he stared at the dashboard for a long while, guilt crawling up the back of his neck like heat. But he didn’t move. Didn’t call back.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t busy.

He had no plans on Friday. No obligations. No excuse.

Except the one that lived in his heart:

He wasn’t ready to watch you go away with someone else. He wasn’t ready to let you slip through his fingers again. Not without trying.

And maybe that made him selfish.

But this time, he wasn’t going to stand on your doorstep holding flowers.

This time, he was going to fight.

-

Thursday.

Minho barely slept. His thoughts ran circles through his head, bouncing between guilt, longing, and a creeping desperation he hadn’t felt since the night he packed up his things and left your shared apartment. Since then, he’d been careful, too careful, maybe, never pushing, never begging, always giving you the space you asked for, hoping silently that the time apart would eventually lead back to something familiar. Something whole.

But now, time was running out.

He could feel it like pressure behind his ribs.

He hadn’t been able to think of a single thing since your call the day before. He’d laid awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment, arms crossed behind his head, thinking of every possible excuse to keep you from going on that trip with Jisung. Every scenario sounded ridiculous, selfish, or would put Hana in the middle and that was something he refused to do.

So now, Thursday morning, he sat at his desk at work, jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the screen in front of him. His fingers tapped restlessly on the woodgrain, and he barely even noticed when Chan came up beside him with two cold drinks from the office break room.

Chan placed one by his hand without saying anything at first, then took a long sip of his own before finally asking, “Anything yet?”

Minho blinked. “What?”

“A plan,” Chan clarified. “To stop it.”

Minho sighed, shaking his head slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “No. Nothing that doesn’t make me look like a complete idiot or a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Chan raised a brow. “You are a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Minho scoffed quietly, not in disagreement, but because he didn’t have the energy to argue.

Chan set his drink down and leaned one arm against Minho’s desk, lowering his voice. “Alright. What if you stop thinking about it like it’s about Jisung, or Hana, or even that weekend? What if it’s about you?”

Minho turned his head slowly, giving him a confused look.

Chan explained, “You’re not trying to sabotage their trip, right? You’re trying to remind her what she means to you. Why you loved each other in the first place. Why she maybe still does. So make it about that.”

Minho frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know what that would even look like…”

Chan shrugged. “You said you haven’t really talked since the anniversary, right? Why not use that? Say you didn’t feel right leaving it the way it was. That you want to talk. Just the two of you. No distractions. No Hana, no Jisung. Just… honesty.”

Minho stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding. It was the simplest thing. Honest. Straightforward. Real.

And terrifying.

But it stuck with him.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his blazer off the back of his chair and collecting his things in a flurry of motion.

Chan blinked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to her,” Minho said, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder, determination hardening his voice. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”

Chan smiled slowly, standing upright. “Go.”

As Minho made his way out of the office, the cold drink still sweating on his desk, Chan called after him just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the office:

“And don’t say anything stupid.”

Minho didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the elevator, heart pounding, pulse racing, his fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel of his next move.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he got to you.

Only that it had to be said now. Before it really was too late.

-

Minho drove with white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, the radio silent, the streets outside blurring past him in streaks of dull grey. His heart was pounding louder than his thoughts, louder even than the doubt telling him this was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be showing up unannounced. But the image of you laughing with someone else had rooted itself so deeply in his chest that he couldn’t breathe until he said something. Until he did something.

He didn’t even remember parking the car. All he knew was that he was suddenly at your doorstep, standing there like a fool, his pulse drumming like war inside his ears. He knocked, harder than he meant to, and louder than he ever had before.

You opened the door moments later, eyebrows drawing together in a mix of confusion and mild shock. You glanced behind you, as if checking to see if anyone else was home, and then back at him. Your voice was hesitant.

“Minho? What are you doing here? Hana’s still at school.”

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. The words were swelling in his throat and tangling in his nerves, but if he waited any longer, he’d lose his chance.

“I know. I’m not here about Hana.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—please. I need five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You didn’t move. He could tell you were wary, maybe even annoyed, but something in his face must’ve given him away because after a pause, you stepped aside and let him in.

He stood in your living room, awkward and tense, the silence too familiar, too full of memories. Then, before he could stop himself, he said it:

“I love you.”
He took a breath. “No—I never stopped loving you.”

You blinked, stunned. He kept going before you could say anything.

“I tried. I tried so hard to move on, to respect the fact that we both agreed to end things. But it’s never gone away. And I know I messed everything up, and I know you’re seeing someone now, but I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with him.”

You were still silent, and that scared him more than anything.

“That day,” he said, quieter now, “our anniversary… I came by with flowers. I know I shouldn’t have, but I just— I thought maybe we could talk. And I saw him. Walking out of your place. With that smug smile. And I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I couldn’t even breathe. I haven’t stopped regretting everything since.”

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, your arms crossed loosely over your chest, watching him. Letting him unravel. He kept going, voice trembling in places.

“I keep replaying everything in my head. what I could’ve done differently, what I should’ve said. And maybe it’s selfish of me, showing up like this, but I had to say something before it’s too late. Before you go on that trip with him.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about that trip?”

He hesitated. His expression twisted into a guilty frown. “I… I didn’t mean to find out. I work with Jisung.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You never told me that.”

“I know. I didn’t want to seem like the jealous ex. Even though I am. But it’s not just that. It’s not just about being jealous. It’s about the fact that I still love you. That I never stopped loving you. Even when we broke up, even when it made sense. I never stopped.”

You exhaled sharply and stood up. Your voice was tight when you finally spoke.

“So now you want to be with me? Now that I’m seeing someone else?”

He flinched at your tone. “It’s not like that. I mean, it looks like that, but I swear this isn’t some reaction. I didn’t plan this because I saw you with someone new. I’ve felt this way for so long. I just… I was afraid to tell you.”

You shook your head. “You were afraid, so you stayed silent, and now that I’m starting to move on, you show up and ask me not to go on a trip with someone who’s actually been there for me?”

“I know how it sounds. But if, if there’s even one part of you that feels the same way, that misses what we had, that still wonders ‘what if’ please. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. I’ll wait. Just don’t tell me it’s really over.”

Silence fell again. The kind of silence that carried weight. History. Pain.

You were looking at him like you didn’t know whether to break down or scream. And he stood there, exposed, vulnerable, every wall he’d ever built crumbled at your feet, hoping, desperately that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to rebuild from.

Your silence was deafening.

Minho stood there, his breath held hostage in his chest, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He didn’t need you to say anything, he could already feel it in the way your eyes dropped to the floor, in the way your mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line. In his gut, he feared he knew what was coming.

That he was too late.

That you'd already fallen for Jisung, and this trip, this weekend getaway he’d found out about through whispers in the office wasn't just a casual thing. It was a beginning. A line being drawn in the sand between what used to be and what would never be again. A new chapter where he no longer belonged.

He felt sick. And helpless. And like the ground beneath him was shifting just enough to knock him off balance.

But then, softly, so softly, it was your voice that broke the silence.

“I’m not going on that trip.”

Minho blinked, his entire body freezing like the air had been sucked out of the room. He looked at you, eyes wide, unsure if he’d misheard or hallucinated out of desperation.

You looked up at him slowly, your expression hard to read, somewhere between vulnerable and guarded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was going to, but… something didn’t feel right. I knew Jisung was going to ask me to be his girlfriend while we were away. I could feel it. He’s been hinting at it for weeks.”

Minho didn’t breathe.

You gave a small, dry laugh humorless, tired. “And I couldn’t say yes. Not because he’s a bad guy, he’s not. He’s… good. Kind. Consistent. But I’m not ready. Not yet, at least.”

He swallowed, still not trusting himself to speak, afraid that if he said anything too soon, he’d break the moment. But your words were unraveling something tightly wound inside of him. Slowly, piece by piece.

You exhaled, and for the first time, your voice cracked just slightly.

“That’s actually why I asked if you could pick Hana up early this week. I wanted to talk to Jisung before it was too late. Before he asked, and I had to hurt him by saying no.”

Minho’s heart twisted first in relief, so sharp it nearly dropped him to his knees. And then in something else. Something heavier.

Guilt.

He hadn’t known that. He’d assumed. Feared the worst. Convinced himself that he’d lost you for good when he saw Jisung leave your place. He’d let jealousy cloud everything. But now, now he realized something else.

There was still a door open.

Even if it was barely cracked, even if it wasn’t a promise, there was still a chance.

He let out a shaky breath and sat down, not trusting his legs anymore.

You were standing across the room, arms loosely crossed, but your walls were down, more than he’d seen in a long time. You looked at him, and for the first time, there wasn’t anger in your eyes. Just weariness. And something else. Something close to longing.

“I never wanted us to end like we did,” you said softly. “But we were tired. And we were hurting each other without meaning to. I thought breaking up was the right thing. That it would give us room to breathe. To figure ourselves out. And maybe it did, but…”

You hesitated, and he leaned forward slightly, drawn to your words like gravity.

“…I never stopped wondering if we’d find our way back.”

His breath caught.

That’s when it hit him. Really hit him.

He might still have a chance.

Not because you were lonely. Not because Jisung didn’t measure up. But because a piece of you was still holding onto what you and Minho once had. Because maybe, just maybe, you were still holding space in your heart for him.

And it was that sliver of hope that finally let him speak again, voice trembling but sure.

“If there’s a way back… I’ll find it. I’ll do the work. I’ll wait, if that’s what you need. Just tell me there’s a chance.”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at him for a long, long moment, and then you walked over and sat beside him on the couch, close enough to feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch.

“Right now,” you said quietly, “I don’t have all the answers. But I know I want to figure them out. Not with anyone else. With you.”

Minho looked at you with something almost childlike in his expression, hope, tentative and aching. His voice was soft, but steady, when he asked, “Do you think… if I really try this time—if I show up better, if I really communicate the way I should’ve back then… do you think we could try again?”

His eyes searched yours, not demanding a promise, but asking for permission to hope.

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung in the room like a fragile thread, waiting to be either pulled gently forward or snapped. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against the moment, the mistakes, the miscommunications, the nights you cried alone while pretending it didn’t hurt.

But this was different. He was different. There was something raw about the way he looked at you now, something stripped down and sincere, like he’d peeled away everything that had gotten in the way before.

You let out a small breath and gave a short, slow nod.

Minho’s reaction was immediate, a wide, relieved smile blooming across his face, and for a moment, he looked younger, lighter. Like the years of regret he carried had been momentarily lifted.

But before he could get too far ahead, you raised a hand, not to stop him but to anchor the moment.

“It has to be slow,” you said firmly. “Really slow, Minho. I’m not jumping into anything. I’ve got Hana to think about. I’ve got myself to think about. We can’t go back to what we were, we have to start fresh. New pace. New rules.”

He nodded quickly, almost eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I want that. I don’t want to repeat what we had. I want to build something better.”

And then, gently, cautiously, he reached for you.

His arms wrapped around you with such care it made your chest ache. He didn’t pull you into him, he welcomed you, waited for you to meet him halfway. And you didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his embrace and let yourself melt into the warmth of his chest, burying your face there. His familiar scent, his heartbeat against your ear, it all came back in a rush.

He rested his cheek lightly on your hair and exhaled a shaky breath, just about to whisper something, how much he missed this, missed you, how often he’d dreamed of this exact moment, when your phone vibrated loudly between you.

You let out a small sigh and pulled away, checking the screen.

“It’s time to pick up Hana,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as reality crept gently back in.

Minho laughed, the sound light and real. “Of course it is,” he said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll go. I don’t want to ruin this moment for you. I want you to sit with it. Let it settle.”

He made his way to the door, pausing before he stepped out.

“But don’t forget,” he said, pointing at you with a small, mock-serious smile. “I’m going to try. Seriously this time. I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.”

You gave him a long look, soft and bittersweet. “I know. And I need to talk to Jisung. Tonight.”

He nodded slowly. The name didn’t sting the same way anymore. Not now, not after what you’d said. But still, a flicker of anxiety crossed his face before he caught himself.

Then, after a beat, he asked, half-joking, half-not, “You’re not gonna change your mind, right?”

You laughed under your breath, tilting your head at him. “Minho…”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting like he was trying to read your mind. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled, eyes twinkling just slightly. “I promise.”

He held your gaze a second longer, letting that promise soak in. Then he smiled, for real this time, wide and hopeful and full of something that had been missing for a long, long time.

And then he was gone, jogging down the steps to his car, probably already picturing Hana’s excited little face when she saw you at pickup.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, holding the weight of everything you’d just said. Everything you still had to do. Tonight, you would talk to Jisung. You owed him that much. And you owed yourself the honesty you’d been avoiding.

But in your chest, something had shifted.

Not a return to the past, but a beginning.

Careful. Slow. But real.

And it was enough. for now.

Minho had barely stepped through the front door when the weight of the conversation he’d just had hit him fully. His body was buzzing, not from nerves anymore, but from something gentler. A release. A strange blend of relief, exhaustion, and the quiet hum of hope. His hands were still jittery from the adrenaline, fingers twitching slightly as he tossed his keys into the bowl by the door and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced down to see Chan lighting up the screen.

Of course.

He picked up, not bothering to mask the rawness in his voice. “Hey.”

“Yo,” Chan greeted, already sounding like he knew something had shifted. “Bad time?”

Minho shook his head, even though Chan couldn’t see. “No, no. I just got home… from talking to her.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then a burst of excitement.

“No way—you actually did it?” Chan's voice lit up with the kind of joy that only came from someone who had been there for the ugliest parts of your story.

Minho let out a long, deep sigh, almost a laugh—part disbelief, part release. “Yeah… I did.”

“And?!” Chan pressed. “How did it go?”

Minho smiled softly, sinking down onto the couch like his bones had finally loosened. “It went… better than I thought. She’s not going on the trip. With Jisung, I mean. She said she’s not ready. But she didn’t say no to me. She said we could try. Slowly. That we could maybe… start again.”

He trailed off, overwhelmed by the way it sounded out loud.

Chan let out a cheer through the phone. “Minho, that’s huge! That’s amazing, man. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the connection between them. Then Chan’s voice turned gentle, sincere.

“I’m proud of you, you know that? You actually faced it this time. You didn’t just bury it or run from it like you did last time.”

Minho went quiet. The smile lingered, but it faded at the edges, mellowed by memory.

“Yeah…” he murmured. “I remember.”

He had run. From everyone. Especially from Chan and Changbin.

When the breakup first started looming, those cold arguments late at night, the silence that followed them Minho had pulled away, piece by piece. And when the final conversation had happened, when it was real, when he saw his bags by the door and your voice broke as you said goodbye, something inside him had shut down entirely.

He stopped going out with the others after work. Stopped answering texts. He started coming in late, leaving early. And when he was at work, he wore a mask so thick not even Chan, who’d known him since his very first day could break through.

He hadn’t known how to talk about the pain. How to say that losing you felt like losing oxygen. So instead, he retreated.

Chan must’ve felt the shift in the silence because he spoke again, this time quieter.

“Hey… I know you remember how bad it got. You pulled away so hard we barely knew how to help. Me, Changbin, everyone. And we were worried. You wouldn’t even let us try.”

“I know,” Minho said, voice low. “I thought if I let anyone see how bad I was doing, it’d make it real. That it would make me weak. So I just… disappeared.”

“You weren’t weak,” Chan said firmly. “You were hurting. And we got that. We just wished you’d let us in. Even just a little.”

There was a long pause before Minho responded.

“I hated how broken I was. I didn’t even recognize myself. I felt like I’d failed at everything, being a partner, a father, a friend. And I didn’t want you or Changbin to see me like that. I couldn’t even look at myself.”

Chan didn’t respond right away. When he did, his tone was soft but unwavering.

“Well, now you’re facing it. And you’re doing better than you think. Just don’t forget that we’re still here. This time, if it gets hard again and it will, because that’s life, don’t shut us out. Let us be there. Let us show up for you, Minho. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

Minho blinked quickly, swallowing the sudden knot in his throat.

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Chan smiled through the phone. “Good. That’s all we ask.”

Minho leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The air in the room felt lighter somehow. Less suffocating. He’d spent so long locking parts of himself away, trying to manage everything in silence, convincing himself that vulnerability made him burdensome. But this? This conversation, this simple, grounding reminder that he had people, real people, in his corner?

It meant everything.

“Thanks, Chan. For not giving up on me,” Minho said, voice steady again. “Even when I disappeared.”

“You’re my brother, Minho. I never would.”

And with that, the call ended, and Minho sat there, phone resting on his chest, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, not just because he might get another chance with you…

…but because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

The sun had started its slow descent by the time you finally sat down. For most of the afternoon, you’d been pacing back and forth across the living room, phone in hand, trying to figure out how to say everything you needed to say without causing more hurt than necessary.

Hana was in her room, humming softly to herself as she played with her toys, completely unaware of the weight sitting in your chest like a stone.

You’d thought about sending a long text. Maybe laying everything out in writing so you could control the tone, avoid awkward silences, or tears, or worse, disappointment. But that felt too impersonal, too cold. He didn’t deserve that. Jisung had been nothing but kind. Steady. Patient.

You considered asking him to come over, but that didn’t feel right either. You didn’t want to give him false hope, or make him drive all the way here just to leave with a fractured heart.

So you sat there for a long moment, fingers hovering over his name in your call log.

And then, finally, you pressed it.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, voice bright and warm.

“Hey,” he said, clearly smiling. “I was just about to text you. Are you packed yet? I managed to get off work early tomorrow so we can head out a bit sooner. I figured we could beat traffic and maybe grab dinner somewhere up there. Oh and don’t forget to pack something warm, okay? It’s going to be colder than we thought.”

You closed your eyes. That part hurt the most, his excitement. His thoughtfulness. The way he was planning this trip with care, imagining moments the two of you would never actually share.

“Jisung,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Can we… talk for a minute?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to let you know he sensed the shift. When he spoke again, his voice was more cautious.

“Yeah. Sure. What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, gathering your thoughts before beginning. And then, slowly, carefully, you laid it all out, the truth.

You told him how you weren’t going on the trip. How you'd realized you weren’t ready for a relationship, not with anyone. How the timing wasn’t right. And then, gently, you told him about Minho.

You tried to explain it without excuses, without painting Jisung as a placeholder or Minho as a hero. You were honest, clear that your heart still hadn’t fully healed from everything you’d been through, and being with someone else without facing that part of yourself wasn’t fair. Not to you. Not to him.

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and you hated how your heart twisted waiting for him to respond.

When he finally did, his voice was quiet, but not cold.

“So… it’s because of him.”

You didn’t deny it. “Partly. But not just because of him. I think I’ve been trying to convince myself that I was ready, and I wasn’t. You were wonderful, Jisung. You were everything someone should want. And that’s what makes this so hard.”

He let out a breath almost a laugh, but not quite. “I mean, I kinda had a feeling. He always felt like the elephant in the room. I never wanted to admit it, but... yeah. I knew you weren’t fully in it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lead you on. I never meant for it to go this far.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re not a bad person. You just… weren’t ready. That’s not your fault.”

“I’ll pay you back for the trip,” you said quickly, guilt tightening in your chest. “The reservation, the gas, the—”

“No,” he interrupted, firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Seriously. I’m still going. I think I need the break more than ever now.” He let out a small chuckle. “Maybe I’ll sit in the hot tub and re-evaluate my life or something.”

You laughed, despite yourself, a bittersweet sound. “Well… I hope it gives you what you need.”

He was quiet again, but this time, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

“Just… promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t disappear, okay?” His voice was soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before. “I know it didn’t work out romantically, but I really care about you. And Hana. Even if she barely talks to me and kind of looks at me like I’m invading her space every time I show up.”

You smiled at that. “She’s just… protective. She’s still adjusting to all of this. But she doesn’t dislike you, I swear.”

“Well, I’m still convinced she plotted against me at least once,” he joked, a touch of humor returning to his tone. “But seriously, I want to stay in your life. As a friend. If that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” you said sincerely. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I’m trying,” he said with a sigh. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’ll be okay,” he added after a pause. “Eventually. Just… don’t feel guilty for doing what’s right for you, okay?”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he said, more upbeat now. “Well, I guess I’ll go pack for my sad solo mountain retreat.”

“Don’t forget warm clothes,” you teased softly.

He laughed. “You got it. Talk soon?”

“Yeah. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the call ended.

You sat there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at the blank screen. There was a strange peace in the quiet now. You had dreaded that conversation all day, but Jisung had met it with more grace than you thought possible.

It didn’t make it easy.

But it made it right.

The silence after the call ended was louder than anything.

You set the phone down slowly, hands resting in your lap, fingers tracing the outline of each other as if trying to soothe the restlessness still lingering in your chest. The conversation had gone as well as it possibly could, and yet, something inside you ached, not with regret, but with the quiet exhaustion that comes from being honest.

Honesty wasn’t always clean. Sometimes it felt like unraveling.

The sun had dipped below the horizon now, casting the room in that early evening blue-gray stillness. The kind of light that makes everything look softer but heavier too like the house was holding its breath with you.

You didn’t cry. You thought maybe you would, but instead, you just… sat. Still. Letting it all settle.

Then, without warning, the sound of quick little footsteps broke through the stillness.

“Mommy!”

Hana came bursting into the living room, her tiny arms full of a stuffed animal, hair a little messy from rolling around on the carpet in her room. She launched herself into your lap like a small, bright comet, all warmth and movement, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and snuggling her cheek into your chest.

You smiled down at her, startled but comforted, brushing her hair gently away from her face.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, voice catching slightly. “Everything okay?”

She nodded quickly, still holding you. “I just wanted to hug you. You were being quiet.”

That simple observation, spoken so innocently, made your throat tighten. Children had this uncanny way of seeing right through you. You held her closer, letting her weight press into you like a grounding force.

“I needed that,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at you with wide, curious eyes. “When can I see Daddy again?”

You paused, shifting slightly so you could look her in the eyes.

“This weekend, remember?” you said softly. “You’re going to spend the night at his place.”

She smiled at that, clearly excited. But then her expression shifted into something a little more thoughtful, more serious.

“I wish we could all spend the night together,” she said.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean, baby?”

She rested her chin on your shoulder, her voice muffled but sure. “Like before. When Daddy was still here. I liked it when we were all together.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing through the pang in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “I liked it too.”

She was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if maybe she sensed the unspoken things adults tried to keep hidden. She was small, but she was observant, always had been. It was in the way she watched people, the way she listened even when no one thought she was paying attention.

You pulled her closer again, tucking her head beneath your chin. Her little hands clutched your shirt, and the rhythm of her breathing began to slow as she relaxed in your arms.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her. “But I promise I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

She didn’t respond in words, just gave a sleepy nod, like that was enough for her.

And maybe, for now, it was enough for you too.

Because in that small, honest moment, just you and her wrapped in the quiet hum of love that had never wavered, you remembered why you were trying so hard to get it right this time. Why slow was okay. Why healing mattered more than rushing into answers.

You didn’t have everything figured out. The road ahead was still uncertain. But right here, in this stillness, in the warmth of your daughter’s arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

It was a crisp Friday evening when Minho pulled up outside your place.

He sat in the car for a moment after parking, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him steady. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He was here for Hana, yes, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thinking about you just as much.

A part of him had been convincing himself that nothing would be said. That maybe you’d keep things simple, just hand off Hana with a polite smile, exchange a few logistical notes, and send them on their way. And he’d understand if that were the case. You had no obligation to talk more. Not after the emotional chaos of the last few days.

Still, some quiet part of him,

buried under nerves and realism,

hoped you'd say something.

Anything.

He barely had time to finish the thought before the door opened, and there you were.

You stepped outside, Hana bounding ahead of you, her backpack bouncing behind her as she ran up to Minho with bright eyes and a cheerful “Daddy!”

Minho smiled, crouching down to hug her tightly, brushing her hair back as he greeted her. That moment was easy, effortless, natural. But his eyes flicked up to you as he rose to stand, his heart climbing to his throat.

You looked calm. But he knew you well enough to recognize the thoughtful set of your mouth, the way you held your arms loosely at your sides like you were steadying yourself from within.

You approached slowly, and for a moment, it was quiet, just the sound of birds somewhere overhead and Hana chatting to herself as she climbed into the backseat of Minho’s car.

Then you spoke.

“I talked to Jisung.”

Minho blinked. His body went still, and he didn’t know what he expected you to say next, only that he hadn’t expected you to say anything.

You held his gaze as you continued, your voice calm but honest. “I told him everything. About not going on the trip. About not being ready. About… you.”

Minho’s breath caught in his chest. “You did?”

You nodded. “I owed him the truth. He was kind. He didn’t deserve anything less.”

He swallowed, eyes searching yours for something, hesitation, regret, anger. But there wasn’t any. Just quiet strength. The kind of clarity that comes from doing something hard and knowing it was right.

“I told him I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship,” you went on, voice softening. “Because I’m still figuring things out. Because there’s still a part of me that’s trying to make sense of everything that happened. But I also told him I couldn’t ignore how I felt when you came to the door the other day. That I hadn’t been able to ignore it for a while now.”

Minho didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, the wind brushing gently through his hair, his lips parting slightly like he was afraid to exhale too hard and ruin the moment.

“And…” you hesitated slightly. “If we do try again, it has to be slow. For me. For Hana. For both of us.”

Minho nodded immediately, almost too fast. “Yes. Of course. That’s all I want. I mean, not all, but… I’m not expecting things to be like they were. I just… I want a chance to do it right this time. At your pace.”

You gave him a small, cautious smile. “That’s good. Because I don’t want to repeat the past. I want something different. Healthier.”

Minho stepped a little closer, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence again. Familiar. Not suffocating like it used to be when things were hard. Just… grounding.

“I’m going to show up this time,” he said quietly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just for the sweet moments. I’ll be there for the hard ones too. Even if I don’t always know what to say.”

You nodded, your voice almost a whisper. “That’s all I need.”

For a beat, you both stood there in the morning light, not rushing anything. Letting the quiet say the things your hearts didn’t quite know how to put into words yet.

Then Hana’s voice piped up from the car, calling for her dad to put on her favorite music. You both laughed, light and easy, like old times. Minho turned, heading to the driver’s side, but before he climbed in, he looked back at you.

“I’ll text you tonight,” he said.

You nodded, smiling again. “Okay.”

And he got into the car, pulling away slowly, glancing in the rearview mirror one more time to catch your silhouette on the doorstep, soft, thoughtful, strong.

And just like that, something had shifted. Not everything. Not instantly.

But enough.

Enough to begin.

Nearly two years had passed since that early spring morning, since the front door opened on a fragile, hopeful beginning.

There had never been a dramatic reunion, no grand announcement to friends or family. No social media posts or loud proclamations. Just quiet, intentional love. It had started with conversations. Long ones. Painful ones. Healing ones. Sometimes they were over late dinners after Hana had gone to bed, sometimes whispered while folding laundry or brushing teeth. It hadn’t been perfect. There were setbacks. But through it all, you kept choosing each other, quietly, steadily.

You hadn’t planned to fall back into the rhythm of being a family. But slowly, almost without realizing it, you did.

Minho started spending more time at your place, first for Hana. That was the excuse. He’d come to drop her off and she’d beg him to stay just a little longer. One night, she asked for a bedtime story. “One more, Daddy.” He’d read it with a smile in his voice, her little head resting against his chest, and when you’d peeked in the room, you’d found them both curled up on her bed, eyes heavy with sleep. That night, he stayed on the couch, claiming it was too late to drive home, though it wasn’t even 10 p.m.

You didn’t say anything. Neither of you did. Not when it happened again. Or the next time. Until one day, you realized you had his toothbrush in your bathroom. A drawer with his t-shirts. His cologne on your shelf. And you didn’t remember when it all officially changed, only that it had. And you were happy. The quiet kind of happy that feels like home.

Now, nearly two years later, the house was fuller.

The soft sound of children��s morning cartoons hummed in the background while you stood behind Hana, gently parting her hair into sections. Her legs dangled off the kitchen stool, kicking lightly with excitement.

“Mommy,” she asked for the fourth time that week, “is the baby coming soon?”

You smiled, one hand resting unconsciously on your belly as you twisted her braid. “Not that soon, sweetheart. A few more months.”

Hana let out a dramatic sigh, the kind only a six-year-old could manage. “But I already made space in my room!”

You laughed, gently tugging her braid loose and starting again. “That’s for later, remember? The baby will sleep in our room for a while.”

“But I can still help, right? Like with diapers and bottles and what if the baby cries at night?”

“Then we’ll all help,” you said softly. “That’s what family does.”

Before she could fire off another question, footsteps padded into the room Minho, fully dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he walked in with that still-sleepy look he never really lost in the mornings.

“There you are,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours first. His voice dipped gently, his concern immediate but unspoken. “Why’d you leave bed so early?”

You gave him a tired smile, one hand resting on the curve of your growing belly. “I couldn’t sleep again. Got too frustrated tossing and turning.”

He crossed the room in two steps and leaned in to kiss your lips, his hand automatically reaching for your belly with a tenderness that still made your breath catch. “Next time, wake me up, okay?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead now. “Even if it’s just to complain. I’d rather be tired with you than sleep through it alone.”

You nodded, your eyes warm, and he turned to Hana, who squealed with delight as he tickled her side.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Daddy! Stop!” she laughed, squirming away with a wide grin. He ruffled her hair playfully before kissing the top of her head.

You turned back to the kitchen, checking the time. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

A question that once felt like a gamble. A question you used to ask even when you knew the answer would be “I’ll see,” delivered with the kind of distracted vagueness that always left your chest a little hollow.

But now? Now, Minho didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at you as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “I’ll be home.”

You didn’t say anything in return. You just smiled. And that was enough.

Minho bent down again, kissed you once more, slower this time, more present then turned to Hana. “Be good for Mommy, yeah?”

She saluted him with exaggerated seriousness, and he laughed.

And then he was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, your hands resting on your belly, watching as Hana inspected her braid in the mirror on the wall.

There was peace in the routine. A softness that hadn’t existed in the beginning. A stillness that came not from perfection, but from the choice day after day to love each other better than before.

And as your daughter grinned at her reflection and the baby inside you fluttered with a kick, you whispered quietly to yourself:

“We’re okay.”

And you were.

More than okay.

You were whole.

//

[a/n: surprise!! it’s my birthday tomorrow but i wanted to give you guys a little gift. (: final part of BTL.]

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..] [ BTL taglist @christasmind @tsunderelino @staytinyarmy @luvhannies @leeknowno @ravengxbss @fairylix]

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: Writing Authentic Dialogue

For @radiantmocha TL;DR: advice for writing combat and improving dialogue authenticity?

I'm sorry that this post is going to be so short but it's a really simple topic for me :D

A) Authenticity: Actually Talk To These People Or Read Their Books

When it comes to looking for authentic dialogue, especially in relation to combat, just trying to start up a connection with a professional can be the gateway into actual realism.

If you can, try talking to a veteran or someone actively serving in the military!

If you are interested in a specific time in history that no one is currently alive from, try talking to either a historian or a history buff.

If neither of those options work for you, try reading books and other stories that were written by veterans. My favorite book of this genre is "All Quiet On The Western Front" which is a semi-autobiographical book exploring what life was like for german soldiers in WW1 which was written by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of WW1.

I emplore you to explore stories, even fictional stories, that were written by soldiers!

B) Authenticity: Accounting For The Environment

What's the time period that the story is set?

Where is the story set?

What is the socio-economic status of the protagonist?

What is the personality of the protagonist?

Answer these questions (and more) to understand what a character will and wont say. Characters fighting in WW1 won't reference tanks pre-Battle of Somme.

This advice is true for everything. An innocent, rich kid will certainly speak differently, using different verbage, in comparison to a kid living in the slums. They will also prioritize different things.

What I hate most in stories is when characters, poor for their entire life, poverty-striken, starts wildly proclaiming ideas of justice, fairness, and equality while fighting bullies left and right. Most people in that situation need to keep their head down. They can't afford to go to the police station for "contributing to the a fight" Independent women can't get into the middle of a fight! Do you know how much medical bills cost? If they manage to survive, it's not going to be pretty. No matter how much self-defense classes like to tell women, most women understand that they can't overpower a determined man.

That isn't evil, that's survival, that's practicality! Ideals have always been prioritized by people privileged enough to have the time to think while the poor and always working need to be always working!

Sorry, that was a rant

In Conclusion:

Read stories that real people have written that are either semi-autobiographical or autobiographical! Keep in mind the time and place!

And so sorry for that rant!

[yuurivoice]

I'm Writing A Novel, And I'm F*cking Terrified!

Not quite the headline you all might have been expecting, but yes, it's true! After writing hundreds of thousands of words over the past decade for all of my scripts, promotional material, and every other thing you could imagine—I'm looking to put pen to paper in the way I used to dream of. 

Long before I picked up a microphone and started making questionable noises into it, I was a storyteller. I wanted nothing more in my life than to create stories and characters that touched people, and most importantly, inspired them to create stories of their own. I was a seven year old kid fresh off of playing Final Fantasy VII when I knew I wanted to write. 

It was my first dream.

That dream and I have been on a wild roller coaster ride over the years. I've been in the trenches, roleplaying in dark corners of the internet. I've written professionally as a journalist all thanks to lowkey never telling anyone my age online as I got through high school. Oh, and while I was doing that, I was also writing sad boy poetry on LiveJournal and Myspace. 

You know me for my voice, but that voice has been developed through a lifetime of finding creative ways to string together enough words that when I slap a period at the end of it, the audience locks in. I've written 99% of what you've listened to from me. I take great pride in that, and that won't be changing any time soon.

The thing that brought me this far, the thing responsible for all of the daydreams and fantasies about wonderful worlds filled with characters and stories that fueled my creativity, was the hope that one day I'd write a novel.

If you've been a creative of any sort, you're likely very familiar with how effective hope is at creating something. It's a wonderful seed but until you start watering it and drag it out into the light of day, it cannot grow. So, consider this me dragging a big ass pot of soil out into the middle of our lovely little garden. 

There are so many beautiful stories we've grown together already: BitterSweet, Shattered, Lost & Found, and an entire extended universe that's coming to life in Evalas!

I want to create more. I want to entertain and inspire more. 

But what I don't want is to have come all this way and never taken a shot at the one dream I left behind. I want to write a novel. I have always wanted to write a novel. 

I don't give a damn if I'm scared. I don't care if I'm rusty and my writing is clumsy and ineloquent. I don't care that I have to dig deeper to find more time and energy to create and develop and refine. 

I'm able to say that because of you. 

Do you realize how powerful that is? That you could lift up someone who has been as tired and lost as I have been throughout my life? Have you seen me??? I'm a big son of a bitch!

This isn't me just saying thank you, though. I want to invite you along for the ride!

Let me introduce you to Ryland Dane. If you’ve enjoyed my storytelling thus far, I have a feeling you’ll appreciate what this fella has in store for the future! Every follow on every platform makes a huge difference and helps fuel this rocket we’re going to ride on this journey, and I appreciate you very much.

Tiktok Twitter YouTube Instagram Bluesky Tumblr

If you are in the industry, a beta reader, editor, agent, or published author and would be interested in working with me in the future, please don't hesitate to reach out to my business email at rylanddanewrites@gmail.com! I'm sure there are a few of you lurking, and I am always keen on working with professionals who are familiar with my work and this journey I've been on!

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Synopsis: When talented producer Y/n (known professionally as the mysterious "Celeste") accepts a position at JYP Entertainment to help Stray Kids with their comeback, she expects to focus solely on creating music. What she doesn't expect is the immediate connection she feels with Han Jisung—the group's quick-witted, sensitive rapper and producer who's been following her career from afar.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Heartbreak

<<Previous Next>> Masterlist

Chapter 12: Sacrifices

"So when did you first realize you had feelings for Han?" Hyunjin asked, leaning across the café table with the intensity of a professional interviewer. "Was it love at first sight? Gradual realization? Moment of epiphany?"

"Can you please lower your voice?" you hissed, glancing around the small café nervously. "This isn't a public television special."

It had been three days since Hyunjin's dramatic discovery of your relationship with Han, and you'd foolishly agreed to have lunch with him and Felix—a decision you were rapidly regretting as Hyunjin treated the outing like an exclusive scoop for a gossip magazine.

"He's physically incapable of being discreet," Felix explained apologetically, though his own eyes sparkled with similar curiosity. "But seriously, when did you know?"

You sighed, realizing neither would drop the subject until you offered something. "I don't know exactly. It was... gradual, I guess. Working together, seeing different sides of him. There wasn't one specific moment."

This wasn't entirely true. You could pinpoint several moments when your feelings had crystalized—Han's vulnerable sharing of his solo tracks, your dance at the street festival, his thoughtful apology after movie night. But those felt too personal to share, even with friends who knew about your relationship.

"And the physical attraction?" Hyunjin pressed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Because I've seen the evidence firsthand, and it seemed pretty intense."

"Hyunjin!" you exclaimed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as Felix nearly choked on his drink.

"What? I'm just saying what I observed as an objective third party who accidentally walked in on—"

"We know what you walked in on," you interrupted hurriedly. "And I'm not discussing that aspect of our relationship over lunch in a public café."

"Fine, fine," Hyunjin conceded, though his smirk suggested the topic was merely postponed, not abandoned. "Let's talk about the future then. What happens when you go back to LA?"

The question landed like a stone in your stomach, effectively dampening the mood. Nine weeks remained in your contract—a countdown that loomed larger with each passing day.

"We're taking it day by day," you said, repeating the line you and Han had agreed upon. "Not overthinking the future."

Felix studied your expression, his usual playfulness giving way to genuine concern. "That's a good approach in theory, but... feelings have a way of getting more complicated, not less. Nine weeks is both a long time and not long at all."

You pushed your food around your plate, appetite diminishing. "I know. Believe me, I think about it more than I should. But what's the alternative? End things now to avoid pain later?"

"Or consider options that don't involve ending things at all," Hyunjin suggested. "Long distance? Visits? You transferring to JYP permanently?"

"My life is in LA," you reminded them, though the thought didn't bring the certainty it once had. "My career, my apartment, everything."

"Careers can be transplanted," Felix pointed out gently. "Especially for someone with your talent and reputation. JYP would probably offer you a permanent position if you wanted it."

The suggestion wasn't entirely new—the thought had crossed your mind on particularly weak moments when contemplating separation from Han seemed unbearable. But the practical complications were significant, not to mention the professional implications of making career decisions based on relationships.

"It's too soon to be thinking that way," you insisted, as much to yourself as to them. "We haven't even defined what we are beyond 'secret girlfriend' and 'day by day.'"

"Has Han said anything about what he wants after your contract ends?" Felix asked, his perception cutting straight to the heart of your unspoken concerns.

"No," you admitted. "We both avoid the topic. It's easier to just... be present."

"Avoidance as relationship strategy," Hyunjin mused dramatically. "Bold choice."

"Says the relationship expert," Felix teased, nudging him.

"I'll have you know I've had many deeply meaningful relationships," Hyunjin protested with dignity.

"With your mirror, maybe," Felix quipped, causing you to laugh despite the heavy turn in conversation.

"You wound me," Hyunjin clutched his heart theatrically. "But back to the matter at hand—what's your next secret rendezvous with lover boy?"

The nickname made you roll your eyes, though you couldn't help smiling. "Tonight, actually. He's coming over to work on his solo tracks."

"Ah yes, 'work,'" Hyunjin used exaggerated air quotes. "Very professional. Much music. Such production."

"We do actually work," you defended, though your blush probably undermined your credibility. "Just... not exclusively."

"Well, make sure you lock your door this time," Hyunjin advised sagely. "My innocent eyes can't handle another traumatic experience."

"Your eyes are many things, but innocent isn't one of them," Felix laughed.

The conversation shifted to safer topics after that—comeback preparations, the group's upcoming schedule, Felix's latest culinary experiment. By the time lunch ended, your spirits had lifted, the camaraderie with Felix and Hyunjin a welcome respite from the secrecy that characterized most of your time in Seoul.

"Text us if you need alibis tonight," Felix offered as you parted ways outside the café. "Hyunjin and I are masters of distraction if anyone gets suspicious."

"I don't even want to know what that means," you laughed, grateful for their support despite their relentless teasing. "But thank you."

"For friendship and discretion services," Hyunjin declared with a dramatic bow. "We accept payment in cake and gossip."

"I'll keep that in mind," you promised, waving goodbye as they headed back toward the company building while you returned to your dorm.

The afternoon passed slowly as you caught up on production notes and correspondence with your team in LA. Your manager had been sending increasingly detailed questions about your return—projects waiting for your attention, clients eager to work with you again, the apartment you'd sublet that would be available upon your return.

Each message felt like a reminder of the life waiting for you across the ocean, a life that had once been all-consuming but now seemed strangely distant compared to your Seoul existence. The thought of returning to your LA routine—without morning encounters with Felix and I.N., without late-night production sessions with 3RACHA, without Han—created a hollow feeling in your chest that you tried not to examine too closely.

By evening, you'd pushed aside these uncomfortable thoughts in favor of anticipation for Han's visit. You arranged your dorm for both comfort and productivity, making sure your production equipment was set up properly while also tidying away any evidence of the day's disorder. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed your appearance—casual but intentional, comfortable but flattering.

When the knock at your door came precisely at seven, right on schedule, a familiar flutter of excitement coursed through you. Eight and a half weeks into your secret relationship, Han's presence still affected you like the first time, a reaction that showed no signs of diminishing with familiarity.

You opened the door with a smile that faltered slightly when you saw Han's expression. Something was off—his usual warm greeting replaced by a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside as you closed the door behind him. "How was your day?"

"Fine," you replied, studying him with growing concern. "Lunch with Felix and Hyunjin, then production notes. Are you okay? You seem..."

"I'm fine," he insisted, though his posture remained tense. "Just tired. Long day at the studio."

You weren't convinced, but decided not to press immediately. "Want something to drink? I have that tea you like."

"Sure," he nodded, setting his laptop bag down but making no move to unpack it. "Tea would be good."

As you busied yourself in the kitchen, you cast occasional glances at Han, who had settled on your couch looking uncharacteristically stiff. None of the usual relaxation that came with being in your private space was evident in his body language. Something was definitely wrong.

"Here," you said, offering him the steaming mug as you sat beside him. "Want to tell me what's really going on?"

Han took the tea with a murmured thanks, staring into the cup as if it might contain answers to questions you hadn't asked yet. After a moment that stretched uncomfortably long, he finally looked up, his expression so serious it sent a chill through you.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

Three words that never preceded anything good. Your heart rate accelerated, anxiety blooming in your chest. "About what?"

Han set his mug down carefully, as if the simple action required his complete concentration. "About us. This... situation."

"Situation?" you repeated, the word feeling clinical and wrong for what existed between you. "That's what we're calling it now?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Han continued, not quite meeting your eyes. "About where this is going. What happens next."

Your lunch conversation with Felix and Hyunjin flashed through your mind. "I thought we agreed to take things day by day. Not overthink the future."

"That's not sustainable," Han said, his voice flat. "Not with your contract ending in nine weeks. Not with the professional complications. We need to be realistic."

The sudden shift in his perspective blindsided you. Just days ago, he'd been calling you his girlfriend, insisting your connection was worth whatever complications came with it. Now he was speaking like a business consultant assessing risk.

"Where is this coming from?" you asked, confusion mingling with growing dread. "Did something happen?"

Han ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of inner turmoil. "Nothing specific. I've just been thinking more clearly about the situation. The contract clause exists for a reason. Your career has to come first. The comeback is too important for distractions."

"Distractions?" you echoed, the word landing like a slap. "Is that what I am to you?"

"That's not what I meant," Han backtracked, frustration flashing across his face. "But you have to admit, all this sneaking around, the secrecy, the risk—it complicates things that should be straightforward."

"So what are you saying exactly?" you pressed, needing him to be direct rather than circling whatever point he was building toward.

Han took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I think we should end this. Go back to being colleagues. Friends. Before anyone else finds out and there are consequences we can't control."

Though you'd sensed the direction of the conversation, hearing the words spoken aloud sent a wave of cold shock through your system. "You want to break up."

"I want to be practical," Han corrected, though the distinction felt meaningless. "Felix and Hyunjin know already. It's only a matter of time before someone else discovers us. The professional risk isn't worth it, especially when..."

"When what?" you prompted as he trailed off.

Han's expression shifted to something carefully neutral, as if he'd practiced this part. "When I'm not sure my feelings are as deep as I thought. The secrecy, the forbidden aspect—it probably intensified everything, made it seem more significant than it is."

The statement struck with devastating precision, targeting your unspoken insecurity that the circumstances of your relationship had manufactured an artificial intensity. That without the thrill of secrecy, the connection might prove less meaningful than it seemed.

"You don't mean that," you said quietly, searching his face for signs of the Han you knew—the one who looked at you with unguarded affection, who shared his most personal creative work, who remembered tiny details about your preferences and history.

"I do," he insisted, though something flickered in his eyes that contradicted his words. "I've had time to think more clearly, and I'm not convinced this is more than a temporary attraction complicated by proximity and professional collaboration."

Each word felt calculated to create distance, to diminish what had grown between you. The clinical assessment was so unlike Han—the emotional, intuitive artist who expressed himself through music and poetry—that it raised your suspicions even as it cut deeply.

"So all those things you said about caring about me beyond the physical, about feeling a connection you've never experienced before—that was what? A line to get what you wanted?"

"No," Han protested, genuine distress breaking through his composed facade. "I meant those things when I said them. I just... I think I got carried away with the idea of us rather than the reality."

You stood abruptly, needing physical distance to process the emotional whiplash of his words. "The reality seemed pretty clear when you were calling me your girlfriend three days ago. When did this dramatic realization occur? After Hyunjin caught us?"

"It's been building," Han claimed, though he wouldn't meet your eyes. "The more I thought about the complications, your eventual return to LA, the professional risks—it made me question whether what I'm feeling is worth all that."

"And you decided it's not," you concluded, hurt morphing into anger at his unilateral decision. "Without discussing it with me. Without even giving me a chance to weigh in on my own relationship."

"I'm trying to be responsible," Han insisted, standing as well but maintaining distance between you. "Your career could be seriously impacted if this gets out. The contract clause—"

"Don't hide behind the contract," you interrupted. "If this were just about professional concerns, we could discuss options, find solutions. This is about your feelings changing, or apparently never being what you claimed they were."

Han flinched slightly at the accusation. "I never intended to mislead you. I genuinely thought... but now I'm not sure, and it wouldn't be fair to continue something I'm uncertain about."

The explanation felt hollow, rehearsed—at odds with everything you'd experienced together. But the raw hurt coursing through you made it difficult to see past his words to whatever might lie beneath them.

"So that's it?" you asked, hating the slight tremor in your voice. "We just go back to being professional colleagues like nothing happened?"

"It's for the best," Han said, the phrase sounding like a line from a script rather than his genuine belief. "Better to end things now before they get more complicated, before anyone else finds out."

You crossed your arms, anger becoming a shield against the pain threatening to overwhelm you. "Well, thank you for your honesty, however belated. You're right that professional considerations should come first. The album, the comeback—that's why I'm here, after all."

Han looked like he wanted to say more, to soften the clinical dismissal of what you'd shared, but instead nodded stiffly. "I should go. We both need space to... readjust."

"Of course," you agreed with forced composure. "I'll see you at the studio tomorrow. Nine o'clock, right? For the final vocal arrangements?"

The deliberate return to professional topics created an invisible barrier between you, one that Han seemed simultaneously relieved by and pained to accept. "Right. Nine o'clock."

He gathered his laptop bag—still unopened, you noted distantly, the pretense of working on his solo tracks abandoned entirely—and moved toward the door. There, he paused, turning back with an expression that contained a complexity his words had lacked.

"Y/n, I—" he began, then stopped, whatever he'd been about to say dying on his lips. "I'm sorry."

The simple apology could have meant anything—sorry for starting this, sorry for ending it, sorry for the pain he was causing. Before you could ask, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You stood motionless in the suddenly empty dorm, the silence deafening after the emotional earthquake that had just torn through your world. The mug of tea Han had barely touched sat cooling on your coffee table, a mundane detail that somehow made the surreal conversation more concrete.

It was over. The connection you'd been nurturing for weeks, the feelings you'd finally allowed yourself to acknowledge and explore, the secret joy that had sustained you through the challenges of your assignment—all finished in a single conversation you hadn't seen coming.

The professional mask you'd maintained during Han's departure crumbled as the reality sank in, tears finally spilling over as you sank onto the couch. The worst part wasn't even the rejection itself, but the clinical way he'd framed it—reducing what had felt profound and genuine to a temporary attraction intensified by circumstance.

Had you completely misread everything? Assigned deeper meaning to interactions that were, for him, merely convenient and temporary? The possibility was humiliating, a professional blindspot you couldn't afford.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Felix: "How's the 'music production' going? 😉"

The innocent teasing, unaware of the dramatic shift that had just occurred, brought a fresh wave of pain. You couldn't bear to respond, to explain that there would be no more secret rendezvous or private moments to joke about.

Instead, you curled into yourself on the couch, allowing the tears to come freely now that you were alone. Tomorrow would require composure, professionalism, the ability to work alongside Han as if your heart wasn't shattered. But tonight, in the privacy of your dorm, you could acknowledge the depth of what you'd lost—not just a secret relationship, but the profound connection that had made Seoul feel like home.

Han leaned against the wall outside your dorm, eyes closed in silent agony as he listened to the faint sound of your muffled sobs through the door. Each stifled cry felt like a physical blow, knowing he was the cause of your pain while being unable to explain the real reason behind his actions.

The memory of his meeting with Manager Kim earlier that day replayed in his mind with merciless clarity.

"Han, a word in private," the manager had said after the morning rehearsal, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "My office. Now."

Confused but compliant, Han had followed, wondering what special project or feedback warranted a private meeting.

Once the office door closed, Manager Kim's professional demeanor had hardened into something more concerning. "I'm going to be direct. There are rumors about you and Producer Y/n having an inappropriate relationship."

The statement had hit like a physical blow, though Han had attempted to maintain a neutral expression. "Rumors? From where?"

"It doesn't matter where," the manager had dismissed. "What matters is whether there's truth to them. You're aware of the contract clause prohibiting romantic relationships between producers and artists, correct?"

Han had nodded, mind racing to identify who might have spoken, who might have seen something. Felix and Hyunjin knew, but he trusted them both implicitly. Perhaps someone had noticed a lingering glance, interpreted a professional interaction as something more.

“I'm not asking for a confession," Manager Kim had continued, his tone softening slightly. "I'm warning you as someone who cares about both your careers. If these rumors are true, end it immediately. If they're false, be even more careful about appearances."

"What exactly would happen?" Han had asked, unable to prevent the question despite it being essentially an admission. "Hypothetically, if there was a relationship."

The manager's expression had turned grim. "For Y/n? Immediate termination of her contract. A formal note in her professional file about breach of contract. Blacklisting from future JYP projects, which would likely extend to other Korean entertainment companies. Her reputation in K-pop production would be essentially destroyed."

The severity had stunned Han into silence, the potential consequences far exceeding anything he'd imagined when balancing professional risk against personal happiness.

“For you and the group," Manager Kim had continued, "it would depend on timing and circumstances. Disciplinary action certainly. Nothing career-ending, but significant nonetheless."

The disparity had been clear—your career would bear the brunt of any discovery, while he and the group would likely weather the storm with minimal damage.

"Like I said," the manager had concluded, standing to indicate the meeting was ending, "I'm not asking for confirmation or details. I'm just ensuring you understand exactly what's at stake. Whatever decisions you make from here should be fully informed."

The "fully informed decision" had been agonizingly clear. Han couldn't risk your career, your professional reputation, everything you'd worked for—not for a relationship that had an expiration date anyway with your eventual return to LA. The only solution was to end things cleanly, decisively, in a way that would ensure you wouldn't fight to continue something that could destroy your career.

So he had lied. Claimed his feelings weren't as deep as he'd thought. Suggested the intensity had been manufactured by circumstance rather than genuine connection. Said whatever would make you accept the ending without questioning too deeply, without pushing back in a way that might lead to discovery.

Each word had been carefully chosen to create distance, to diminish what existed between you, to make the break as clean as possible—and each one had felt like a betrayal of the truth, a denial of the most genuine connection he'd ever experienced.

Now, listening to the muffled evidence of your pain through the door, Han wondered if he'd made the right choice. If there might have been another way to protect you without causing this devastation. But the risk to your career had been too great to ignore, the potential consequences too severe to gamble with.

With leaden steps, he finally pushed himself away from your door, unable to bear the sound of your grief any longer. The walk back to his own dorm passed in a blur of numb detachment, his mind already constructing the professional mask he would need to wear tomorrow in the studio, the composed facade that would hide the truth of his breaking heart.

Nine more weeks of pretending indifference. Nine weeks of working closely together while maintaining artificial distance. Nine weeks of seeing daily reminders of what he'd sacrificed for your protection.

It would be the performance of his life—one with no audience except his own conscience, no applause except the cold comfort of knowing he'd protected your career at the expense of his own happiness.

As he entered his dorm, finding it mercifully empty of roommates who might question his expression, Han allowed himself one moment of complete honesty before locking away his true feelings behind the necessary lie.

"I love you," he whispered to the empty room, the words he couldn't say to your face, the truth that would have to remain his secret burden to bear. "And that's why I had to let you go."

Next>>

Taglist: @iknow-uknow-leeknow @loveconsumingmedia @lze325 @hanniesbubuwife @offl-ine @leaz888 @seungmins-strawberry @hhwangsmoon @river121798 @psychobitchsthings @sammhisphere

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

masterlist || next || playlist

Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in. 

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza. 

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver. 

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime. 

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back. 

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves. 

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked. 

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up. 

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else. 

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap. 

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday. 

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice. 

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

 Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch. 

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out. 

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up. 

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full. 

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty. 

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream. 

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season. 

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest. 

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me. 

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master. 

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man. 

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat. 

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that. 

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh. 

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart. 

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them. 

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar. 

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself. 

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November. 

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother. 

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade. 

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently. 

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself. 

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips. 

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

 That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others. 

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway. 

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment. 

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices. 

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me. 

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible. 

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled. 

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job. 

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched. 

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again. 

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company. 

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease. 

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more. 

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up. 

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out. 

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice. 

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family. 

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that. 

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags. 

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage. 

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long. 

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely. 

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down. 

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him. 

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same. 

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it. 

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[garciaasfluffypen]

have my babies

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 2.5k warnings: there’s a single allusion to a child being hurt by the ubsub but nothing is described. SMUT. MINORS DNI. this one is jj and reader centric with emily towards the end, jj finds a pet name she likes, toy usage, hair pulling, scratching, pussy slapping request from this ask

cases with kids were always rough, but they also tended to be the more interesting ones.

this one, thankfully didn’t involve the four year old directly, but impacted her significantly. her poor mother had gotten kidnapped by the unsub, which meant her fiancée and daughter would spend time at the local precinct while the team tried to find her. you had naturally been drawn to kids your whole life, the motherly instinct in you at the forefront of your life a majority of the time. it could be because of the way you were treated and had to raise your siblings practically by yourself, but you had a soft spot in your heart for the younger generations. it was probably how you found yourself playing with little molly that day, using what you remembered learning in your psychology courses to help get answers for the team.

unbeknownst to you, jj had been watching you with the young girl whenever she had the chance. she was completely enamored with the way you could change gears so easily and get along with children so well. how you always got to their level and talked to them like you were best friends. in the beginning, she had thought it was envy, but in reality it had been attraction she had felt the whole time. there were multiple times she had to go compose herself in the bathroom and splash cold water on her face- she couldn’t be getting this heated at work. it wasn’t anywhere near professional. but alas, here she was, watching you with her whole being as you played with the four year old. she had asked hotch to stay back, just in case something happened and they needed to relay messages back to you, or vice versa. you had already gotten a lot of good information out of molly, including basic descriptions of the “mean men who made mommy cry”. as strange as it was to say, it was endearing to see how you interacted with the children and dear god did it turn jj on.

“y/n, you find mommy?”

“my friends are looking for her right now.”

“momma?”

“i believe your momma is talking to your grammy and grampy, we can go find her in five minutes.”

“okay!”

jj held back a chuckle. the fiancée was one hundred percent not at the precinct and out doing a cognitive with morgan and simmons.

“can we played blocks now?”

“of course we can play blocks! you asked so nicely. here, help me put the dolls away and we can-“

“wait, you give dolly ouchie!” molly stopped your hand from moving. “no touch there. ouchie!”

jj watched with baited breath as you started putting pieces together in your brain. interestingly enough, the place where you had touched the doll was exactly where molly had a giant bruise on her arm. you started asking molly questions, getting a few new answers that implicated the unsub and backed up the mother’s stories. you locked eyes with jj through the mirror, causing her to step out and call hotch immediately. within hours, they caught the unsub and found their victim, reuniting her with her family by dinner time.

to celebrate, derek offered to buy everyone drinks, but you decided not to go. these cases were tougher for you, considering your background derek didn’t push, but reminded you that if you changed your mind they’d be at the bar down the street. emily had already decided to go, but jj knew you needed someone to help get your mind off the case. she pulled emily to the side as you were talking to luke and hotch, finding a quiet corner for the two of them to speak.

“you sure you don’t want to go?”

“they need someone right now. i need someone right now.”

emily’s eyebrow raised quizzingly. “oh?”

“em… watching her with molly, dear god it made me feel ways i haven’t ever felt in my entire life.”

“me too,” emily looked down as she blushed. “i want to be a mom so bad, jay.”

“me too.” jj searched for emily’s eyes. “i.. i want them to have our babies.”

“i do too. since the doctor said i’d have trouble carrying due to the trauma…”

“right.” jj swallowed the lump in her throat. “god, we’ve turned into such saps for them.”

“you’ve always been the same for me, ma coccinelle.” emily placed a small peck on jj’s cheek. “take them back to the room. enjoy your time together.”

“i will not be held liable for any activities that happen while you’re not there.”

“as long as i get my way with them, everything you do is fine.”

“deal.”

emily chuckled as the two of them walked back to the group, jj confirming that she’d sit this one out. the team split, leaving you and jj to take one of the cars back to the hotel with rossi and reid, the four of you splitting at their respective rooms. the room you shared with your girlfriends was a bit further down the hall, which meant you and jj were basically walking down the hallway unsupervised. hotch would usually watch you get inside your rooms before going into his own, but since he was out with the rest of the gang for once, jj got to pull you as close to her as she could muster while walking down the hallway. her hands couldn’t leave you for a second as you made your way towards the room, giggling like school girls.

“you’re very touchy tonight.”

“an acute observation, baby.” jj chuckled. “i’m mostly excited that we get some time to ourselves.”

“yeah? been meaning to get me alone, jareau?” you teased.

“always.”

jj slipped her keycard into the sensor, pushing the door open and letting you in first. her hands were back on you before the door even closed, placing kisses to your shoulder blades as she helped you take off your blazer. you took it from her with a smile on your face as you walked to your go bag, digging through it to find your jammies.

“god, jay, i’m not sure what got into you today but i’m liking it.”

“you really wanna know?”

you nodded. “tell me.”

“seeing you with molly, how you just slipped into that other version of you so easily… it was so hot.”

you smirked. “me, with kids, does that turn you on?”

“so, so much.” jj let out a shuddery breath as she walked toward you. “more than you’ll ever know.”

“and what are you going to do about it?”

jj pulled you closer to her by the belt loop. “this is going to sound a bit out of pocket, but i need to… i think it would… i need to fuck you so hard tonight that you have my babies. our babies.”

you’d be lying if you said a surge of heat didn’t run through your veins at that.

“have our babies, y/n.”

as jj pulled you closer towards her, you felt a budge down below that only meant one thing. she was packing. your body heated even more at the realization, your hands automatically reaching up to jj’s shoulders to help keep you standing. there was something about the way such a simple thing like that sent you spiraling. how jj and emily both knew the small things that would make you tick before you even realized it was a turn on for you. it was quite the turn on for you, if you were being honest, how easily they could read you and know exactly what you needed and when you needed it. and if it was any indication by the way your body was reacting, jj was absolutely in the right for taking you back to the hotel room early. you knew emily would be up soon, but you were reveling in the moment you were having with jj. one of your hands slowly started moving toward the dildo, a single finger drawing a line down her razor sharp abs as she walked you back toward the bed.

“da-daddy-“

jj’s heart skipped a beat as her grip on your hip tightened. “call me that again.”

“daddy.”

“fuck,” her head fell back as her eyes closed. “you’re so hot when you call me that.”

“so i’m taking that is a green?”

“so green. greener than the grass.” jj rested her forehead against yours. “i don’t know if i can wait until em gets up here.”

“then don’t.” you egged her on. “fuck me, jayje. please. i need it.”

within seconds, jj’s lips were on yours as the two of you fell back on the bed, her free arm suspending her over you. her other hand ran through your hair, using it to pull you closer to her. you carefully started to undo the buttons on her shirt, knowing that she was running low on laundry and only had one other shirt like this that she felt comfortable wearing. you knew you could easily get her more, but you didn’t want to ruin one of the only clean shirts she had left. slipping it off her shoulders, you sat the two of you up so you could push jj onto the bed, slipping yourself over her lap. your hips grinded down as you kissed, putting the pressure on the dildo stuck under her jeans.

her hands grabbed onto your hips, relinquishing you of your control and taking over the grinding for you, the action alone making you fall forward onto her shoulder as you scratched down her back. you left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, making sure to leave any hickeys in places they couldn’t be seen. jj clawed at the hem of your pants, lifting you up and tapping you twice to signal that it was time they came off. you helped jj shimmy your pants off, undoing her own at the same time. soon as the fabric of her underwear had been moved and the dildo freed, your mouth hooked on it and you let jj control the movements with her hand. your hair was knotted in her fist as she moved your head up and down, the action showing you were playing into the role of letting her be solely in control. she pulled your head up and watched contently as the dildo flopped onto her stomach, you finding your way back up to her to leave more kisses.

it was her turn to leave scratch marks down your back, the red marks forming against the smooth skin while she held back every urge to fuck you then and there. she knew she had to warm you up first, her hand sneaking in between your thighs to find your wetness practically dripping onto the bed.

“you’re so wet for me, aren’t you? is that all for me?”

“yes jayje, all yours.”

you whimpered as she pulled her hand away.

“that’s not my name.” you jolted as she slapped your pussy. “color?”

“green.”

another slap. “what’s my name?”

“daddy?”

“that’s my good baby.”

your back arched as her fingers met your core, swirling around in the wetness before slowly entering your center. a groan escaped your lips as her fingers stretched you, getting you ready for the real star of the show. silently, you pulled away from jj and positioned yourself on the bed, doing your best to keep her fingers inside of you. she kept going until she felt that you were ready, licking her fingers while her other hand ran the tip through your folds. you nodded, grabbing the hand that was just in her mouth and putting it over your pelvis, the two of you moaning in tandem as she filled you up.

her hips slowly started moving, letting you get used to the feeling before she started going faster. her hand never left your pelvis, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of the bulge happening whenever she thrust into you. she bent down to leave kisses on your breasts, a nipple in your mouth as she moved her free hand to toy with the other breast. you pulled her close as you could, wanting the feeling of her against you as she fucked you so good. it had been a long, long time since you had felt this way, and you were enjoying every moment of it. jj got faster and faster, her hands moving back to your hips as she adjusted, slipping off the edge of the bed and yanking you back to her. she put the dildo back in, starting right back up to that aggressive pace.

“whats my name?”

“daddy! oh god, daddy-!”

you two reached climax at the same time, a string of incomprehensible noises leaving your lips as jj’s hips stuttered. slowly, jj pulled out and climbed next to you in the bed, wrapping her arms around your midsection and nuzzling into your neck. the dildo flopped against your stomach, but neither of you wanted to d anything about it at the moment.

“goddamn, jaye.” you moved some hair from her face. “fuck me like that any day and i’d marry you on the spot.”

“we definitely need to have a sit down about it, but i’m being serious about having kids with you. both em and i want it. to be moms with you.”

“and i want to be the mother to our children too.” you sighed contently, resting your forehead against jj’s. “i’d do anything for you.”

“good. because we’d do anything for you too.”

both of you jumped as you noticed emily standing against the wall, cheeks flushed and jacket in her hand. her eyes were a few shades darker than usual, the lust in them evident as she stared at the two of you.

“oh, i-i can explain—“

“no, it's okay, lovey. i know we usually do things together, but i told jayje she could have you tonight.” emily shot you a smile. “i do think, though, i’d like to have a shower if you wanted to join me.”

you looked to jj. “if that’s okay…”

“of course it's okay, love. you’re not just mine or just emily’s. you’re ours. i promise i’m not going to get mad if you shower with her.”

“then yes, can i shower with you, emmy?”

“of course lovey.” emily came over and placed a kiss on your lips. “i’ll go get the shower resdy.”

you turned back to jj, smiling sheepishly at her as you placed a gentle kiss on her lips. the taste of you mixed with her chapstick sent another wave of heat to your core, the throbbing becoming more prominent.

“go, before emmy gets impatient.”

you smirked, “yes daddy.”

jj couldn’t help but attempt to playfully smack your butt as you rolled off the bed, barely getting off with a cheeky tongue poking out from in between your teeth as you made your way to the bathroom.

god, she was so in love with you.

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @caseycabotsvu

[appleblueberry-pie]

Honestly trauma bonding is the way to go 😌✨

Reader who adopted a child and loved them more than anything in the world, since she had no family or pets (being spiderwoman is a sacrifice, after all.).

Reader's Green Goblin killed their child brutally in front of her, leaving Reader with immense trauma and depression. (After torturing and then killing GG in the same gruesome way as he did with her child)

Reader who abandons being a Spider-person and goes back to her old job, being a professional gymnast.

Miguel who finds Reader's world, and asks who there isn't a Spider there if the canon event of the radioactive spider biting someone happened long ago.

Miguel who investigating, finds out that Reader is the spider there, however they abandoned their heroic life (mostly because of backlash from the media)

Miguel who one day goes to Reader's house to get answers, first explaining who he is and what the fuck that orange portal is 💀

Miguel understands how Reader feels and explains his backstory, and persuades (forces) Reader to join the Spider Society.

Miguel, that slowly falls in love with Reader and turns into an obsession. Maybe in the future, he can give Reader his kids so they won't have to grieve as much for their dead kids.

You were meant for him.

He shouldn't say that, but no bone or muscle in his entire body disagreed with this statement that he is claiming.

He fell in love with you before he even realized it and happily accepted the fall, knowing just from how you spoke to him, that you know how to love. You love the way that he wants to be loved. And he wants that. He wants you.

He was so goddamn in love with everything about you. He loves the way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way you look at people, and the way you look at him.

He wants those eyes on him all of the time. So, he tries to work for it.

You looked so tired every single day. Since he found you alone in your apartment of your universe, he knew you held luggage no one else had behind them.

He wanted to at least take half of the weight off of your shoulders. He wanted to brush the midnight tears off of your face. He wanted kiss your callused hands. He wanted to have you.

He truly believes he can fix you.

"There is no fixing me. Nobody can save me."

He had never been so tuned into a conversation before. Mask off, sitting across from you in your living room, on the edge of his seat, staring into your iron eyes. You didn't want to let anyone back in again.

Hearing about your past only made him more determined.

"I can't put that suit back on again.....no. I killed enough people and killed off enough of myself. I don't benefit from that life anymore. Hell, my own city that I fought for doesn't want me anymore. Why the fuck would I even bother trying??" You try to laugh it off and killed the rest of your drink.

"The only person that could make me put that back on is the one I did all of this bullshit for."

You let the silence grow for a little to collect the words building up in your throat. But to speak it was a different battle.

"S/he was mine. S/he was all I had. Every day I had to wake up and go to sleep seeing her/his face, and it's all I needed to continue living another fucking day. And s/he's gone! I thought sparing lives would do me good, and now my babygirl/boy is gone. What the fuck am I supposed to do?" You whispered the words, as if it was forbidden to even speak them aloud.

And every single word you spoke made Miguel feel like he was living in your skin. Every question you asked, everything you said you felt is so close to experience of losing his little girl, it makes him nauseous. He only knew you for a few hours and already wanted to hold you in his arms.

"I can't....I just...can't put that thing back on. I really can't. I'm sorry." Your words slowly turned into a mutter as you fidgeted with your hands.

He doesn't know how many hopeful "yes, you can"s he whispered back to you with comforting (consensual) hugs before you had on that damned suit again and was in the middle of HQ.

His room was quiet. Peaceful, as he typed away on his technology you weren't interested in at all.

You felt so naked in the suit, but for some reason, it made you feel more secure than you'd ever felt these past few years......maybe this would be okay for now.

Miguel looked back at you, seeing you staring off into the distance and stopped typing to place his hand on your shoulder.

You looked up at him with those sad, tired eyes. Just seeing your face as clearly as it was, it continued to give him hope to be the one to support your during your healing process. You clearly needed the help. And if anyone could do it well, he was certain that it would be him.

[dxmedstudent]

Things to not say to infertile folks:

A lot of people don't really know what to say when discussing infertility, and a lot of people who are struggling with it complain that people say hurtful or triggering things to them - often unintentionally.

So I thought I'd write a guide about what not to say, taken , unfortunatelyfrom hearing or seeing people express these opinions:

You just need to relax/get drunk/go on holiday/not stress so much/not want it so much.

Telling someone to be more relaxed or less stressed doesn't work - kind of like telling someone to calm them down doesn't, in fact, calm them down. It also minimises the fact that a lot of people with fertility problems have actual medical problems causing the situation, which may require treatment or might even be untreatable.

It also comes with the (likely unintentional) implication that it's your fault for not conceiving because unlike everyone else, you're just not relaxing enough. You fail at relaxing. You're doing trying wrong.

So you can't have kids? Like, at all?

Putting aside that it is a little insensitive to say this, technically infertility means that a couple tried to have kids for a year or more but were unsuccessful. Infertility is reduced fertility, and sometimes the term subfertity is seen as more accurate.

People can be told that they have a condition that affects fertility like fibroids, PCOS or endometriosis, but they may still conceive if having unprotected PIV sex and should still use contraception if they do not wish to get pregnant.

This is also why folks on T and folks on oestrogen/progesterone HRT should talk to their team about contraception, whether they are cis or trans. Whilst taking HRT can sometimes reduce fertility it does NOT render you sterile and people often need to use an additional contraceptive.

Sterility means being completely unable to have kids - for example, if you have had both gonads removed.

Infertile couples can sometimes eventually have children unassisted, and most infertile couples manage to conceive with fertility treatment.

Have you tried having sex/tracking ovulation/insert absolutely beginner knowledge here)?

Oh crap, we've been mistakenly putting it up the ass this entire time! Silly me!

Unless you're the couple's doctor and your job is to walk them through every possible issue and make sure nothing is missed, please assume that they have done their research and have the basic stuff down.  Treat people as if they are sensible and competent. Believe people when they say there is a problem. Leave the diagnosing to their fertility team.

Because when you think about it, if a couple have been trying for like 3 years and you ask them if they've tried LH strips, it's kind of patronising.

You didn't become an expert just because you accidentally got pregnant 5 years ago or conceived first try with your second. People who have been struggling with a health problem for years have usually done a ton of reading, speaking to healthcare professionals and lots of tests - they almost certainly know a lot more than you about it.

Oh yeah, I know how you feel! I've been trying for 2 months / hope to have kids and I'm terrified of being infertile, I couldn't stand that. It would ruin my life!

There's a place for sharing your concerns, but please don't expect people suffering a condition to have to console you about how bad it would be for you to live their life. Infertile people don't want to hear that their life is your worst nightmare, it's just a rude thing to tell someone.

Don't tell people with coeliac you'd die if you couldn't eat pasta, don't tell people who are blind that you'd end yourself if you couldn't paint or watch TV. Just ... have some tact.

Ha, being a parent is hard, are you sure you want that? Would you take one of mine?

No, Debra.

Please stop making light of someone's personal grief or disability. This is like making boomer "I hate my wife" jokes to someone who just lost their spouse.

But what do I say, then? I don't know what to say!

I've legitimately seen people say the most insensitive thinfs and then turn around to say this.

But...

You don't have to say anything- believe it or not you don't have to offer an opinion or advice on sonething you know nothing about. They aren't waiting on YOU to fix their problem or give them advice on something a team of specialists hasn't been able to fix.

If someone tells you that they are having fertility issues, just tell them you're sorry to hear that and that you hope it works for them soon. Or ask them if they want to talk about it and let them know you are there to listen.

More things not to say after the cut...

My friend's aunt's cousin was about to have infertility treatment, then they just had twins! I'm sure that will happen for you, when you stop trying!

Everyone tells us their one in a million "miracle stories"... but they just aren't fun to hear, for many people with infertility. They may give some people hope, but they can make people feel even more isolated and unlucky because we KNOW how unlikely it is that we'll have that same luck.

Also for most of us, stopping trying would make actually conceiving and carrying to term extremely unlikely. Please don't discourage people from seeking medical help when they need it.

Well I don't think IVF/using a donor/single parent families/lgbtq families is right/natural.

It's great that you don't need it and don't have to have it, then! But your opinion is kind of irrelevant to everyone else.

Lots of modern medicine isn't natural - and as a doctor, I REALLY don't think "naturalness" or your personal comfort level with a treatment you are completely ignorant about is a relevant metric for how beneficial a medical treatment is to the people who need it. 

We've spent all of human civilisation working to give us more tools (and better ones) to help people. IVF is a tool. It's an accommodation for a disability or inability due to circumstances that lets some people overcome their medical conditions or circumstances.

Are you saying that to cancer patients? To people wearing a cast for their broken arm? To people wearing a prosthesis for their amputated leg? I absolutely hope not. Please do not do that.

Other people's medical treatments are between them and their clinicians. If you don't like it? You're free to not have said treatment. If you don't want kids, you are free to not have any. I'm a passionate advocate for access to reproductive care, contraception and abortion.

But if you're pro abortion, you cannot meaningfully be anti-fertility treatment. Because you either believe in bodily autonomy or you don't. You can't pick and choose only when it benefits you.

I just think that if you can't have kids naturally, then your body/nother nature/God is telling you something and you should just stop trying. Maybe your genes are just bad and shouldn't be spread. Maybe you just wouldn't make a great parent.

Look, nature is stupid. It gives kids type 1 diabetes and genetic conditions that kill them in infancy and gives your loved ones cancer. Do you go around telling everyone that they should just due or accept being permanently seriously ill or disabled because nature gave them an illness? Do you refuse all modern medicine because you should be listening to nature's plan for your body? I bloody well hope not, because that's dumb when modern medicine exists.

There are all sorts of dumb reasons why people are infertile - why would having a tube blocked by endometriosis or slow sperm make someone a bad parent? Why are you literally telling someone to their face, whose meducal problems you dont even understand, that you think they are just too defective to make a family?

Let's stay away from the eugenics, shall we? We could have a nuanced conversation about how genetic testing of embryos can potentially reduce or eliminate rare fatal diseases which kill children and have no hope of a life without significant suffering. And how most couples who have IVF successfully go on to have healthy chikdren who live normal lives. But no, Steve, stopping your mate with a mild varicocele from having children is not going to revolutionise the human race or fulfil some alternate divine fate.

Well, fertility is a first world problem, some people have real problems, we should be focusing on that instead.

Actually, it's a problem for millions of peole, around the world. The IVF industry is huge in certain parts of the Global south, for example India.

People think it's a white rich people problem because most of the people who can  afford to undergo fertility treatment privately or adopt...are the wealthy. But it's always been a problem - that affects people across cultures, socioeconomic groups and sexualities. And infertility has often been accompanied with shame and ostracisation. Stigmatising fertility care hurts everyone. Especially the poor.

Many LGBTQ couples need fertility care - whether because their gender affirming surgery or HRT or health complicates things, or they and their partner's combination of gametes makes things tricky. Making fertility care less taboo and more accessible helps them too. The conversation very often side tracks and ignores them but their struggle is valid too.

You people only want kids because they are brainwashed by the patriarchy. Infertility wouldn't be an issue if women were emancipated and not brainwashed by the patriarchy.

Look, I've been feminist in online spaces since before some of you were born. I'm not unaware of the patriarchy and how it colours our choices.

But we have to stop infantilising women abd removing their agency. I know single women and lesbians who have spent decades working through their issues with the patriarchy...who still want kids and are dealing with fertility treatment. Sure, we will never be entirely free from the many ways society affects us. But that doesn't mean we're all blindly falling into motherhood.

You don't want kids, that's great. But it doesn't mean that every single woman choosing to have them is brainwashed and unable to understand what she is getting into - and it's pretty misogynistic to frame it that way.

Nobody should be having kids because the economy/environment/etc

OK there's a conversation to be had about cutting our carbon footprint and being aware of how our choices affect others and the planet. We should all be trying to live more sustainably - I say as I wear thrifted clothes whilst typing this on the train.

But... are you saying that to able bodied people having kids? Are you sacrificing everything that you want for the cause? Or is the easiest thing to give up the thing that someone else wants? I'm all for encouraging everyone to be mindful of the planet but we shouldn't be restricting the rights of people with a disability to make that happen.

We make choices for ourselves, not for other people.

Why not adopt or foster? Adopt don't shop!

Well this is a whole post in itself...but basically, please assume that anyone who is trying for kids for a while... has at least considered adoption. Please tryst people to choose the right option for them and their family.

Children are not puppies, and the massive adoption industry isn't always ethical or safe, can be hugely expensive (often moreso than IVF in some places!), and also doesn't actually guarantee that they get to have a child at the end of it.

There can be a lot of trauma and complicated feelings for the adopted child and their birth family and many kids need very specialised support that not every potential adoptive parent can provide.

There are also far more infertile couples than kids who need adoption - so not every individualor couple could adopt. Many kids just need temporary fostering with the aim of placing them back with their family, which is important but very different.

I intend to flesh out this argument more in a separate post but IMO adoption should ideally be rare - because birth parents should have free access to contraception, abortion and be empowered and supported to look after and raise their kids within their communities if they want them. Adoption should serve the needs of the child, not the potential parents. And certainly not the agencies.

If you truly believe there are millions of kids out there needing a home, why aren't you adopting? Why aren't you clamouring for every fertile couples to adopt? Because on some level society still that's these kids as a consolation prize. And because many of the people judging infertile couples for having IVF over adoption aren't all that invested in actially learning about these kids or helping them.

Infertile people aren't solely responsible for solving complex societal problems on their own. This is something that we as a whole society need to address.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 11)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10 -- Chapter 11 -- Chapter 12

AO3 story link

word count: 19,900

_______________________________

“Still no luck figuring out what’s been eating at the kid, huh?”

Tony Stark stood in front of the mirror in the lavish master bathroom on the 96th floor, staring at his reflection while drowsily brushing his teeth. It was barely 6:30 in the morning, and Pepper had already gotten up, dressed, and left for work that day, whispering something about an early meeting with the recipients of a university grant they were sponsoring before kissing him on the cheek and hurrying out the door. He loved how committed she was to their company and her job; no one did more for the new mission of Stark Industries than she did. He just wished it didn’t mean waking up in an empty bed more monings than not. 

FRIDAY took an unusually long time to respond to his question. “Actually…” she said, a strange hesitancy in her Irish-accented voice. “I’m fairly certain I have figured out what’s been increasing his stress levels as of late. I’ve had a theory about its origin for about three days now.”

Stark spat into the sink and wiped his face with a scowl. “Three days? FRIDAY—did I or did I not ask you to report back to me as soon as you found out what was going on with him?”

“You did,” FRIDAY confirmed reluctantly. “However, I concluded that the information I discovered was, to my understanding…uniquely sensitive. It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable just telling you outright.”

Tony scoffed, towel-drying his hair. “What has gotten into you lately? Has Pete been messing with your programming or something? I know I designed you to be as opinionated and bullheaded as myself, but this is getting a little out of hand—borderline mutinous.” 

Stark’s creations had a lot of things in common with their creator: such as liking Peter more than Tony and frequently letting the kid’s desires outweigh their better judgment. The Avenger stole a glob of Pepper’s wildly expensive under eye cream and dabbed a little on the planes of his face where the lines were the most prominent; where they were beginning to look a tad deeper and darker than he remembered. “You do know I could just search through your logs and find out the truth for myself.”

“You could,” FRIDAY agreed. “But I believe you have more class than that. This is something you should ask Peter about in person, and only know if he feels comfortable enough to disclose it to you.”

Tony paused, considering the possibility that maybe he didn’t want to know what FRIDAY knew about the kid with the way she was being so cryptic about it. “Is he…in danger in any way?” he asked uneasily.

“No. I wouldn’t say so.”

“Does he have, like—a weird health thing he needs to go to a professional about?”

“No.”

“Does his aunt know about whatever this is?”

The A.I. was silent for a moment. “No. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Does she need to know about it entirely?”

“Not right now. But eventually, yes.”

Stark puffed out his cheeks in frustration. “Could you at least give me a hint about what I’m dealing with here? Teenage superhero babysitting is an art I’m still learning to navigate, and not something I ever imagined myself being implicated in prior to that pantyhose-wearing spider-baby web-swinging his way into my life.” He smoothed some gel into his salt and pepper locks. “Just tell me as much as May knows. I need some context to understand what the hell I should even be asking him about.”

FRIDAY considered this. “Very well,” she conceded. “The thing I believe is worrying him so much is that he’s developed a crush on someone.”

Immediately, the billionaire perked up. “Really?” he said. “A crush? That’s what all this angst and drama has been about? The way you were talking about it, I thought he might be purchasing strippers with my credit card, or—I don’t know. Shooting heroin?”

“He’s sixteen, boss. Having a crush is one of the most angsty and dramatic things sixteen-year-olds go through.” She paused. “Well. Normal sixteen-year-olds, anyway.”

“Right.” Which Peter was anything but. Still, it was nice to know Pete wasn’t so far removed from kids his age that he wasn’t going through the same formative experiences teenagers were supposed to have. Stark studied himself in the mirror, teasing his facial hair into a more stylish shape. “Well then. This is certainly an exciting development. Who’s the kiddo crushing on? Anybody I know?”

“I’m afraid that’s all the information I can give you,” the A.I. stated firmly. Tony let out a long sigh. 

“Very well.” He slipped on a sports coat over his T-shirt and dabbed his wrists with a splash of Cairon Poivre. “Where’s the little lovebird now? Is it a good time for me to approach him about this? Should I even approach him about this? What do I say to him? Chill the fuck out? Make a move? Back off? What’s the end goal here? Am I even qualified to be giving him advice on this sort of thing?” 

Whether either of them liked it or not, Tony Stark was, at present, the closest thing Peter had to a father figure. That didn’t mean he was any good at it—especially when it came to situations and subjects the two of them had yet to broach. Tony had jokingly questioned Peter about his romantic life in the past, shooting the breeze while the pair tinkered away the hours in his lab, but the kid had always brushed him off, timidly insisting he had zero time for that sort of thing. 

Stark wondered what had changed since then. Who was it the kid found so darn dreamy, his shy little heart had no choice but to break its hiatus and worry itself sick with incessant teenage pining?

“It’s not even seven yet, boss,” FRIDAY said amusedly. “Peter is still asleep.”

Tony deflated with a slow breath out. “Oh. Right.”

“But I’ll let you know when he’s awake and ready for company,” she continued. “If you do decide to talk to him, I wouldn’t press him too hard for details or inundate him with advice. What I think Peter needs most right now is just…” the A.I. hummed thoughtfully. “A little encouragement. You know—support and reassurance from someone he admires and trusts.”

Stark cracked a smile. “So we’re in favor of Pete’s mystery crush, then? We want them to end up together? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” FRIDAY admitted. “I already know for certain that the person he likes likes him back.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “FRIDAY! You conniving little fiend! Just how much of your compute power are you funneling towards playing matchmaker with my intern?”

The A.I. ran a few rapid calculations in silence. “No comment,” she answered shrewdly. 

Chuckling, Stark strode out of the bathroom into he and Pepper’s bedroom. “Well, ping me when the kid’s conscious and available. I’m eager to play my part in your Machiavellian plot to win Pete a hot date.” After lacing up his shoes, Tony stood and scratched his beard. “Speaking of, is May up yet? I’d be interested in getting her perspective on all of this.”

“How should I know? I don’t monitor the sleep schedules of people outside this tower. That’d be creepy.”

The Avenger rolled his eyes. “I didn’t—whatever. I’ll just call her.” Stark pulled out his phone and tapped Mrs. Parker’s contact photo, which was 3rd from the top on his speed dial list. Only Pepper and Happy eclipsed her in priority. He was pleasantly surprised when she picked up.

“Good morning, May. Sorry for calling you so early. Yes, Pete’s fine. I took his stitches out yesterday. With the speed his body heals, he’ll probably come out the other side of this without so much as a scar.”

Tony stepped out of the bedroom into the rotunda with a monstrous yawn, his sights set on the 98th story’s commercial grade espresso machine. 

“So, quick question. Has Peter mentioned anything to you about having a crush on someone…?”

_______________________________

Sleep took its time prying its claws from Peter’s mind. He woke slowly, hazily, vision shifting in and out of focus, thoughts struggling to take shape. Something heavy and warm was laying on top of him. It felt like some kind of weighted blanket with a built-in heater. He was so cozy and comfortable, it was hard to convince his brain to come to. 

What finally dragged his stubborn body to consciousness was the sour taste in his mouth. He must’ve fallen asleep without brushing his teeth. Now that he mentioned it, Peter couldn’t remember putting himself to bed last night. As he ran his tacky tongue over his incisors, realizing the room around him was not, in fact, his bedroom, Peter reached up to rub his eyes but hit hard glass instead. Still wearing my mask, his brain recognized sluggishly. Great. His worst breakouts always happened after falling asleep with it on. He must’ve passed out on the couch by accident while binging Love Island with Johnny Storm. 

Peter stiffened. His attention returned to that warm weight lying on top of him from his chest all the way down to his feet (which also had his left arm pinned against the sofa cushions). He craned his neck to find a head-full of strawberry blonde hair resting against his sternum and two muscular arms wrapped snugly around his waist, hugging his midsection like a giant teddy bear. 

The vigilante’s blood went red-hot beneath his skin. Suddenly, he was wide awake. Johnny had his whole self draped across Peter’s narrow frame and was spooning him like a Spidey-sized body pillow. Peter had no idea how the two of them had wound up in this position—or whether this was something Johnny had done on purpose, or by accident. Did he intentionally cuddle up to him like this sometime in the night? Or was it normal for him to wake up with all his limbs coiled unknowingly around the closest object in his proximity? The sleeping celebrity’s heartbeat thumped a lazy rhythm against his own—which was upping its pace faster and faster by the second. 

He was just…so pretty. Golden shafts of particle-flecked light speared through Johnny’s hair from the tall, shuttered windows, gilding every strand in resplendent halos. His near-invisible eyelashes glowed like dove feathers at the break of dawn. Tiny, perfect freckles flecked his tranquil face, adorning his nose, his eyelids, his lips, his chin—even the delicate shells of both of his ears. He looked like a painting come to life, a poem in flesh and blood, a sacred hymn of rose-flushed cheeks and angel-soft skin. Peter swooned at the thought of running his fingers through that ruffled wave of sun-kissed locks, but didn’t dare touch him while he slept. That would be wrong. Especially since he still hadn’t mastered the courage to confess his feelings to him yet. Until he had the balls to do that much, Peter didn’t deserve to even think about things like that. 

Unfortunately, it was hard for Peter to think about much else while the beautiful superhero snoozed peacefully on top of him, arms wound tight to his torso, breaths slow and soft. It was also difficult for Peter to, y’know—move without potentially disturbing him. Spider-Man gazed around the room as much as his limited range of motion allowed, sudden nervousness gripping him at the thought of being discovered in his current state. How the hell would he explain this? He spotted his phone on the ground a few feet away from the couch and managed to angle his wrist towards it, firing a line of spider’s silk at the device and whipping it into his free hand. The battery was nearly dead since he hadn’t charged it overnight, but he could use up what little juice remained while he figured out what to do about the warm lump of teenager he was presently trapped under. 

Johnny had somehow gotten both the spit take video and the prank video edited and posted before daybreak. According to the time stamps, both videos were published on all his social media platforms between 4 and 5am. He hadn’t posted any of the footage of when Johnny had interrogated Peter as they were cleaning up the lab just yet, but churning the other two videos out that fast was a miracle in itself. 

No wonder the Human Torch was sprawled across him, practically comatose. Peter doubted he’d slept more than a few hours last night. Maybe Spider-Man really was a bad influence on him—at least, on his normally methodic sleep schedule. 

The videos—embarrassing as they were—were entertaining enough and very well edited. Johnny certainly had a gift for comedic timing: punching in on each of their faces every time one of them spat water across the room, adding in silly little audio bites of popular sound effects to punctuate different moments, replaying their teammates getting shot with glitter paint over and over again in slow motion. Peter found himself stifling a giggle every now and then as he let the videos run, making sure to keep the sound on the lowest setting. 

Near the end of the spit take video, Peter opened up the comments to avoid having to watch himself be shoved against the wall by the Human Torch, blood rushing to his cheeks. But when he started scrolling through what people had been writing on the post, the heat in his face blazed tenfold. 

so…johnny’s 100% into spider-man. is anyone else getting that vibe or…?

The way Spider-Man is making Johnny giggle SO much im?? 😭 Losing my mind??

do you think spiderman knows how badly johnny wants him 

✨THEY’RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR✨

Oh they’ve explored each others bodies for sure

i did not have “shipping spider-man and johnny storm” on my bingo card for this year, but here we are 💁🏽‍♀️

I wonder if johnny knows who spidey is?? He has to know right?

this video alone may or may not have turned me from a spidey hater to a fan

God i hope spiderman isn’t too old to date johnny cuz they’d be SO cute together

The way he pinned him to the wall 😳 screaming crying throwing up

oh i knowww spidey is blushingggg behind that mask fr 

my god just KISS ALREADY

Before he could stress-read a single more line, the screen winked to black before his eyes. His phone had officially died. Slowly, Peter’s arm fell limp at his side, the device slipping from his fingers onto the floor, heart on a pendulum as he gaped at the ceiling. 

Okay…don’t panic, he told himself, panicking. On one hand, it was great to have his suspicions of Johnny’s feelings for him validated. Even if Johnny’s fans were being…a bit too enthusiastic about it (to an arguably feral and inappropriate degree), at least they were picking up on all the same signs Peter was. 

Peter was not, however, in any way ready for the world to know about Spider-Man’s sexual identity. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. The fact that people were openly discussing it and debating it before he’d even had a full week to digest it himself set his teeth on his edge and his skin crawling. Eventually, of course, Peter did plan to come out to those closest to him—but on his own terms, on his own time table, as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, and only to the individuals in his life he deemed worthy of knowing. No one else. 

Johnny Storm deserved the same. Even if he was queer, and did perhaps exhibit more obvious indicators of that fact than Spider-Man did, that shouldn’t mean everyone gets free rein to make invasive comments and assumptions about his private life. As far as Peter was aware, Johnny had never disclosed his sexual orientation to the public, nor should he have to if that’s not what he wanted. Despite Johnny’s rather laissez-faire approach to how accessible he was to his fans, Peter felt protective of his right to privacy. 

It took Peter a few minutes of stewing to conclude it wasn’t necessarily people making assumptions about his and Johnny’s relationship that rubbed him the wrong way. People made far worse assumptions about him all the time. What bothered him was that the assumptions being made about him now were true—or rather, dangerously close to the truth. He knew working on his image with Johnny would mean revealing more of his real self to the public. He just didn’t expect the public to tear through his defenses so fast, ripping open his cloistered heart for all to see. 

In exchange for their trust and support, Peter was game to share pieces of himself with the people and world he was sworn to protect. But not this. Anything but this. Spider-Man’s crush on Johnny was never supposed to be part of this transaction. For now, that was between him and the Human Torch. Even if it seemed like most people were saying Johnny was the one with the crush, not Spider-Man, he still felt exposed, like a politician splitting their pants on live television. 

Peter took a moment to breathe. People do this to celebrities all the time, he reminded himself. Anyone they’re seen hanging out with for more than five minutes is automatically assumed to be their latest fling. And it wasn’t like everyone on the internet was drawing the same conclusions the fans on that post were. That was a very small, chronically-online faction of the public. They were probably the same nutjobs over-analyzing any and all interviews the Avengers did, insisting that every fleeting glance Natasha Romanoff shared with Hawkeye absolutely meant they were sleeping together, or the way Stark bumped shoulders with Dr. Banner whenever they stood side-by-side proved they were engaged in a sloppy secret romance. According to those people, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes weren’t just a group of highly skilled individuals dedicated to public service, but also a bunch of sex addicts in one big polyamorous super orgy.

Peter made a face at the unsightly image that train of thought had led him to. Point is, you’re fine, he told himself, letting his eyes slip shut behind his mask. Only when the Daily Bugle starts posting puff pieces about you and Johnny potentially being a thing are you allowed to freak out. For now, the general public isn’t going to see you two as anything other than friends.

Besides. None of this would really matter, anyway. Not until he cut the bullshit and finally told the Human Torch how he felt about him. Not until he learned what Spider-Man truly meant to the teenage heartthrob. Not until Johnny confirmed he liked him in the way Peter and all those crackpot commentators hoped. Not until Peter knew for sure if there was any chance of them pursuing something beyond a friendship.

A small grunt came from Johnny as the sleepy hero shifted positions, his head still resting on Peter’s chest but his arms loosening their grip on Peter’s torso. Peter scanned the room again with an anxious sweep of his gaze. One thing was for certain: Spider-Man would never escape the allegations circling their relationship if he was caught with Johnny Storm cuddling him like a baby koala. Plus, his left arm was starting to go numb. As much as he’d love to lie here, swaddled in the soporific tincture of Johnny’s supernatural warmth and dangerously sweet scent, Spider-Man needed to get up. 

It took all of Peter’s superhuman strength, flexibility, and stealth to maneuver himself out from under Johnny without jostling the celebrity awake. Johnny twitched and murmured as Peter lifted his weight off his chest then gently lowered the teen back onto the couch, but thankfully, never fully stirred. Once he was splayed across the plush cushions sans his cuddle buddy, the Human Torch curled into a ball and resumed his quiet snoring. 

Exhaling in relief, Peter leveled a smile upon Johnny’s delicate, slumbering form. He readjusted the blanket so it was covering the sleepy hero’s feet, then tip-toed into the kitchen, shaking out the pins and needles tingling across his left arm. 

How do we wanna do this? Peter asked himself, leaning over the sink with his back to the Human Torch. Should I go old-fashioned, buy him some flowers and a box of chocolates? Is that something people normally do? Or just on Valentine’s Day? Would it be too much? Too little? Do boys even do things like that for each other? Either way, Johnny’s tastes were probably out of his price range, anyhow. He doubted a wilted bouquet from that crabby vendor on 23rd Street paired with drug store chocolate dipped in lead poisoning and child slavery would impress him. 

Peter shot a glance over his shoulder to double check that the celebrity was still sleeping, then slipped the Spider-Man mask off his face, grateful there wasn’t a mirror around to show him just how bedraggled he looked. He laid the mask on the counter to his right and flipped the sink faucet on, cupping his hands beneath the icy stream. 

Okay, no flowers, he decided defeatedly. He splashed his face with cold water, scrubbing his hands over his eyes and forehead. Maybe no gifts at all. You didn’t do any gifts for Liz—you just came right out and said it. “I like you.” And hey, that worked out just fine. Minus her dad trying to bury you under a building and tear you limb-from-limb and all. Why can’t you do the same thing now? Why is this so much harder and scarier?

Johnny’s sister coming after him with a bloodlust equal to the Vulture’s wasn’t the thing holding him back—despite that being a very real possibility. What all of it really boiled down to, Peter couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was a whole interconnected, messy web of things. Cowardice and insecurity, embarrassment and uncertainty—perhaps even a smidge of internalized homophobia, which only made him more ashamed and self-conscious about it all. Peter sipped from the faucet, sloshed the water around in his mouth for a bit, then spat. It wasn’t enough to wash the acrid taste from his tongue. 

You just gotta do it, he told himself, glaring at the water trickling down the drain. You just gotta say it. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man. Quit being such a little bitch. All it takes is three words. Three little words. Just walk up to him, look him in the eye, open that big, dumb mouth of yours, and say—

“Your hair’s curly.”

Peter’s body went rigid, spine pin-straight. His fingers clamped around the lip of the sink as an exaggerated yawn sounded from behind him. 

“It’s pretty,” Johnny continued, voice slurred with drowsiness. “I haven’t seen it ‘til now.”

Stiff as a board, Peter groped blindly for his mask, not daring to move his head an inch. It took his hand a few frantic passes to come in contact with the familiar fabric. He snatched the mask off the counter and immediately pulled it over his face, relief splintering through him once it was back in place. Spider-Man forced his muscles to soften, then turned towards his friend.

“Sorry, I was—I, er…thought you were still asleep.” The words tumbled out of him in a stuttery, pathetic tangle, making his cheeks burn against the inside of his mask. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, leaned against the counter, then stood back upright, fists taut at his sides, suddenly forgetting how to stand normally.

Johnny laid exactly where he’d left him: bundled beneath the blanket like a strawberry-blonde cherub, curled against the backrest of the crushed velvet sofa, except now his eyes were open. Exhaustion weighed on his features as he blinked at him slowly. 

“I didn’t see your face, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Johnny reassured him groggily. “And I doubt I could figure out who you are just from seeing the back of your head. I’m not that smart.”

Peter's shoulders relaxed a little. He was grateful Johnny hadn’t pressed the subject of his secret identity much since they’d become friends. Part of him wondered if it was because he understood how much it meant to Peter to keep his superhero life separate from his civilian life. Another part of him wondered if it was because Johnny preferred not knowing what he looked like. Perhaps the Human Torch only tolerated his presence because of the unique mystery and intrigue his mask imbued him with. With his appearance hidden, Johnny could imagine Spidey as whoever or whatever he most desired. A model, a movie star, a prince, a god—someone so perfect and elegant, lambent with beauty devastating enough to finally match his own, Peter Parker could never measure up. Once Spider-Man’s true face was revealed, Johnny would see him for who he really was: another boring, unremarkable nobody, indistinguishable from the millions of others who fawned over the celebrity heartthrob 24/7. A bland-looking loser unworthy of wasting another second of his time. 

“Did both of us fall asleep out here last night?” Johnny asked, kneading his knuckles into his eyes. “Ugh. That’s not like me at all. I have a very strict bedtime routine I normally can’t sleep without.”

A shrewd smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “Does part of that routine involve some kind of toy or pillow you wrap your entire body around and half-strangle all night?” Just because he was being sucked out to sea by his dull appearance and crippling self-loathing didn’t mean Johnny had to know about it. 

Johnny lifted his gaze to Peter’s, a touch of scarlet blooming in his cheeks, riveting Peter’s heart with spellbinding affection. “How do you know about that?” he asked, baffled. Then he scowled at the couch. “Wait…” A couple seconds passed, and his eyes widened, a tiny plume of smoke billowing off his scalp. “Oh my god. Did I…?” 

“Use me as your own personal body pillow last night?” Peter finished for him with a laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much. At least while you were actually sleeping, rather than editing TikTok videos until 5 in the morning.”

The Human Torch’s blush darkened in unison with the smoke spilling from the top of his head. The celebrity let out an incredulous groan, clamping a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he giggled helplessly. “You should’ve woken me up or shoved me off. Unconscious me is very clingy for some reason. It’s why I always sleep with my Puffy.”

Peter fought back a snort. “Your…Puffy?” he repeated back, monumentally intrigued. Johnny sighed, freckled skin tinted pink in the soft, spooling sunshine.

“Yes, my Puffy. I named him when I was four, so you can shut the fuck up about it.”

Peter’s grin stretched so wide it hurt. “And who or what, might I ask, is this so-called ‘Puffy’?” Out of the hours and hours of endless Johnny Storm content Peter had consumed online, he’d never heard anything about this.

Johnny wrapped the blanket around his head to smother the smoke still rising from his hair, transforming himself into a grouchy, sleep-deprived babushka. “If you must know,” he grumbled, holding his chin high with his arms crossed against his chest, “Puffy is a stuffed toy in the shape of an airplane that Sue crocheted for me when I was a kid. He was Sue’s gift to me for my fourth birthday, and I’ve had him ever since.”

Peter busted into a laugh before he could stop himself. “Really? An airplane? That’s ridiculously cute, but—why an airplane?”

“Because I like airplanes!” Johnny snapped defensively. “I’ve always liked airplanes! I’ve been studying aircraft models since before I could read! It’s why I went and got my pilot’s license the moment I turned sixteen, and why Sue and Reed actually trusted me to be Ben’s co-pilot for our space mission despite my age. If there’s one thing I’m a bigger nerd for than you are, it’s operating complex machines built for precision and speed.”

Peter had to remind himself that beyond being ridiculously hot, rich, powerful, and famous, Johnny Storm was also an accomplished auto mechanic and teen prodigy in both stratospheric jet piloting and space flight. Johnny had briefly discussed his background with cars and planes to the press in the past, but hadn’t spoken a word about it to Peter until now, which was unusually modest of him. The fact remained that he was a genius in ways Peter never would be—cooler, dreamier, more romantic ways. Spider-Man blinked at Johnny, startled by how much more attractive he suddenly found him.

“Sometimes I forget beneath all that hyaluronic acid and vitamin c serum and organic hair mousse, you’re actually, like—super smart,” Peter mused. “I mean, building cars and flying spaceships? Those are some pretty remarkable accomplishments if you ask me. I can’t believe I’m suggesting you brag about yourself even more than you already do, but…I feel like you don’t talk about that side of Johnny Storm as much as everything else.” 

Johnny frowned, worrying the edge of the blanket between his fingers. “None of it really measures up to what my sister has achieved with her freakish science brain,” he explained quietly. “Fans and media outlets already get their genius Storm fix from Sue, so they come to me for other stuff. Music videos and fashion shows and modeling and skincare hacks.” He shrugged. “Which I get. Gotta avoid redundancy. And it’s best to play into our biggest strengths for the sake of the team’s brand.” The Human Torch gnawed his inner lip. “Besides…after what happened with the space mission, I don’t like talking about that stuff anyway.”

Peter studied Johnny’s troubled expression bemusedly. Have I finally found it? he thought to himself. Something Johnny Storm might actually be insecure about? His first instinct was to poke fun at him for it, but the remorseful look on Johnny’s face made Peter rethink his approach. He returned to Johnny’s side, plopping next to him on the couch. 

“Why? What does that have to do with your cars and planes expertise?”

“Because it was my first time piloting a real spacecraft out of earth’s atmosphere, and I totally blew it,” he said, unable to meet Peter’s gaze. “While Ben was placing the sample collectors on the outside of the spaceship, I was in charge of piloting the craft until he returned. It was a routine procedure he and I had practiced a hundred times together. I did everything perfectly every time except the one day it actually mattered. When the alarms started blaring and I saw the dust cloud barreling towards our shuttle, I panicked.”

Peter recognized the dark haze muddying Johnny’s eyes. He’d seen eyes heavy with those same bitter storm clouds stare back at himself in the months following the murder of his uncle. They were the eyes of someone who knew they could’ve done more, but hadn’t. The eyes of someone plagued by a single moment in their past that was still hollowing them out with guilt and regret to this day. Eyes that would carry the weight of their owner's failure for the rest of their lives. 

“I turned the ship when I should’ve just held steady. The movement threw off Ben’s course as he was making his approach back to the entry hatch. It took him an extra seven seconds to get back on board, which meant there wasn’t enough time to close the blast doors before the space dust hit. If I’d just kept our goddamn position like I was supposed to, maybe we all could’ve escaped the mission unscathed.” He shut his eyes, hanging his head low. “I did exactly what everyone feared I would do. I fucked everything up.”  

Tears started slipping down Johnny Storm’s cheeks. Despite Peter’s increased exposure to it, the Human Torch’s tumultuous emotional state continued to both rattle and amuse him. The way he could flip from warm to teasing to embarrassed to tearful within minutes was a bit disorienting, yet painfully endearing. 

“Johnny…” Peter said through a halfhearted smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We talked about this. You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened that day. The whole thing was one seriously insane accident. And even if the cosmic radiation hitting everyone was partially your fault, you’re all superheroes now because of it.” He brushed his fingers along Johnny’s back in gentle, hesitant circles. “Why are you still beating yourself up about this?”

“Because Ben got turned into a freak because of me,” Johnny snapped, swiping his palms under his red-rimmed eyes. “His wife left him, took full custody of their kids, and refuses to let him see them. He lost everything because of what that radiation did to him, and I know he blames me for it.”

His words poked holes in Peter’s heart like tiny, colorful push pins. Ben and Johnny butted heads a lot, sure. But for Ben to actually hold a grudge that serious against Johnny? Peter couldn’t imagine it being true. “Johnny—” he started to say. 

“Reed can’t hide how much he pities me. I know he can see how much guilt I feel after failing to follow through on the one responsibility he convinced everyone to entrust me with, which is somehow worse than him hating me. And Sue…” Johnny sniffled, voice caving in with grief. “Sue hasn’t been the same since that day. She isn’t the sister I remember anymore. That space dust…changed her somehow. Changed us. Everything’s changed since I turned that fucking ship.”

Peter didn’t know what else to do other than continue running his palm up and down the Human Torch’s back, trying to offer some kind of comfort to the anguished teen. But as Johnny’s lamenting went on, Peter snatched his hand back with a small yelp. Blue-tinted flames suddenly lapped off the teen’s shoulders, singeing the tip of Spider-Man’s index finger. Johnny buried his face in his hands, seemingly unaware of the wildfire currently engulfing his upper body. 

“After the accident that killed my mom, I forced myself to learn exactly how every part of a car worked. I spent four summers in a row working in my dad’s old auto shop, taking apart different kinds of cars and putting them back together again. When Sue first mentioned the mission she and Reed were planning to me, I rededicated myself to studying air and spacecraft instead. I spent months preparing for my pilot’s exam and begging them to let me come so I could make sure everything and everybody was safe. I did all of it so I could understand how to prevent her from meeting the same fate as—as Mom. I just…wanted to protect everyone. In the only way I knew how.” Johnny balled his hands against his eyes, digging his fists deep into the sockets. “Instead, I was the one who nearly killed everyone and wound up upending all our lives.”

One would think with all the money and fame and notoriety and pearly-smiled photoshoots the Fantastic Four boasted after gaining their powers that the quartet of superheroes adored their new lives. The truth of the matter was clearly much more complicated than any of the headlines or Buzzfeed interviews made it out to be. It diced Peter up inside to think of Johnny blaming himself for all the struggles his teammates had faced post-mission, even if they were completely out of his control, or how much the loss of his mother continued to weigh on him to this day. It cut even deeper realizing how much he could relate—recognizing his own guilt and regret reflected back at him in the tears staining Johnny’s cheeks. 

“I know this isn’t the best time for me to be saying this,” Peter interceded reluctantly, leaning away from the sweltering inferno. “But…you’re sort of setting the couch on fire.”

Johnny’s hands immediately dropped from his face. “What? I’m—oh, shit—!” He flew to his feet, the blue hues in his flames flaring back to red. “Dammit! And then there’s—fucking this! Me destroying everything I touch all the goddamn time! Ugh! Do you know how infuriating this gets? I can’t do or feel anything without burning down everything around me!”

Peter winced back as a wave of heat and cinders blasted towards him. A gasp shuddered out of Johnny at the sight, and he banished the flames from his body as swiftly as he could. Ringlets of smoke continued to eddy from his shoulders and hair. Tears mottled his dark blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny croaked out. “I usually—I can control myself better than that. I have to. I don’t know why this set me off so much. I just…” He dragged both his hands through his scalp. “I hate how angry these powers have made me, and how much worse the consequences are if I wind up losing my cool. I miss being able to scream and cry and get my feelings out without bursting into flame and torching what I can only assume is a four million dollar couch.”

Peter spared a glance at the blackened cushions. “Could’ve been worse. Pretty sure the couch on the penthouse floor is worth five million.”

Johnny’s lips twitched into a weak smile, but Spider-Man could tell he was still fighting back tears. Peter approached him slowly, watching the smoke spill off the celebrity’s body and dance across the ceiling. 

“Your teammates love you, Johnny. Anyone with eyes and a half-functioning brain can see that. Whatever anger or pity or whatever else you think they might feel towards you because of that day, I promise their love for you outweighs it a hundred times over.” 

Johnny just stood there with his arms hugged against his ribs and his eyes downcast, smoke and tears pouring from him in long, silent streams. Peter couldn’t bear to see him look so hurt. Without thinking, he lifted his hands to cup Johnny’s face on either side, brushing away his tears with thumbs. 

“You’re more than your mistakes, Johnny. So much more. I need you to understand that. Okay?”

A few seconds passed before Johnny lifted his eyes to meet his, and Peter feared for a moment that he might be the one to spontaneously combust. The Human Torch looked so distraught, so beautiful, so wounded, so heavenly. He was bleeding in places Peter could never reach, could never fix. He was damaged in ways Peter could temporarily alleviate, but never fully heal. Peter wanted to drain all the pain from Johnny’s weary, fragile heart. He wanted to suck the guilt out of Johnny’s soul and replace it with everything Peter saw when he held his gaze. He—he wanted to kiss him. 

Oh god. He wanted to kiss him so badly right now. 

The panic that desire kindled rang through his bones like church bells. Maybe this is how I tell him what he means to me, he thought. Maybe Peter didn’t have to say anything at all. Actions spoke louder than words, after all—right? But was it wrong to kiss somebody without asking first? He considered it, then shrunk from the thought, then considered it again, weighing the choices before him like clay in his hands, his heart a thundering war drum in his chest. Right as he thought he might actually summon the gall to lay it all on the line and just go for it—

“Mr. Stark would like to speak to you, Spider-Man. He’s on his way down now.”

The A.I.’s words had Peter jerking back from the Human Torch as if he’d burst into flame again. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that FRIDAY was likely surveying Johnny and Peter’s every move and conversation while they were in the tower together. She was there for security, not to spy, but Peter had seen her recording logs firsthand after requesting to download the footage of a particularly explosive mishap in the lab earlier this year. She had eyes on everything and everyone, including the two of them at this very moment. 

He couldn’t kiss him here. Not with her watching. 

“Oh, uh—he is?” Peter stammered out, marbles of disappointment clinking at the bottom of his stomach, his gaze still on Johnny as the young hero blinked at him slowly. He waved awkwardly at the ceiling. “Right. Got it. Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“You can talk to him,” Johnny insisted, eyes distant and thoughtful. “I’m, uh…I’m okay now.”

Swallowing, Peter bridged a portion of the gap he’d created between them, his hands moving way too much as he spoke. “You know, if you ever need to, like—let all your anger or stress or whatever it is out without worrying about torching anything, Avengers Tower has a room for that. You remember the battle arena where you and I fought? Every inch of that place is made of some of the strongest metal on earth—second only to vibranium. You can burn as bright and hot as you want—maybe even blast a few simulator drones if you need—without worrying about hurting anyone. It’s a great way to blow off steam for people like us. God knows how many times I’ve gone in there when I’ve felt low and needed to throw some punches without holding anything back.” Peter scratched a nonexistent itch on the side of his neck. “I can—I can take you there now, if you’d like.”

Johnny mulled it over for a bit, yawned, then shook his head. “I think what I need now more than anything is sleep. I’m always a big, blubbery, arson-prone grouch when I haven’t gotten my nine hours of REM.” He smiled at Peter, eyes foggy with much more than just exhaustion. “Thanks, though. I’ll let you know when I do need something like that. Which, with my track record, will most likely be sometime within the next week.”

Peter’s heart fluttered with sympathy and fondness. “Maybe you should head up to your room, sleep in a real bed. You know—go back to strangling your Puffy instead of me for the next few hours.” 

“Ben is also on his way to this level,” FRIDAY interrupted them once again. “He’s looking for Johnny. He has some, quote: ‘very exciting news to share with him.’” 

Johnny scowled. “Uh…what the hell does that mean?”

The ding of the elevator behind them turned both the teens’ heads as Tony Stark stepped through the doors onto the 78th floor. He looked sharp but casual in his coat and T-shirt combo paired with freshly polished tawny brown loafers. He grinned when he saw Peter, which put the teen a bit more at ease, only for the words that came out of his mouth to decimate all of that completely.

“Hey, there he is! The sneaky little lovebird I’ve heard so much about. Why didn’t you tell me it was a crush that’s been making you act so weird and jumpy lately? I’m great with that kind of stuff! Are we not on that level yet, or—” Tony paused when he noticed Johnny standing behind Spider-Man, his chipper smile faltering. “Oh. Sorry. Did you not want me to talk about this in front of him? I figured since the two of you are so close, he already knew.”

Confusion and panic burrowed like worms beneath Peter Parker’s skin. His insides began tangling and melting together as he gawked up at his beaming mentor. “I’m…sorry?” he stuttered, frantically trying to process everything he’d just said to him, horror encasing his lungs. “You—w-what’re you…talking about…?”

Stark chuckled amusedly. “Okay, don’t be mad. But your aunt may or may not have told me that you opened up to her about, y’know…liking someone?”

Peter’s stomach bottomed out. Oh no. Oh god. Oh shit.

“And since she’s not here,” Tony went on, “she has unfortunately enlisted me to be your stand-in romantic liaison to help you navigate this exciting but nerve-wracking love pickle you’ve gotten yourself into. I’m guessing this is her way of getting payback on both of us for the whole gunshot incident we tried hiding from her.” The Avenger snorted, crinkling his nose apologetically. “Normally I’d stay out of this sort of thing, but I’m under strict orders from the big boss herself to encourage and bug you about it until we get results. AKA: you asking your crush out on a date.”

This was a nightmare. It had to be. This wasn’t how Johnny was supposed to find out. It was supposed to be him—

“For starters, I gotta know: what’s the name of this superhero girl you like, and how long have you been fawning over her?” 

Peter’s mind went blank. Seconds flew by before the lights finally started flickering back on again. The first sensation Peter felt was relief. Relief that Mr. Stark wasn’t outing him to Johnny before he had the chance to do it himself. The following sensation was a numbing dread, coupled with the cold prickle of Johnny’s gaze tethered to the back of his neck. 

“Superhero girl?” Johnny parroted quietly. “What superhero girl?”

Tony huffed incredulously. “You don’t know about her either? Damn, kid. Where the hell have you been hiding this chick?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. His mouth refused to form words despite the hurricane of paradoxical thoughts barreling around his skull. He gingerly turned towards Johnny, knowing the sight would hack his heart to pieces. The celebrity’s face bore an expression weighed down by sorrow, disappointment, defeat. But no shock, no disbelief, which caught Peter by surprise. It was as if…he’d been expecting this to happen. Like he’d been patiently waiting for this exact bombshell to drop, despite hoping that maybe it never would.  

Before Peter could scrap together some way to deal with any part of this, booming footsteps shook the floor beneath them as the Thing came clomping down the staircase, jabbing a pudgy finger at Johnny the moment he spotted him. “Hey, Hothead! Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you all morning!”

Johnny swiveled languidly towards his teammate, a noticeable slouch in his shoulders. “What do you want, Ben?” he murmured. 

“What? You’re pouty? What’s got your lycra in a bunch today?” The Thing barked out a laugh and clapped Johnny on the back with one of his boulder-sized palms, making the teen wince. “Well, turn that frown upside-down, Torchy. We should be celebrating! Haven’t you seen the news?”

“What news?” Stark asked when Johnny didn’t. The Thing flashed a toothy grin in his direction. 

“An old friend of ours is popping by Earth for a visit! We haven’t seen him since he volunteered to help us during our space mission. He saved our lives and got us back home in one piece after our ship was damaged from the cosmic storm. We owe him a lot.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Wait,” he said, all color draining from his face. “You don’t mean—?”

“Nova! He’s here! You remember Nova, don’t yah? Sam Alexander? Man, what a great kid. We would’ve burned up in Earth’s atmosphere if it wasn’t for him.” Ben gave Johnny’s shoulders an affectionate shake. “You two were like peas in pod from the instant you met. A couple of scoundrels up to no good; always getting into trouble. I figured you out of all of us would be most excited to see him again, so I wanted to be the first one to tell yah.” 

The look on Johnny’s face was one Peter had never seen before. He was pale as a ghost and rigid with fear. His eyes looked haunted and bleak. His breathing was growing faster and shallower by the second. Not even Fisk with all his power and intimidation tactics had elicited this kind of response from the teen hero. All because Ben had name-dropped some guy Peter had never even heard of before. 

Who was this Sam Alexander, and what exactly had he done to his friend?

“I don’t want to see him,” Johnny sputtered out, revived plumes of smoke rising off his body. “I never want to see him again.”

“How come?” the Thing said with a frown. “He wants to see you again. He’s asking to see you specifically. Tweeting about it or whatever. He wants to catch up with all of us, but mostly with you. I think Sue was trying to set up an interview or something.”

“I’m not going,” Johnny immediately countered, wrenching away from Ben. “Tell her I’m not going.” His eyes dashed around the room, holding Peter’s gaze an instant too long before snapping towards the window. “I—I need to leave.”

“Johnny?” Peter called. “Wait—don’t—”

But the Human Torch was already yanking the window open and leaping into the city, flames igniting across his body. Within seconds, he was a streak of orange and gold spearing through the distant gray sky. Peter watched him disappear behind the Empire State building, something dark and icy clawing through his bloodstream. 

“Yikes. Wasn’t expecting that.” Ben scratched at his craggy scalp. “Guess I better tell Sue to call off the interview.” The mountainous man stomped back up the stairs, every step rattling the priceless vases perched atop the shelves above the TV. 

Stark shot a glance in the direction Johnny Storm had run off, then turned back to Spider-Man, planting a hand on his hip and raising one eyebrow. “So…are we gonna talk about the girl now, or do you want to go deal with that first?”

Peter cycled a deep breath through his lungs. Johnny’s warm, oaky scent still clung to the air, like smoke on clothes the morning after a campfire. He kneaded his fingers into the back of his elbow as he faced his superhero mentor. 

“Mr. Stark,” he said softly. “If you like someone, is it better to just tell them that, or show them?”

Tony blinked, inclining his head to one side. “Uh…show them how?” he asked.

“Like…should I just say that I like hi—I mean—” Peter reddened behind his mask. “Her. Should I tell her that I like her, or just…I don’t know…” He swallowed and shrugged. “Kiss her?”

A laugh punched out of Stark faster than he could smother it. He cleared his throat, pressing a hand to his chest and he fought back a smile. “That’s, ehem…a rather bold way to communicate your feelings to someone, I must say. A bit bolder than I’d ever expect from you of all people.” He stroked his thin beard pensively. “I’m not saying it’s the wrong way to go about it, but I am curious why you’d rather do that versus simply telling her how you feel.”

Peter gripped his neck with a grimace. “‘Cuz every time I try to say it, it’s like the words get stuck in the back of my throat. I can’t make them come out. And when I do manage to speak, I always end up saying something stupid and irrelevant instead. No matter how badly I want to tell her, it’s like I physically can’t.”

The Avenger chuckled lightly, eyes warm with sympathy. “That, I’m afraid, does not go away with age or time. Have you two been friends for a while now?”

Peter hunched his shoulders, diligently measuring every word before loosing it from his lips. “Not really. But…we are pretty close.” This was beginning to remind him a little too much of his phone call with his aunt. 

“And do you think she likes you back?”

Peter blushed, pinching his eyes closed. “I mean…yeah. Kinda. Well, er—I don’t know.”

Stark nodded. “All right, that’s semi-promising. And you think the best way to confess your feelings to her is by just—swooping her off her feet and laying one on her, completely unannounced? No warning whatsoever?”

“No!” Peter squeaked, mortified. “That’s not—there’d be—some warning! A preceding statement of some sort!”

“Because past me is guilty of that kind of behavior, and I strongly advise against it.” He raised his index finger pointedly. “Consent is very important in any potentially romantic relationship. Has May talked to you about that yet? Or—yeesh, about any of it, for that matter? You know: the birds and the bees? The banana and the pomegranate? The train going through the tunnel? ‘Cuz I’d really prefer not being the one who has to—”

“Okay, stopping you there,” Peter blurted out frantically. “Yes. We’ve talked about it. I’m good. Thank you. Please don’t bring it up ever again.”

Stark held up his hands in surrender, biting back a grin. “Roger that. Just making sure we’ve got all our bases covered.” 

Peter fiddled with his web-shooters to give his restless hands something to do. “So…you think it’s better if I just say it? Or maybe—write it down, or something?”

Tony pushed his jacket sleeves up his forearms and squinted at the ceiling. “I think…” he began, smirking, “that your darling little teenage brain might be overthinking all this. Just do what feels right in the moment. So long as it’s respectful and consensual, you can’t go wrong. Whatever it takes for you to tell her what you obviously need to tell her. You can’t really logic your way through feelings like this, kid. Love is anything but logical.”

Peter dropped his head back and sighed dolefully. That, he could attest to. Nothing about the way he felt or acted around Johnny Storm was in any way logical.  

“Will I be getting to meet this crush of yours anytime soon?” Stark inquired curiously. “Or at least see a picture? Either one would really help me get back on your aunt’s good side. I’m in the doghouse until I have proof that my romantic mentorship is actually benefiting you.” 

A soft smile found its way onto Peter’s lips. His gaze floated back to the broad windows. The last vestiges of Johnny’s smoke trail smudged the skyline like brushstrokes before evanescing from sight. Beneath the maw of gathering storm clouds lied his city, his playground, his path to him, bright and bold and beckoning. 

“Maybe,” Peter eventually said. Something stirred within his rib cage, pulling him towards the glimmering possibilities beyond the walls of this tower. Heart thrumming, he pointed at the window and threw Tony a wave. “I gotta go find Johnny. Thanks, Mr. Stark!”

The Avenger watched bemusedly as Peter launched himself out of the tower, somersaulting through the air a couple times before catching himself on a thread of webbing and slingshotting around a neighboring skyscraper. A surge of alarm gushed through him, and Tony rushed to the window with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at the top of his lungs. 

“Hey! Easy on the theatrics, kid! Just because your stitches are out doesn’t mean your wound’s done healing!”

Spider-Man disappeared into the cityscape without acknowledging him, his laughter echoing off the surrounding buildings. Stark exhaled in defeat as he ducked back into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilting his chin towards the ceiling. 

“Well? How did I do? How would you rate how l handled my first stab at teenage superhero romance mentorship?”

The A.I. let out a sigh. “I supposed it could’ve gone worse,” she conceded. 

“I’ll take that as at least a C plus.”

_______________________________

Peter had almost forgotten how spectacular web-swinging through New York felt. 

Although he was determined to find Johnny, Peter couldn’t help but spare a few moments to bask in the blood-pumping exhilaration that came with being Spider-Man, something he’d been cruelly deprived of while his gunshot wound finished healing. He careened through narrow alleyways, propelled himself into the heavens, sprung between rooftops, and flipped through the air until his head spun, the howling wind like music to his ears, his stiff muscles stirring from their slumber, his heightened senses coming alive. He whooped and laughed and surrendered to every reckless desire his body demanded, indulging in enough pulse-pounding, gravity-defying thrills to give an adrenaline junkie a heart attack. 

And probably Mr. Stark, if he was still watching. 

Once his hunger for action was satiated enough, Peter climbed to the top of the Flatiron building and knelt along the edge of the roof, breathing hard, scanning the skyline for any signs of a flaming, flying teenager. Whatever smoke clouds Johnny typically left in his wake had been lost to the breeze. Not a trace of him in any direction.

“Come on, Johnny,” Peter panted, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Where’d you go?” 

He tried calling him again. Three voicemails and five text messages later, yet still no response. Dammit. Now what? Peter ground his teeth as he tucked his phone back in his suit, nauseous worry twisting in his gut. He was running out of viable options and leads fast.

“Spider-Man!”

The superhero flinched in alarm. The call had come from the street far beneath him. The voice sounded like a child’s.

“Spider-Man!” it bellowed again, screaming like their life depended on it. Peter’s head whipped towards the source of the cry: four dots standing at the base of the Flatiron building, waving their arms above their heads. “Down here!”

Tragically, children in trouble took priority over Peter’s quest to locate his friend. Johnny would have to wait.

Peter leapt off the rooftop, stuck to the side of the adjacent building, sprung into a backflip, then landed on the sidewalk in a low crouch. The four kids gaped as he rose to his feet, some holding drinks, others wearing backpacks and light-up sneakers. 

“Are you guys all right?” Peter asked breathlessly, scanning each of them for injuries. “Are you lost? Is someone hurt? Do you need help? What can I do?”

For a few seconds, the children just stared at him like some kind zoo animal who’d escaped his enclosure. Then the shortest girl grabbed the hand of the tallest and squeezed it ‘til her fingers turned blue. 

“He actually came! Oh my god! He’s actually here!”

“It’s really him,” the only boy of the group said no louder than a whisper, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Is this real? Is this real life?”

“We got you coffee!” the third girl blurted out completely unprompted. The tallest girl, who Peter realized was actually just a very short woman (not a child), looked absolutely flabbergasted. 

“I—I can’t believe you came,” she stuttered out. “No way I thought you’d actually come down here.”

Peter gave an awkward giggle. “Well, you did shout my name at me louder than I thought humanly possible. Twice. I thought someone was in danger.”

The woman’s cheeks went scarlet. “Sorry. Really. I promise we weren’t trying to trick you. It’s just—” She ushered the children around her a step closer to him, whose eyes were galaxies of disbelief and wonder. “My kids are really big fans of yours.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to gawk. In all his days of Spider-Manning, Peter couldn’t recall ever being stopped by someone unless they wanted to beat him up, flip him off, or call him a menace. Or, occasionally, were in desperate need of his assistance. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time someone had called themselves a fan of his to his face. Spider-Man didn’t have any fans.

But now…

“I drew this picture for you!” the tiny girl squealed, fishing a crumpled piece of paper out of her backpack. She handed Peter a scribbly sketch of a red blob standing next to a purple blob surrounded by angry balls of black dust. “That’s you and me holding hands while you cover the bad guys in spiders!”

Spider-Man’s gaze shifted between the child and her terrible drawing, a little piece of his heart he hadn’t noticed was missing slowly wriggling back into place. 

“Oh,” he said a few seconds later. “Wow. You—you made this? Really? For me?”

“I got you coffee!” the loud girl proclaimed, thrusting a cup into his chest. “It was supposed to be for our dad, but I want you to have it instead! Fighting crime is much more important than whatever he does on his computer all day!”

“I want to be you when I grow up!” the young boy beamed. “You’re my favorite superhero! Just like Johnny Storm!”

“We love you so much!”

Peter held the gifts and the children’s kind words close to his chest. Spider-Man had never asked for praise or gratitude from the people of his city, and scarcely ever received it. He was there to help whether they liked him or not; no strings attached. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, or saw heroes who were loved by the public as lesser or greater than himself. He just…never expected it to happen. Didn’t know how to respond to it when it did. Felt baffled and overwhelmed by it, like a guy winning first prize in a contest he didn’t even remember entering. 

Maybe Johnny had been right before. Deep down, maybe Peter didn’t feel deserving of it. Two years of nothing but abhorrence and scorn had taught him what it meant to be Spider-Man. To protect his people, to defend his home, to sacrifice his blood and time and youth in pursuit of justice. To avenge his past, to save the world…and be hated for it. That was just his lot in life, and always would be. Peter would’ve carried on this way until his body failed him, until his veins were bled dry while the world rejoiced in his suffering, and would’ve been perfectly content with it. Maybe that wasn’t normal or healthy or right, but that was who he was. Who Spider-Man was. 

But…maybe it didn’t have to be. 

Peter tried to say something to the three kids and smiling mother standing before him, but found his throat closing up and his eyes starting to sting. He blinked, startled by his own reaction to such a silly and humble offering, the meaning behind it far more significant than they or any onlookers could ever know. The young hero swallowed thickly, honor and appreciation and embarrassment muddling together inside him and choking his wobbly voice.

“Thank you,” Spider-Man finally got out, forcing the broken words from his lips. The happy family’s grins immediately dropped, and a flush of bashfulness overtook him at how ridiculous he was being. “Sorry, so sorry. I’m not—I just—wasn’t expecting this. That’s all. It’s very sweet. And I’m—very grateful.” He covered his eye lenses with his forearm, trying not to spill the coffee or crush the girl’s drawing anymore than it already had been, laughing in spite of himself. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Please don’t post this anywhere. Johnny’s already tainted my digital footprint with enough humiliating content to haunt me for the next three lifetimes.” 

“Lainie’s ugly drawing made Spider-Man sad!” the loud girl shouted at the small girl, causing Lainie to immediately burst into tears. 

“Andrea!” the mom exclaimed. “Why would you say that?”

“‘Cuz it’s true!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! Don’t cry!” Spider-Man knelt in front of the weeping girl, uncrumpling the paper as much as was possible. “I think your drawing’s beautiful. That looks just like me! Especially after I’ve fought a bunch of bad guys who’ve thrown me into a brick wall a few times! I deeply admire and applaud your creative vision.” Peter held the crinkled paper out to her with a smile. “Would you sign it for me? Please? A piece this powerful deserves to be autographed by its creator.”

Still sniffling, Lainie dug a nubby crayon out of her backpack. She took the drawing, flattened it on the sidewalk, and scrawled her name in huge orange letters in the corner of the page, a few of her tears leaving wet spots on the paper. She swiped her hand under her nose and shyly offered the artwork back to Peter, who accepted it with an exaggerated gasp. 

“It’s perfect,” Spider-Man declared, hugging it against his heart. “Thank you, Lainie.”

While Lainie giggled and skipped in place, Andrea stamped her foot. “What about my coffee? Isn’t it perfect, too? Try it!”

The girl’s mother sighed. “Sorry about her,” she said.

Peter crouched down to Andrea’s level. “You’re a very confident and outspoken person, Andrea. I like it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that’s wrong.” He nodded towards Lainie. “Just try being a little nicer to your sister, okay? Use that strong voice of yours to stand up for her and protect her from bullies. That’s what superheroes do.” 

Andrea gazed back at him, awe-struck, nodding fervently. “Okay! I will! I’ll protect her with my whole entire life!” She poked aggressively at the coffee cup in his hand. “Now drink it! It’s the best coffee in the world!”

Peter laughed. “The best? In the world? That’s a monumental endorsement coming from you. Let’s see if you’re right.” Spider-Man lifted up his mask and tilted the cup against his lips. It took every ounce of his self control not to immediately spew the coffee right back into all of the children’s faces. He clamped his eyes and mouth closed, gulping down the bitter liquid by sheer will power alone. 

“Wow, that is just—straight black coffee, huh?” he rasped, a shudder rattling through him. “Whew. That is…bracing. No milk, no sugar, no syrup, no siree. Who needs all that garbage? Not your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Nope. Just piping hot bean juice straight down the hatch all day, every day. That is, without a doubt, the best cup of coffee in the world.” Peter turned to the children’s mother, lowering his voice an octave. “On an unrelated note, does your husband happen to hate himself?”

“Look! Over there!”

“It’s him! It’s Spider-Man!”

Peter glanced up sharply, muscles coiling on instinct. Typically, when someone shouted the words “Look, over there, it’s Spider-Man,” in that order, they were often followed by a bunch of curses and insults and fistfuls of trash being hurled in his direction, and he didn’t want the family of four to get caught in the crossfire. 

A crowd was gathering around them, pressing in on all sides. Eyes and bodies and phone cameras had them pinned from every angle. Peter tugged his mask back over his chin and waited for his spider sense to go off, ready to take the full brunt of the assault. 

“Spider-Man!” a man called out. “You’re back!”

“We missed you!”

“How’s your wound? Shouldn’t you still be resting?”

“We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“Do a flip!”

Gradually, Peter loosened his jaw and unclenched his fists, shrugging off his defensive stance bemusedly. “Uh…” he said, head swiveling left and right. “Hey, New York. I, er…missed you too?”

“We love you, Spidey!” 

The crowd roared in agreement, their cheers and applause punting Peter’s heart straight into his throat. While he swept his wide-eyed gaze across the sea of shrieking fans, the young mother took her children by the hands and corralled them away from the congestion. 

“We’re gonna go now,” she hollered above the clamor. “Thank you for taking time to meet them! They’ll never forget it. Say goodbye, kiddos!”

“Bye, Spider-Man!” the kids all bellowed in unison. Peter waved as the four of them wove towards the edge of the mob, retreating from view. The space they’d been occupying was immediately filled by the fans standing closest to him.

“Can you sign my shirt?”

“Can we take a picture with you?”

“You’re so cool!”

“I love your costume!”

“How old are you?”

“Is it true you punched Thanos in the face?”

“You’re a lot shorter in person!”

“Show us how you shoot your webs!”

Peter was not used to this volume of attention in the slightest. Maybe in the form of resentment and hostility, yet somehow this felt far more flustering. Flattering, but still flustering. 

“Where’s Johnny?” someone shouted suddenly over the uproar, which helped ground Peter’s dizzied thoughts, reminding him why he was out here in the first place. 

With a quick breath out, Peter sprung off the sidewalk and stuck to a nearby traffic light, a spur of exclamations and wide eyes following after him. He hung off the side of the beam, grateful for the breathing room.

“Uh, so…thanks everyone for your kindness!” he yelled to the masses, feeling incredibly out of his element. “I’m, um—not very good at this sort of thing, but I really appreciate it!”

The crowd cheered him on, which drew an incredulous laugh from the spider-themed hero. Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured himself in a situation like this. Perhaps a lot of the public still saw him as a menace, but clearly the tides were starting to shift. All thanks to Johnny. 

“I could actually really use your help!” Spider-Man went on. “I’m trying to track down Johnny Storm, AKA Flame Brain, AKA the Human Torch! Did anyone see him pass through here? Does anyone know where he is?”

A din of murmurs rumbled from the mob while they conferred with their friends and checked their phones. Half a minute passed, and Peter was ready to resign himself to scouring the city borough by borough, street by street, locating his friend by any means necessary, no matter how long it took.

Suddenly, a hand shot up into the air, flailing aggressively back and forth. “He’s at the Statue of Liberty!” the owner hollered. “A video of him landing on the crown was just posted to Twitter six minutes ago!”

The crowd buzzed with excitement as more and more people verified and corroborated her claim. “Yes!” a second fan cried. “He’s there!”

“The Statue of Liberty!”

“Here’s a photo of him on it posted two minutes ago!”

“He’s definitely there!”

The mass of people cheered again, and Peter scoffed with shock and relief. “Man, I love social media,” he chuckled. “And New Yorkers.” The masked hero grinned as he shot a line of webbing at the top of the nearest building, throwing one last wave to the hordes of fans and passersby. “Thank you so much! I owe you all big time!”

The crowds went wild as Spider-Man sprung off the traffic light and swung low through the street, gaining speed as he gunned it for lower Manhattan. But right at the apex of his swing, Peter spotted a man sitting alone on a bench, opening a tin of mints. The superhero switched trajectories in an instant. 

“Oh! Hey!” he called out, whipping around and dropping to the curb beside him. The man jumped like Peter had stuck him with a thumb tack. “Could I maybe swipe one of those off you? I can trade you for it! One mint in exchange for the best cup of coffee in the world!”

The man balked at him. “Um…” he said. “Sure? I guess?” He plucked a mint from the box and held it out to him gingerly. 

“You’re my hero!” Spider-Man chirped. “I could kiss you! I won’t, though—I’m saving that for someone else!” 

He swapped him for the coffee cup, then launched back into the air, pirouetting between each flick of his wrist, popping the mint into his mouth. “Have a spectacular day!” he cried. As Peter thwipped down the road, he swore he heard the man coughing and spitting far behind him. 

It took him about six minutes to make it to the southernmost edge of Manhattan. Spider-Man crawled to the top of the building closest to the shoreline, squinting at the teeny-tiny silhouette of Lady Liberty plastered against the glistening waters of Upper Bay. Ellis Island was closer to Jersey than New York, but he didn’t want to waste any more time swinging all the way there, and taking a ferry or bus or taxi would likely wind up just as tedious. If he got enough momentum and caught a lucky updraft, Peter was sure he could make it.

Spider-Man traveled back half a dozen blocks down Broadway to give himself a sort of runway leading straight to the statue. He mapped out his path, accounting for the speed and direction of the wind, how tall Lady Liberty was, and how far he had to coast in order to reach her without taking a plunge into the bay. After running all the calculations, Peter figured he had about a 33% chance of successfully landing on the island.

Eh. He’d beaten worse odds.

It was an unusually cool afternoon for a summer day in New York City. Dense packs of clouds blotted out the sun, and there was a chill in the breeze that felt heavenly after weeks of blistering heat. Peter stood at one end of a tall building’s rooftop, rolling his neck and shaking out his shoulders, doing his best to hype himself up. 

“You got this,” he whispered. “You got this. Okay. Ready? Three, two, one—!”

Peter sucked in a breath through his teeth, then broke into an all-out sprint. His feet pounded against the concrete; his pulse pounded in his ears. At the opposite lip of the roof, Spider-Man dove off the building, barreling towards the earth like a human torpedo, waiting until he could see the whites of pedestrians' eyes before snatching himself back into the sky on a perfectly timed web-line. He swung in harmony with his city, using each skyscraper and dizzying drop as a pendulum for gathering more speed, more momentum, more height. 

As he approached the end of his urban runway, Spider-Man dipped between the cars jamming either side of the street, then catapulted himself skyward as high and far as gravity would concede. The moment he reached the tallest point of his swing, Peter pressed the spider symbol on his chest thrice in a row, then threw his arms out at his sides. Translucent web-wings stretching from his wrists to his hips peeled out of his costume under both of his armpits, mimicking the look and function of a flight suit. Or, as Peter had eagerly pointed out upon seeing the design for the first time, a flying squirrel. 

The wings buoyed him high above the world, slowing his descent, extending the distance he could breach without the use of his web-shooters. Far beneath the teen hero, Manhattan gave way to dark waters and white-capped waves. He strained his arms to stay locked in place, watching his shadow skirt across the top of the choppy surf. 

“Almost there,” he told himself, the looming statue filling more and more of his field of vision. “Almost there.”

Peter was a little over half a mile out to sea when the winds suddenly shifted, making him wobble and drop a few feet. The breeze was now working against him rather than for him. He was moving slower and falling faster. Fear blossomed in his veins as he watched the black water rush towards him from below. I’m not gonna make it, he realized. 

Peter lifted his gaze to the top of the Statue of Liberty. “Johnny!” he cried, bobbing to and fro like a kite caught in a tornado. “Johnny, I’m here! I need—aaahh!”

A rogue gale slammed into Spider-Man from the left, sending him spinning sideways out of control. The young hero hit the water with a muffled scream, the cold piercing him down to the bone. He kicked for the surface and burst from the waves, gasping for breath, only to choke down a mouthful of saltwater instead. A powerful swell had crashed on top of him the instant he’d tried to breach. 

His mask made it feel like he was being waterboarded. The surf was too rough for him to stay afloat for more than a few seconds. His muscles were petrified by ice and terror. This would be a really embarrassing way for Spider-Man to die, he told himself, but that reality was growing a little too plausible for comfort a little too fast. All landmasses looked impossibly far away for him to reach via swimming. He was alone and exhausted and starting to panic. Shit. Peter Parker was going to drown to death. Right as the world was finally beginning to like him. Right before he could tell his crush how much he cared about him. 

How heartlessly poetic. 

As hope began to shrivel in Peter’s waterlogged lungs, a hand suddenly plunged through the waves and seized him by the wrist. Spider-Man’s arm nearly wrenched out of its socket as something ripped him from the ocean’s deadly clutches. Peter broke the surface hacking and wheezing, then raised his woozy gaze to his rescuer. An angel dipped in gold and starlight stared back at him, bathed in divine beauty far beyond this realm, and Peter wondered if he really was in fact dead.  

“What the actual fuck are you doing, you moron?!”

Peter coughed up a bubble of saltwater and blinked his bleary eyes, the flame-engulfed scowl of Johnny Storm gradually slurring into focus. He held his livid, magnetic gaze for a beat, a feeble smile touching Spider-Man’s lips. 

“You w-weren’t answering your phone,” he replied meekly. “I had to reach you somehow.”

“By almost drowning yourself?” Johnny shot back. “I left my phone back at the tower, dumbass! I came here to be alone!”

“I was w-worried about you,” Peter said, shivering in his sopping wet spandex. Johnny gave the pitiful superhero a quick once-over, frown softening slightly, then sighed.

“You could’ve died,” he scolded him. Johnny lifted Peter away from the inky black water, flying the pair of them towards the top of Lady Liberty. “Come on—before you freeze to death.”

The Human Torch set Peter on his feet on the backside of the statue’s head, just behind her crown. Johnny hovered in front of Spider-Man as the arachnid-themed hero trembled in place, arms tucked in close to his body, a puddle of sea water collecting underneath him. The unexpected cold front that had overtaken the city for the day suddenly didn’t feel like such a blessing as a whip of frigid wind lashed through him, sending shudders racing down his spine. Still engulfed in flames, Johnny watched Peter shrink against the breeze with a wrinkle between his eyes, like he was debating whether it was morally irresponsible to let him die of hypothermia or not. 

“I’m s-sorry for coming after you when you w-wanted to be alone,” Peter told him through chattering teeth. “But…it’s important, b-because I—I really needed to t-tell you…I r-really n-needed to show you th-that I—I’m—”

“Stop talking,” Johnny cut in, dousing his flames with a huff. He marched up to Peter and seized him by the elbow, hauling him to the flattest part of Lady Liberty’s scalp and forcing him to sit. Butterflies tickled Peter’s insides as Johnny nestled in behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest and midsection, resting his chin on Spider-Man’s shoulder with his inner legs pressed against the outsides of Peter’s. The chilly hero suddenly found himself enveloped by Johnny Storm like a cloak of warmth and sunshine, the heat from his skin driving out the biting cold. 

“Oh,” Peter exhaled involuntarily, the ice in his veins slowly beginning to defrost. “Oh wow, th-that’s better. But you—y-you don’t have to—”

“Don’t make it weird,” Johnny retorted, his lips dangerously close to Peter’s ear. “I’m only doing this so you won’t turn into a spider-popsicle. We’ve gotta get your body temperature back up to normal.”

Spider-Man swallowed nervously. “R-right,” he murmured. His muscles were cold and rigid against Johnny’s soft, comforting touch. The front side of the flaming hero’s torso was flush along the full length of Peter’s spine, seeping warmth into the entirety of his back. His palms pressed into Peter’s chest and belly, transforming the freezing water soaked through his costume into swirling tendrils of steam. 

They sat that way for a while, the winds gushing, the clouds roiling, the waves sloshing against the vacant shores of the island. Johnny breathed in deep and held him close, the supernatural heat of his skin driving the shivers from Peter's bones.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” the Human Torch said eventually, shattering the long stretch of silence hanging between them. “But I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.” He loosed a steady breath. “I just…needed to get out of that tower. After I…after, y’know, hearing the news, I wanted to be somewhere I could gather my thoughts. Somewhere I could go full supernova without putting anyone in danger, if it came to that. Ellis Island is closed for construction, so I figured the bay would be a good spot.” He turned his gaze to the New York skyline on their right. “Views aren’t bad, either.”

Peter dug his fingers into his kneecaps, trying to keep his legs from shaking. “The news about Sam?” he inquired. 

Johnny took his time answering. “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “Sam.”

“Can I ask…what happened? W-with you and him?”

The Human Torch moved to rest his chin on Peter’s other shoulder, humming softly in thought. “It’s…” He groaned. “Y’know. Complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” Peter assured him. 

“And embarrassing.”

“I just s-swallowed a gallon of seawater and almost drowned myself trying to glide to the Statue of Liberty like a flying squirrel,” Spider-Man reminded him. “Embarrassing is my middle name.”

A clipped laugh escaped Johnny. “Fine,” he relented with a sigh. “Just…please don’t share any details about this with anyone. Okay?”

Peter mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. “Promise.”

A brisk blast of wind buffeted the two heroes, sending goosebumps prickling across Peter’s flesh. Johnny cleared his throat, cinching his arms a little tighter around Spider-Man’s trembling body. 

“I first met him a few days after we launched into space,” Johnny began solemnly. “Me, Sue, Reed, and Ben had left Earth’s atmosphere in our ship and positioned ourselves in the ideal orbital path of the cosmic event we were hoping to study. We were getting settled and going over the timeline, all of us under the assumption that we were the only people up there interested in or even capable of observing it. Until there was a knock on our ship’s window.”

Peter listened curiously, trying not to let the closeness of Johnny distract him from his story. 

“Imagine our surprise seeing a guy outside our spacecraft. Just—floating around, totally untethered, in outer space. He had this strange helmet on and a thin suit protecting his body, but we had no idea how that was enough to keep him alive, or how the hell he’d gotten there. 

“After some heated debate, we decided to let him onto the ship. The guy introduced himself as Sam Alexander, a 17-year-old kid from Earth who’d spent the last year training in the Nova Corps on the planet Xandar.” Johnny tapped a finger against his chest. “I know that sounds like total sci-fi made up bullshit, but bear with me. Sam said he’d been sent back to Earth by the other Novas to observe the same cosmic event we were studying and make sure it didn’t cause any harm to his home planet. When we told him about our mission to collect samples and data from the particle cloud, he offered to help in any way he could.”

Peter had a lot of thoughts and questions cropping up already, but figured it best to keep them to himself until Johnny finished speaking. He balled his frozen fists against the statue and kept his mouth shut. 

“He worked with us as we prepared for the event to arrive over the next three weeks. We did everything together, and it didn’t take long for he and I to grow really close. He told me about his life on Xandar, how he went from a regular teenager on Earth to a superhero fighting intergalactic wars in space. He showed me the incredible things he could do when he wore the Nova helmet, like flying between planets without a space suit on, creating portals, manipulating gravity, even fucking telekinesis. I'd had, like, zero exposure to people with superpowers at that point in my life, and had never met anyone from a planet other than Earth, so all of it felt so…I don't know. Magical. Like my eyes were finally opened to just how big the universe is. Like I was meeting someone who had leapt right from the pages of a fantasy novel. I cherished every second we spent together, and never wanted the mission to come to an end. As our bond deepened and the cosmic event drew closer, I realized I…” 

Johnny fell silent. Peter felt the celebrity’s throat bob against his shoulder. A low growl of thunder rumbled above them. The sound of waves crashing against the island echoed faintly in the distance. 

“I realized I liked him more than a friend.”

Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest at his words, but he didn’t dare speak. Wasn’t sure what he’d say if he did. That single sentence sure held a lot. Answers and confessions and surprises and questions—too many for Peter to comment on without potentially scaring Johnny into discontinuing his story. No. His input wasn’t needed right now. Johnny deserved to say this however he wanted, without interruption. 

“I’ve, um…” Johnny stated, nerves straining his voice. He pulled back from Peter suddenly, shifting to sit beside him instead, making the spider-themed hero immediately miss the celebrity’s warm, protective embrace. He sat on Peter’s right, hugging his knees to his chest. Spider-Man bundled his limbs in close to himself, battling the shudders that reclaimed his body seconds after losing his sentient heated blanket. 

“I’ve…known since I was really young who I was and what I wanted," Johnny explained quietly. "I’ve only ever had crushes on boys, and I was lucky enough to be raised by a mom who taught me that was nothing to be ashamed of. My dad…well, that’s a whole different story, but he at least didn’t outright shun me for it.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked Peter in the eye. “I’ve never tried to hide who I am, but I stopped being as open about that side of myself after I told Sam I liked him.” Shadows shuttered across his expression. “He was…furious. It brought out a side of him I’d never seen before. He thought the only reason I’d befriended him was so I could, in his words, ‘trick the first superhero I met into fucking me.’”

Peter felt himself wince. Even though his skin was cold as ice, the blood moving beneath it suddenly felt white-hot.

“I tried telling him it wasn’t like that at all. I liked Sam a lot, so obviously I would’ve been sad if he said he didn’t feel the same. But I would’ve gotten over it and stopped pursuing him in that way for the sake of our friendship. That was more important to me than anything. I didn’t want to throw our entire relationship away just because I developed a crush. I cared about him too much to do that.” Johnny hid his face behind his knees, trying and failing to conceal his tears. “But I guess it wasn’t the same for him. He couldn’t see past it. I never would’ve told him I liked him if I knew how quickly it’d tear us apart. He said he never wanted to see me again, and made sure from that point on he didn’t.”

Johnny’s shoulders started to shake, and Peter couldn’t stand being silent any longer. He inched closer to him, laying his palm on his arm.

“Johnny—” Peter began, but the Human Torch flinched from his touch. 

“Wait,” he said, angling away from him with his eyes squeezed shut, curling into himself even further. “Just—let me finish first. Please.”

Instantly, Peter withdrew his hand, guilt constricting around his heart. Johnny blew out a breath, the intensifying winds whistling between them, then continued.

“The cosmic storm wasn’t supposed to come until the end of the month, but it arrived a week earlier than anyone expected and was triple the size Reed had predicted. It hit us the same day Sam stopped speaking to me. Sam had flown back to Earth to visit his mom when the dust struck our ship, and he showed up just in time to stop us from crash landing in the Pacific Ocean. He used his powers to get me and my friends back on the planet in one piece.” He grimaced. “At least—that’s what I was told. I was knocked unconscious the moment the cosmic rays hit and didn’t wake up until two days later.” 

Johnny splayed his legs out flat and leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the bloated clouds overhead. “I’m grateful that he saved us. I have to be. But the things he said to me that day have haunted me ever since. He was the first person I had a really serious crush on. He was also, ironically, the first person who made me feel true shame for that part of myself. Now that I’ve finally pieced my life back together after everything that happened with him and the mission and getting powers and all, suddenly—he’s back? And he’s asking to see me again? Why? I don’t understand it.” Johnny turned to him helplessly, eyes welling with tears. “W-what do you think? What should I do?”

Peter took the cue as a sanction to speak now, if he so desired. He kept his distance, though—despite how deep the cold was permeating his cells and how warm Johnny Storm looked. He thumbed through the lofty pages of lore Johnny had shared with him today—once, twice, thrice. It took him a minute to find the words that felt the most right to say.

“It sounds like Sam really hurt you,” Peter said, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. “And if you don’t want to see him again, I think that’s okay. You don’t owe him anything, and just because he’s asking to see you doesn’t mean he deserves to.” A candle of fear flickered inside Peter’s chest as he realized what the next thing he planned to say might lead to. But he didn't let that stop him from continuing. “It is possible he may want to speak now because he’s sorry about what happened between you two and is hoping to make amends. A lot’s changed with you since that day—so maybe a lot’s changed with him, too.” Peter tucked both hands under his armpits, trying to bring some feeling back into his numb fingers. “But m-maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’s still an asshole, and you’re better off keeping your distance. You know him better than I ever will. You’re the best person to make that call.”

Johnny kept his eyes on the sky above them, a look of tranquility settling across his graceful features. A soft breeze rippled through his reddish-gold hair. Peter admired him longingly from where he sat, wanting to drop-kick anyone who’d ever caused him harm. Even if Sam had changed his tune since the last time they’d spoken, Peter hoped the two of them never met. The gnawing urge to clock him in the nose for how he’d treated Johnny might prove too difficult for his waning empathy to subdue. When the Human Torch finally turned towards Spider-Man, his tears were dry and his lips were curved into a small but genuine smile. 

“You’re a good friend, Spidey,” Johnny said softly, criss-crossing his legs with his hands in his lap. “I hope your talk with your crush goes better than mine did.”

Peter’s body stiffened, heartbeat revving like a freshly jumped car. “My—what?” he stammered out, reeling.

Johnny tilted his head slightly to the left. “That superhero girl Stark mentioned,” he reminded him. “The one he said you should ask on a date. Aren’t you gonna talk to her?”

Spider-Man recalled then what Johnny had overheard, but it wasn’t relief he felt this time. Just…heaviness. Weariness. His heart wilting in his chest once again. 

“Oh,” Peter said, confused and conflicted. He lowered his gaze to his feet. “Right. That.” 

Was it time to correct that little misunderstanding?

“You should talk to her,” Johnny encouraged him. “I’d bet anything she likes you back. You’re a total catch, and she’d be lucky to be with you. Don’t let my clusterfuck of a love life deter you from going after what you want. I have the worst taste in romantic partners. Just ask Sue.”

Peter was only half-listening to what Johnny was saying. His mind was preoccupied with the same dilemma he’d been wrestling with since late last night—or rather, if he was being honest with himself, since the day he recognized his feelings for Johnny for what they truly were. At this point, Peter had abandoned the should he or should he not quandary. Now, it was purely a question of execution. It all made sense now: why Johnny never dared confess his feelings to Spider-Man. He’d done this all before already, and look how marvelous that turned out for him. The news of Peter’s supposed crush on some nonexistent superhero girl must’ve dealt the final blow to any hopes he might’ve harbored of a potential romance budding between them. He’d given up. Thrown in the towel. Deigned to support Peter’s alleged romantic interest because he was committed to being his friend, and that’s what good friends did. 

Well, respectfully, fuck friendship, Peter thought. He was ready for something more.

He was done playing it safe. He was done denying himself because he didn’t feel worthy. This was his moment to grab hold of what he wanted with both hands and pull.

Limbs shivering from more than just the cold, Spider-Man pushed off the ground and rose to his feet. A light drizzle had started to fall, negating all of Johnny’s previous efforts to warm him up and dry him off. Peter curled his hands into icy fists at his sides, stomping down his fears as they rose like bile in his throat, his heart beating somewhere outside his body. He set his jaw, then whirled on Johnny sharply.

“I’m gonna tell you something!” he shouted at him—so much louder than he meant to. But he was too focused on just getting the words out to worry about what volume that happened to be at. “I don’t—I’m not sure how, but I am! Right now.”

Johnny blinked at him perplexedly. “All right…” he said, a suspicious wrinkle dimpling along his brow. He looked somber and somewhat bored while Peter’s heart was threatening to implode from anticipation. 

Peter hopped on his toes, did a lap around Lady Liberty’s head, gave himself the world’s meanest internal pep talk, then planted himself back in front of Johnny, clapping a hand over his eyes.

“Okay—I’m not gonna tell you something!” Peter decided, voice cracking. “But I am gonna show you something, if you’re okay with that!”

“Why are you yelling at me?” Johnny laughed cheerlessly. He rose upright, standing across from the spider-themed hero with a hand on his hip. “Did you swallow too much seawater or something? Do I need to fly you home?” 

Peter felt like he was boiling in his own blood. He was blushing so hard, he wondered if he might actually be running a mild fever. Could a person die from being so hopelessly lovestruck yet terrified to say it? Maybe he’d be the first.

Spider-Man dragged his hands down his face and groaned at the sky. “Okay, okay—how ‘bout this,” he proposed frenetically. He lowered his arms and took a step closer to Johnny, knees threatening to give out underneath him. “Could I just—can I try something? And then, if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never do it ever again? We can both forget it ever happened, and just continue on with our lives without ever mentioning it. Or, if you really don’t like it, you could even punch me afterwards! Or burn a handprint into my forehead! Whatever makes you feel properly repaid for my transgressions against you. You have my blessing to do what you gotta do to make things even. Does that sound good?”

Johnny’s bland amusement was starting to pitch towards concern. “I’m confused about what's happening right now,” he admitted. “What are you wanting to do?”

Peter flexed and unflexed his damp palms at his sides. “It’s…a surprise?” he offered weakly, then sighed. “But I need your permission to do it. Before I…y’know. Surprise you.”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms tight against his chest. “Um…okay,” he conceded warily. “You have my permission to…surprise me, I guess.”

Rain pinged against the algae-green metal of the massive statue they both stood on. Droplets slithered down Peter’s eye lenses, blurring his field of view. His body felt blazing hot yet glacier cold all at once. 

“Okay,” Peter squeaked out. “Cool.” He could not believe he was about to do this. He took another step closer to him, then retreated back skittishly, his bashfulness almost too much to bear, Johnny’s strikingly beautiful gaze too intently focused on him. Peter interlaced his hands together in front of his chest. “Could you maybe, um…close your eyes? Please?”

Johnny searched his masked face. Something new flashed in his blueish-gray irises. Something…fearful? Peter wasn’t quite sure. Nonetheless, he obeyed. 

Mist blanketed Johnny’s skin like early morning dew. His hair stuck to his forehead in messy, criss-crossing strands. Tiny raindrops sparkled in eyelashes. Peter expelled all the air from his lungs. He raised his trembling fingers to his chin and carefully rolled his mask above his mouth. The roaring of his pulse replaced all sound as the young hero stepped forward, eyes dropping to Johnny’s lips. Those freckly, grotesquely perfect lips. He wasn’t deserving of them, of this, but there was no backing out now. What should he do with his hands? He opted to let them hang uselessly at his sides. Should he have put chapstick on? This was taking too long. Goddammit, Parker. Come on! No more stalling, hiding, making excuses. Peter swallowed harshly, then forced his eyes shut. He prayed his heart wouldn’t give out on him as he slowly leaned forward. 

“Are you…about to kiss me?”

Peter’s muscles seized as his eyes popped open. Johnny Storm stared back at him, their lips mere inches apart, his face the picture of disbelief. All the moxy left him in an instant. Peter reared back, doubt and terror flushing through him.

“N-not if you don’t want me to,” he said thinly. 

“You’re serious?” Johnny asked, looking a bit panicked. “You—you’re not just joking around right now?”

Like the crack of a hammer to his temple, Peter realized he’d read this all wrong. Utterly, horribly wrong. Johnny didn’t like him back. He never had. He had confided in Peter about his past romantic woes because Peter was his friend, and he trusted him. Not because it had any connection or correlation to their own relationship. Johnny had finally felt safe enough to open up to him about his sexuality, and what was the first thing Peter did in response? Assume Johnny had a crush on him like the selfish asshole he was. Simply because they were both boys, both sixteen, and both in each other’s general proximity. How could he be so cruel? So insensitive? He wondered how many times this had happened to him before. Befriending a fan in hopes of forming a true bond, only for them to turn around and treat him like a shiny prize for the taking. Peter was no different and no better than the masses and hordes of others who clamored after Johnny Storm, itching to snag fistfuls of his sunshine for themselves. 

Peter staggered back from him even more, heart guttering with shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, invisible fingers closing around his throat. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Johnny balked, clearly still in shock from his betrayal. He took a step towards him, extending a hand. “Webs—” 

“I messed up. I’m so sorry, Johnny. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t—” Guilt stole his voice away. He turned his back to him, every breath a dagger to his lungs. He felt like he was drowning all over again. “I’ll leave now. Just please don’t—”

Something grasped his arm and spun him around faster than Peter could blink. Whatever appeals and apologies still dangled on the tip of his tongue were smothered to death by a pair of lips crashing into his own. The world lurched and swayed around him, then fell away all at once. Johnny cupped a hand against the back of his head and pulled him in closer, kissed him fiercer, his mouth gentle yet ravenous as it traipsed across Peter’s. It was the first kiss of his life that had Spider-Man seeing stars. 

When the two of them finally came up for air, they held each other in their hands and gazes, the drizzle overhead paring open into an all-out downpour, and laughed. The rain pounded and the wind roared, but neither of them could care less. Peter felt mired in a dream or the final frame of a movie in the best way imaginable. Johnny pressed his forehead against his, the wild throb of his heartbeat singing in Peter’s ears. His bubbly giggles quickly morphed into sobs. 

“I thought you were straight!” Johnny exclaimed, interlacing Spider-Man’s fingers with his own.

“I thought you were straight!” Peter shot back, dazed with mirth, laughing.

“You thought I was straight?” Johnny wept, tears and raindrops bleeding together as they slid down his cheeks. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“Johnny!” Peter giggled, cradling his face in his palms. “Why are you crying?”

The Human Torch shook his head, a beautiful, blubbery mess. “I just—I didn’t think you felt the same,” he sniffled. “I thought it was just me. I was so afraid that—”

“Me too,” Peter assured him, still giggling. He couldn’t seem to stop giggling. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Johnny told him, breathless with joy. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

"Really?" Peter practically squealed. Shock and delight undulated from his heart in tsunami-sized waves. “Same here! I'm just—I can't believe that you—all this time, it was actually both of us who were feeling—" Giggles swallowed up his words, but he was too thrilled and starry-eyed for it to embarrass him much. He pressed his face closer to Johnny's, their noses brushing. "When did you realize you liked me?”

Johnny’s cheeks blazed with color, and Peter noticed then the tiny, rosy flames lapping off his shoulders, hissing in the pelting rain. “Probably since you kicked my ass in front of everyone during our spar,” he admitted, averting his eyes with a sheepish smile. “What about you?”

Peter bit the inside of cheek, immediately regretting the question. Blush veiled his flesh like a second skin. “Before we even met,” he said through a cough. He saw the smug retort building in Johnny from a mile away and jabbed a finger into his chest. “But I didn’t officially know it was a crush until much more recently. I didn’t understand my feelings back then. I didn’t even know I liked guys like that.”

“When did you know you liked guys?” Johnny pressed him a little too fervidly. Peter groaned, realizing the hole he’d dug himself into far too late. 

“Around...like…four days ago…?” he mumbled, wincing. Johnny’s eyes brightened fiendishly. 

“Hold up,” he said, cupping a hand under Peter’s chin, trailing his thumb along his jawline. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” His grin was as blinding as a thousand suns. His touch was turning his legs to putty. “Did meeting me turn you gay?”

Peter scoffed, clawing free of his spell, snatching Johnny’s hand away from his face. “You didn’t turn me gay,” he insisted, rolling his eyes. 

“But I made you realize you were gay,” he remarked proudly. “I was your gay awakening.”

“I’m bi, actually,” Peter corrected him.

“Only because my handsome face and irresistible charm lured you to the dark side,” he forged on, winking at him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re a dick,” Peter giggled. Baffling happiness and devastating relief swirled together like whirlpools in the masked hero's belly. It wasn't just me, Peter's dizzied mind repeated again and again, grasping tight to Johnny's wrist with his right hand while digging his thumbnail into the palm of his left; just to make sure this wasn't some cruel dream or twisted trick of his imagination. Johnny likes me back. We both like each other that way. He stared into his eyes of lapis lazuli and wondered just how virtuous his past life must've lived for him to be so damn lucky in this one. 

“I’m glad all the work I put into winning you over wasn't wasted,” Johnny beamed. “You certainly took your time making a move, Webs. Was I not laying it on thick enough? I was hardly being subtle.”

Peter hunched his shoulders. “I thought being flirty was just your personality,” he explained skittishly.

“It is to a certain extent! But I was practically throwing myself at you! Homemade meals, personalized gift baskets, calling you hot to your face on at least seven separate occasions. What more did you want from me?”

Peter laughed into his palms. “I’m sorry! I just figured that’s how you treat all your friends. I didn’t want to assume anything!”

“Well, you should have! You had me questioning my game, Spidey! I thought I’d lost my edge!” 

Peter felt giddy as a child on his first trip to Disney World. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the residual warmth of Johnny’s lips pressed against his own still setting off fireworks in his belly. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of game. Maybe too much for my liking. I’m no good at any of this.”

Johnny chuckled. “You flung yourself in the ocean just ‘cuz you were worried about me. That’s plenty romantic. Dangerous and idiotic, but still romantic.” He smiled at Peter from ear to ear, slicking back his hair with his fingers, then frowned. “Wait. So what was all that stuff Stark was saying about you having a crush on some superhero girl? Was that true?”

Peter's ears went pink. “Oh. Right.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “That was about you, actually.” 

A line formed between Johnny’s eyebrows. “I’m the superhero girl?”

“I tried telling my aunt about you, but when I mentioned I had a crush on another superhero, she assumed it was a girl. I’m not out to her yet, so I panicked and just played along. Then she talked to Mr. Stark about it, who also doesn’t know I’m bi, and now it’s snowballed into this big lie I’m having to sustain with everyone.”

Delight flashed across Johnny’s features. “You told your aunt about me?”

Peter giggled shyly. “Yeah. She and I are really close. We tell each other about everything going on in our lives. I wanted her to know about you and offer any advice she had, but it all kinda ended up backfiring.” The masked hero shivered, soaked from head to toe. “I feel bad lying to her, but I’m scared the truth could…I don’t know. Change our relationship.”

Johnny’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Who all knows you’re bi?”

Peter shrugged. “Just you and my best friend.”

“Oh, wow. So, like—hardly anyone.” Johnny tried wiping the raindrops off his chin with his sleeve, but his costume was just as wet as his face, so all it did was smear long trails of droplets across his skin.

“Who knows about you?” Peter prompted him in return. Johnny snickered.

“Well. Most of the general public speculates I’m some form of queer, just from—y’know. The way that I am.” He tucked a strand of dripping hair behind his ear. “But the only people I’ve told outright are Sue, Reed, and Ben.”

A coil of anxiety wound through Peter’s ribs. “Does it bother you? Having all these strangers discuss your sexuality all the time?”

Johnny pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not really. I actually find it entertaining. It’s fun to keep the fans and the paparazzi guessing. Sometimes I’ll go on fake dates with my lesbian friends just to throw everyone off and see what kind of headlines come out of it. It’s shocking how gullible some people can be.”

Peter felt himself redden a little. He’d definitely fallen for one too many of those click-baity tabloids in the past. “And are your teammates…supportive of you?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. They don’t care. I give them far worse things to worry about than what gender I prefer making out with.” A sly smile curled along his lips as Johnny pressed closer to him, hands sliding around his waist to weave together against the small of Spider-Man’s back, kicking the teen’s pulse into overdrive. “Speaking of which, do I have your permission to kiss you again? Because I’d really like to, if that’s okay with you.”

Spurred by uncharacteristic boldness and clarity, Peter answered his question by throwing his arms around his neck and planting his lips on Johnny’s, giggling as he did it. The Human Torch had stolen their first kiss from him; and, as resplendent as it’d been, Peter wasn’t gonna let him nab the second as well. Not on his watch. 

A little squeak of surprise came from Johnny, followed by a flash of heat. When Peter pulled away from him, his whole scalp was lit ablaze, eyes wide and cheeks pink. 

“You have my permission from now until your sister or some other vengeful force of the universe strikes me dead,” Peter told him, glowing from the inside out. He snickered at the flames billowing off his head. “Did I do that?”

Johnny glanced up in surprise, then frantically smothered his scalp with his palms. “Shut up,” he giggled sheepishly. “I can’t help it.”

“Are you gonna light on fire every time I kiss you?” Peter inquired, standing on his tiptoes to peck him on the nose. The flames he’d extinguished instantly roared back to life, spreading down his shoulders and arms this time. 

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, jumping back from him, flustered and laughing. “Cut it out! I could burn you!”

“But it’s so cute!” Peter beamed. “Totally worth the risk of a pre-mortem cremation. I’ll take my chances.”

Johnny smacked his shoulders until the flames died down, rolling his eyes, unable to mask his radiant smile. Peter wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm, as cold and wet as a New York sewer rat.

“So…” Peter mused, grinning up at him bashfully. “What now?”

Johnny shook out his hair like a golden retriever after a bath. “What do you mean?” he said, mirroring his smile.

Peter pulled his mask back over his chin. “I mean…I like you. A lot. And as much as I’d like to galavant across New York, kissing you on top of every iconic fixture of the city…” A knot of shame formed in his stomach. Peter licked his lips. “I’m just…not sure I’m ready for the world to know about this part of myself yet. It’s all still so new to me.” He grabbed Johnny’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It has nothing to do with you, I just—”

“It’s all right,” Johnny assured him. “I get it.”

“And with Fisk watching us, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we—”

“You don’t have to give me a million reasons for it, Webs. I’m okay with keeping it under wraps. I understand.”

Peter swallowed, guilty with relief. “What about our teammates?”

“We don’t have to tell them either, if you’re not ready for it. We don’t have to tell anyone. Nobody has to know until you want them to.” Johnny pressed a kiss to his forehead, lighting sparklers inside Peter’s chest. “As long as I get to be with you, I don’t care. We’ll keep it a secret for as long as you need.”

Peter smiled until his cheeks ached, overflowing with warmth despite the arctic temperature of his skin. “Thanks, Flame Brain,” he said, voice brittle. 

Johnny lifted his lips off Peter’s mask and grimaced. “Hiding it from my people might be extra difficult, though. Especially Reed and Sue.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked. 

Johnny winced. “Reed…kinda already guessed that you might like me. And that I liked you. He called me out on it a few days ago and encouraged me to approach you ‘cuz he thought there was a good chance you liked me back. He’s an obnoxiously observant and nosy bastard.” He sighed. “And he tells Sue everything.”

Peter bristled at the idea of someone seeing through his disguise so easily. Granted, Reed was a certified, world-renowned genius, but still. He’d read him like a book without even trying, as if the words “Please Kiss Me Johnny Storm” were tattooed across his forehead. Were Peter’s feelings for Johnny really that obvious? How long before the rest of Avengers Tower exposed his poorly veiled secret? How long before the entire world did?

“We’ll just have to be extra careful when we’re around them,” Johnny decided, cracking a smile. “Maybe we can fake-argue whenever they’re in the same room as us. I could pretend I randomly turned into a Daily Bugle fan and accuse you of whatever insane shit Jonah is rambling on about that day. Or you could call me a self-obsessed snob with a god complex and mommy issues.”

Peter busted into a laugh. “I don’t want them to think we hate each other! Jesus! Let’s just act like we’re friends and avoid doing anything that might convince them otherwise.” He gave Johnny’s shoulder a playful punch. “Two totally platonic, exceedingly heterosexual super-bros. That’s us.”

Johnny snorted. “Right. ‘Cuz that’s worked so well for us so far.”

Peter ran a hand across his rain-speckled eye lenses, a shadow crossing over his otherwise lustrous heart. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Sam?” he asked reluctantly. “Maybe there’s a chance he’s a better person now. Maybe you two could be friends again.”

Preferably nothing more than that, Peter thought with a pinch in his gut. But if he’d make you happier than me…

Johnny took Peter’s hand in his and held it against his heart, a slurry of pained understanding yet unbreakable resolve etched into his face. “I don’t even want to think about that douchebag right now,” he assured him. “Maybe ever. Right now, I only want to be here. Nowhere else, with no one else. Just us.”

God, was he perfect. Too perfect. It was almost unfair. The smile he beheld him with could shake the very stars from the sky.

At that moment, a frigid gust of wind barreled upon them from the east, making the rain fly in sideways. Peter’s teeth started chattering again as he braced himself against the numbing gale and downpour, trembling like a leaf. 

“Oh,” Johnny said, scanning him up and down, completely unfazed by the rain or wind. “Are you still cold?”

“Um,” Peter stuttered, shoulders hiked to his ears, knees quaking beneath him. “L-little bit.”

Johnny reached out and touched his arm, lowering the superhuman layer of warmth he shrouded himself in to protect his body from the elements long enough to feel the temperature of Spider-Man’s skin. His jaw dropped when the cold reached his fingers. Blinded by his excitement for his reciprocated affections, Johnny hadn’t bothered to notice that the person he was kissing and ogling and fawning over was freezing to death right before his eyes.

“Holy shit, Spidey!” Johnny cried, bundling him into a superheated hug. “You’re like ice!”

“Oh my god,” the masked hero whimpered. “You’re s-so warm.” He shuddered out a breath, nestling his head between Johnny’s chin and shoulder, the Human Torch’s intoxicating smell and toasty embrace like shots of ecstacy to his senses. “Is this what being a lizard under a heat lamp feels like? Sweet mother of Christ. Bake me alive. Set me on fire. Go full supernova. I can take it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Johnny insisted, ignoring the shivering teen’s quips. He hugged him closer to his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? We need to get you out of the rain.”

“A cup of hot cocoa wouldn’t hurt either,” Peter added, voice muffled against the bend of Johnny’s neck. Peter felt the Human Torch’s laughter rumble softly through his body, and he thought he might melt with happiness.

“Fine. I’ll make you the best hot cocoa ever. After we get you home.” Johnny snaked an arm around his waist to lift him off the ground, but his hand bumped something in the hidden pocket of Spider-Man costume. Curious, he tugged the object free, then frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, holding the sopping piece of paper between them.

Peter gasped in dismay. “Oh no,” he lamented, cradling it in his hands. “My artwork! It’s ruined.”

“Your artwork?” Johnny said dubiously. 

“It was the first piece of fan art I ever received,” Peter explained, the drawing turning to mush in his palms. “A little girl named Lainie made it for me. It was a picture of us holding hands with spiders everywhere. She signed it and everything. It was probably the worst depiction of me I’ve ever seen in my life. I loved it with my entire being.” The paper chose that moment to fall apart entirely, plopping into sad, wet piles on top of Lady Liberty’s head. “And now it’s gone.”

Johnny’s eyes brightened. “You mean you met a fan of yours? Like, in person?”

Peter nodded. “I did. A lot of them, actually. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. They helped me figure out you were here.” He nuzzled back into his irresistible bubble of warmth. “People are actually beginning to like me now. They’re starting to see me as someone helpful and trustworthy. I don’t know how you did it.”

“You did that,” Johnny corrected him. “I just opened their eyes to what was already there. It was all you.”

“You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Johnny Storm.”

After a beat, Johnny sighed wistfully, raising a hand to Peter's neck, his index and middle fingers resting against the heavy thump of his pulse. “Fine," he conceded. "I suppose you’re right. I am amazing. And talented. And inspirational. And hot.” A smirk lifted his features as he traced the tips of his fingers up his throat and under his chin, sending a different kind of shiver crawling up Spider-Man's spine. “No wonder you want me so bad. I’m impressed, actually. Fresh out the closet, yet here you are—snatching the world’s hottest bachelor off the market like a pro. Do you know how many fans’ hearts you’d be breaking if they knew? They’d call you far worse things than a menace; I can promise you that.” 

Peter turned ten shades of red beneath his waterlogged spider-suit. Even now, when they both knew they liked each other, Johnny’s wily teasing still left him blushing brighter than a summer sunset. In fact, knowing Johnny was flirting with him because he liked him probably made it a hundred times more effective and about a thousand times more flustering. A startled giggle sprung out of him as Peter’s hand flew to his neck. Johnny’s cackling injected Peter’s skin with static, but the flaming teen’s gaze brimmed with affection as he swept the masked hero into his arms, planting a kiss between his eyes and lifting them into the sky. 

“I’m so happy you liked me back,” Johnny said, holding him like something precious, something holy. The wind and rain hammered down from above, but Peter could hardly feel it. Johnny’s warmth was all-consuming and steadfast, shielding him from the blustery outside world. He pressed in close to him, praying they were too high up for anyone in the city to see while also drowning in too much joy to care that much if they did.

“I’m so happy you liked me back, too,” Peter giggled in reply. Time would only tell what new adventures and dangerous obstacles awaited them now that they’d taken this leap. Foes and friends rising against them, battles and turmoil fought both externally and within. But now, no matter what, they’d face those things together. Side by side, hand in hand, the spider and his flame. 

Peter held onto this moment like a firefly caged between his fingers. It was so perfect, so magical, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it escape him, of watching that fleeting, wondrous light disappear beyond his reach. He’d grasp it tight and hold it close for as long as he could without squashing it. 

Spider-Man ignored the breathtaking views of the city whisking by beneath them. He traced his gaze across Johnny’s refined features the whole ride home, heaven struck.

[lunaartgallery]

JAN 2025 | BIG Updates

Happy New Year everyone, I'm back from holiday! Onward to the rest of the updates because I got a few.

Hellven Novel

The book is complete and I'm working on reviews / edits. I don't have a specific release date due to life circumstances but I will get Hellven out sometime this year. I am determined about that one.

Thank you for everyone's support through Hellven, it's a been a long time in the making and so many hours poured into it as my first official novel. I still need to make some concept art for certain characters, and settle on a final panel style. Probably, black and white stark-inked contrast.

Excited to work on that after things settle down. 

BIG Life News

This one is quite the doozy. So, this is no easy decision to make but after watching the current industry landscape for the past years or so - I've decided to quit the professional art field. I don't want to make this a mile long sob-story, I'll keep it short. I've pursued art since I was a kid, went to school, got a full-ride, got many opportunities, and continued to sacrifice a significant portion of my life to my studies.

In the end I wish I could I say that all you need is hard-work to make it. Maybe once ago, but this isn't true anymore. I see many artists far into their career I look up to struggling with the current landscape. The newbies are doing even worse. The truth is, you need a ton of luck or someone to support you. 

So I'm out, I've decided to go into a different field entirely. It's not all doom and gloom, in a way I'm free. Free from never feeling good enough, and free from the future of endless up-hill battles.

What this this mean

I'm not quitting art itself. It's still my hobby and I'll still take side-gigs. But I am quitting the pressure of being a certain way, including all the social media algorithmic bullshit. Yearly portfolio work and constant studying- I'm done with it all. 

I'm going to draw when I want to draw, whatever I want to draw and I'll post weekly if I can.

Confessions of an artist

I got to get this off my chest.

Once my queue is up you'll see my art style change, and my subject matters. It's hard to describe, but I've formed myself in a certain way in-order to achieve something that I completely lost myself along the way.

I miss my old self, my college self when I did all these funky projects like Skull-Kidz! and CUPP. That type of work, was ME. Weird ugly people, in odd situations. Heavily influenced by my favorite styles, Soul Eater and Gorillaz. I never liked realism btw, I only did it because I felt like I had to. Generally I need to step back and just cleanse myself from all these rules.

Thank you for supporting me through it. I don't know what the future holds but I am hopeful that it will be better.

Here's to a new job, new career, and a better mental state.

[fangirlstorycreator]

Terry Silver X Reader

Context: You and Terry are happy in your work life, and love life. But? Are enemies, masquerading as friends, about to change the perfect balance? Is your relationship strong enough to withstand the forces trying to pull you apart?

Requested by @anninhaaagomes16 💚

Part 1/3

Yes. There had been a few issues with the remodeling of Cobra Kai, but thankfully, it all came out beautifully. Ever since your student, Tori, won the tournament a few months before, your partner, Terry, wanted to make Cobra Kai the most popular and exciting dojo in the entire valley. And with this new remodel, it did just that. He filled it with state of the art training equipment, large spacious training rooms, and there was even time to make an advert for TV. Things seemed to be going very well. Maybe, not including the issues with Terry and the other sensei's. But you didn't get involved, or want to get involved, you were focused on training the kids. At first, most of the students found it very strange that someone of your age decided to go out with Terry, the age difference was pretty big. But you loved eachother more than anything, it was like falling in love with your bestfriend, which is exactly how it should be. But after a while, and seeing how your presence around Terry actually calmed him, and didn't come across as a mean, cold hearted sensei, they got used to it. Of course, around the kids, you and Terry kept your relationship strictly professional, give or take a few suggestive glances. But when the students weren't there....well that was a different story. Maybe it was seeing him get all hot and sweaty, training and demonstrating his superb skills that made you crave him. And there was the odd occasion he'd wear his black vest top...showing off those beautiful shoulder and arm muscles....shining....sparkling with-anyway!

The point is, when you watched him train, it obviously turned you on. It may have been the fact that he looked so god damn good, right infront of you, close enough to touch....but you weren't allowed to. And it would appear, Terry felt exactly the same way. That was made abundantly clear when the students would leave the dojo after their lessons, and Terry would have you up on the office desk quicker than you could say Cobra Kai. Oh, being with Terry was amazing. Not only was he a total gentleman with you, sweet, kind and romantic. But damn! In the bedroom department! That man had the stamina of five men half his age! And his tounge game was UNREAL. But besides that, having Terry as your partner just made life that much better. However, what you weren't aware of, was that at least one person, hated yours and Terry's relationship. To the point where, unbeknownst to the pair of you, a plan was in construction, one to try and tear your life apart. One afternoon, you, John and Kim had all finished up your individual lessons, and had regrouped in the main training room. John looked tired and a little wound up. And Kim's face was just completely stone cold.

"Is everything ok Kim?"

"I'm fine Y/N"

"Ok, I won't press you. So what are you both up to this evening?"

"I've gotta call someone about a new sensei. Apparently, this guy shows real potential. But I wanna hear his qualifications first"

"The possibility of another sensei? That sounds like a good idea John. And what about you Kim? Do you have any plans?"

"No"

"Oh, well if your board or wanna hang out, your more than welcome to come with me and Terry to a party tonight. A friend of ours is having-"

"No"

"...Are you sure? There's free drinks and-"

"No."

"Ok. No worries then"

Why was Kim always so off with you? You were always polite to her, and yet, she never greeted you with anything more than a cold face or a passive aggressive tone, it was so strange. When she spoke to Terry, he'd get a little more positivity sometimes, but you never did. Maybe she just prefers to work with men rather than women? Or, maybe it was to do with the fact that she was loving the war between dojo's, and the fact that you were related to someone in the opposition, she saw you as some kind of threat? Terry didn't care that you were Johnny Lawrence's long lost half sister. He loved you for who you were, and respected that you had a relationship with Johnny outside the dojo. He knew you didn't take sides in this little war, and kept out of all the nonsense, and yet he still loved and respected you. Maybe that's the reason Kim doesn't seem to like you? Whatever it was, whatever you did or said didn't seem to help build any bond. At that moment, Terry walked in and stood beside you, putting his arm over your shoulder and addressing the others.

"Hi John. Kim. Looks like we're all done for the day. Are you alright to lock up John? Me and Y/N need to get ready for a party tonight"

"Yeh. I guess so"

"Thanks. Alright, we'll see you both tomorow"

"Bye guys"

You say politely as you leave with Terry. Even giving a little wave as you went. John responded, but Kim still remained the same.

"Why don't you head on home Kim? I'll lock up"

"Actually...I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well....I would very much appreciate true honesty with you John"

"About what?"

"Y/N"

"Y/N?"

"More specifically, her's and Terry's relationship"

"What about it?"

"Oh come on, I've seen the look on your face whenever they're together in this dojo. Their little relationship is sickening. Why do they have to be all, lovey dovey?"

"Alright, I get where your coming from. But they're not like it every second of the day"

"Yes well, I quite frankly don't care. I hate witnessing it. I hate hearing it. The silly girl is far too childish and immature to be seeing a man like that. He needs someone mature, sensible, able to make good decisions for the future of this dojo"

"And is she not doing that?"

"Not well enough. No. John, I want to know if I'm the only one who thinks this. I know you and Terry have had your disagreements. I'm sure there is still some kind of animosity there"

"That's...true. Me and Terry aren't on a friendly basis right now, or a lot of the time to be honest"

"And your thoughts on Y/N?"

"She....look, just don't say anything alright? But sometimes, I feel like the old Terry, who was hellbent on causing destruction and chaos, has been replaced with this gooey love struck sap. Y/N's influence on him, has made Terry soft. This place doesn't need soft Terry, it needs destructive Terry"

"Well then, maybe we can work out a way to make things better for both of us?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"I believe Terry is better off without her, and is suited to a more mature lady......someone like me"

"Oh?....oooohhhh...I see"

"Mhm. If I were to.....take Y/N's place, as it were, I'd keep Terry inline, as well as reaping the benefits of being in a relationship with a wealthy older man"

"Sneaky, I like it. So, what do I get out of this little idea of yours?"

"We'd make it so Y/N's out of the picture for good, you'd have your old Terry back, he'd get more involved with this war, and I'd enjoy being spoiled by a rich man. So? What do you say?"

"I say......where do we start?...."

A few hours later, you and Terry were sat at home, all snuggled into your pyjamas, head resting on his lap as he stroked you hair with one hand, his other resting on your hot water bottle. Unfortunately, you didn't feel well half way through the party, on account of your period coming a few days early. But, even though you tried to hide it, and were going to suck it up so Terry could enjoy the party, he knew you too well, and he could see you hiding your pain from a mile away. And now, hear you both were, painkillers in your system and your hot water bottle on your lower belly.

"I'm sorry about tonight babe"

"What in the world do you have to be sorry about?"

"I didn't know it was going to come early. And I tried to hide it so you could have a good time"

"Never, ever, feel bad about what your body does, or try to hide it to make me feel better. Your my world, and you come before any party"

"But your new client was there"

"So what? The second I saw you hunched over in pain, close to tears and hiding in the hallway, nothing else was even on my mind. I knew I had to make sure you were ok, and getting you home where you were comfortable, was my only priority"

"So your not annoyed by it? At all?"

"Absolutely not. I love you sweetheart. And that's never going to change"

"I love you too terry (leans down to kiss you) Now, why don't I make us a hot chocolate?"

"Ooh! The special one you make with the little marshmallows and whipped cream?!"

"Only the best for my girl"

"Oooooh! I swear, if it wasn't my time of the month right now, I'd climb you like a tree"

"(Laughs) How about you keep that in mind for next week? Because I certainly don't want you to forget...."

"Oh babe, by the way, you haven't seen my necklace anywhere have you? The white gold one with the sapphire in the middle?"

"Nope, sorry sweetheart. But I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere"

But.....what you didn't know....was that you left that necklace in your dojo locker.....which at this very moment, was being held and admired...by sensei Kim....and....as you and Terry spent your time together at home, yet another sensei, was watching your every move....John.....After spending the night together, you and Terry walked back into the dojo then next day, hand in hand. After giving you a kiss, you went to the back of the dojo to get your GI ready, while Terry went to the staff room to make you and him and coffee. It was a seemingly normal day for Terry, well, at least he thought it would be.

"Terry"

"Good morning Kim"

"We need to speak with you in the office"

"We?"

"Me and John. I'm afraid there's something quite serious we need to discuss"

"Yeh, sure. Lead the way"

Entering the office, Terry sees John sat in the office chair, and Kim standing proudly beside him, but he has no idea what the issue is.

"What's going on?"

"Terry....I'm afraid we had some damage done to the dojo last night"

"What?! What damage John?"

"Someone vandalised the back of the dojo by spraying paint all over the walls and windows. With hard work from both me and Kim, we've managed to get most of it off"

"Shit! Who the hell would've-oh, this has to be someone from Miyagi Do, it has to be! Sons of bitches have messed with the wrong people. Did the CCTV catch who did it?"

"......."

"......."

"What's wrong? Why did you look at eachother like that?"

"Terry........did you spend the whole night with Y/N?"

"Y/N? What's Y/N got to do with this?"

"Just answer the question Terry"

"Well yes, of course. We spent the night together, I know that because she fell asleep in my arms"

".....Mhm...."

"John what is this? What are you getting at?"

".....Just see for yourself..."

John turned his phone around with the camera footage, at 3.15 last night, there, vandalising the dojo, was what appeared to be a woman, dressed head to toe in black, hiding her face with a balaclava.

"Ok? So it's a woman. Why are you asking about Y/N though?"

Kim steps forward, wearing a false sympathetic look.

"Terry.....we both found this....left behind where the camera footage was taken..."

".........Y/N's necklace.......no.....no, she, she wouldn't, she couldn't! This has got to be some kind of mistake!"

"Did Y/N happen to mention loosing this? Or show any indication that she wanted it back?"

"Well.....well yes....but.....but she couldn't have....."

"Terry......there's a woman on that camera....Y/N's necklace was there...she has been looking for it....and lets not forget.....she is Johnny Lawrence's sister....the enemy.....what's to say she hasn't......truly taken a side?"

Anger pulsated through Terry's body, fury at the realisation that the only woman he's ever loved, has betrayed him. Squeezing your neclace in his hands, he grabs John's phone and storms out of the office, just as you were entering with your GI in your hands.

"Hey babe. You know, I think I might need a new GI. This one's getting a little-"

Terry stops you mid sentence, by throwing angrily, something shiny at your feet.

"Terry, what-wait, my necklace! You found it! But why the hell did you just throw it at me? (Picks it up) You know how much this means to me. Where did you find it anyway? I've been looking all over for it"

"Oh I think you know where I found it"

"Terry? What are you talking about? And why are you so angry? What's happened?"

"......Care to explain what happened last night?"

"Last night? Terry, I was with you last night, remember?"

John and Kim stand in the office doorway, wanting to watch the show.

"We're you really? Well then, would you mind explaining to me, how that necklace was found this morning, right next to the vandalised wall of our dojo?!"

"Wait what? The dojo was vandalised last night?"

"Oh don't pretend like you don't know!"

"Terry I swear, this is the first I've heard of this!"

"Bullshit! I've seen the footage! A woman dressed all in black! Spray painting the windows and walls! And it just so happens to be a completely random thing, that your necklace was left there!"

"I-I didn't do this! I swear! I promise you I didn't do this!"

"How can I believe you! What's to say, you didn't slip out in the middle of the night, snuck to the dojo and vandalised it! That necklace is evidence! And let's not forget, you do have a brother who works for the enemy dojo!"

"Enemy dojo?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?! You seriously think I'd do this? I've told you, Johnny and Daniel, that I don't want anything to do with this stupid war! You know that!"

"Do I?......then explain this necklace Y/N!....and why a woman was on that footage!"

"But it wasn't me! I was asleep beside you all night last night Terry! I wouldn't lie about this! I wouldn't lie to you! I've never lied to you!"

"........Y/N.....I don't know if I believe you...."

Kim and John smirk, watching Terry shake his head, and you cry fearful and heartbroken tears.

".......You don't believe me.......Terry......I'm telling you the truth......I have never lied to you, and I would never do something like this.....you have to believe me"

"............I can't.........."

".........So.....so you seriously think I did this? To you? To your dojo?"

"....There's a woman on that camera-"

"But it's not me! Can you see a face on the footage? Can you say for sure that it's me?!"

"Your necklace-"

"Someone could've planted it there! Because I know for a fact, whoever that is in the video, wasn't me! Infact, let me see that footage!"

"Why? So you can delete it? Make up a lie-"

"Just let me see it, please!"

"No"

"Terry!"

"I said no!"

"But it's not me! (Reaches for the phone) Hear, let me just-"

As you reach out to grab the phone, Terry pulls his hand back, and blocks you with his other arm. But, what he didn't realise, was how quick you were. And when you tried to grab the phone, Terry's arm accidentally hit your hand out of the way, it was all in the blink of an eye. Your hand was almost thrown out of his way with the strength he had, making you stumble back, feeling an aching pain all through your hand and wrist. What he did actually hurt you. Holding your bad hand with the other against your chest, tears once against filled your eyes when you saw the anger in him. There was that slight moment, that second, a flicker of guilt was in his eyes after hurting you, but that disappeared, quickly replaced with that fury once again.

"I can't have you in this dojo Y/N.....I can't have someone I don't trust around my work, my sensei's.....or my home......"

"........Terry.....(silent sobs).......please don't do this.....I didn't do it....."

".......Get out......I don't want to see you...."

Now that, practically shattered your heart like a glass falling to the floor, and hurt more than anything you'd ever felt before. He really didn't believe you, he didn't trust you, and that, broke you. Sobbing, you run out of the dojo with your things, not looking back. Terry, on the other hand, still had anger in him, even as you left, but it was when your car sped off into the distance, that his other side of him came through. His anger dissipated, and now he was left feeling empty, upset, and lost, at the thought of the love of his life betraying him like this.

In this moment, Kim felt it was a good idea to walk slowly to him, and rest a hand on his arm, ever so slightly squeezing, clearly trying to feel his muscles, but pretending to be sympathetic.

"This is for the best Terry......she was a poison to the dojo-"

"She is not a poison!.....(pushes her hand off aggressively).....she was everything too me......my world.......and now I have nothing.......neither of you come near me for the rest of the day....I need to be alone...."

He stormed towards the back of the dojo, slamming the door to the training room behind him, leaving Kim and John together. It would appear, their little plan has worked so far, and by the smug smirks on both their faces, they were proud of their actions, despite breaking the hearts of you and Terry. On your way back to the house, you couldn't stop crying, and your mind was all over the place. Even as you got home and grabbed your essentials, the tears flowed like a fountain, and you could feel physical pain in your chest from the heartbreak, and not being able to breathe properly, panic and sadness radiating off you. You were out of there as quick as a flash. But you had no idea where to go, what to do, who to turn too. Thats when one name came to mind, one who would listen and help you. You drove as quick as you could, and 20 short minutes later, you were waiting for the front door to open after knocking.

"Yeh? Who's-Y/N? I wasn't expecting-eh eh, hold up, why are you crying? What's happened?! Are you ok?!"

Your brother Johnny. He was the only one you felt you could go too. And thankfully, when he could see you barely holding it together infront of him, he pulled you in for a tight, reassuring hug. Whatever had happened, he was going to be there for you, as any supportive brother does. Helping you inside with your bags, he made you a coffee and sat you down to the kitchen table, giving you the time to calm down and explain what had happened. He was patient, allowed you to take your time, which was very helpful considering this situation had just happened, and everything was still so raw and painful. After explaining what had happened, Johnny was definitely angry, and that was putting it lightly.

"That son of a bitch kicked you out of your home?! I'll end that ancient piece of shit!"

"Please don't do anything Johnny. It will only make the whole situation worse"

"Make it worse?! Y/N have you seen yourself?! You can't stop crying, your hands are shaking, that bastard accused you of vandalism at your own work place, and he had the nerve to kick you out?! He says he loves you, that's not love. I know we've only been in eachothers lives for 6 years Y/N, but I know for a fact, your not the kind of person to do this! Someone must've framed you!"

"That's what I thought too. But Terry doesn't believe me...and because my necklace was there....he thinks it was me. Everyone there thinks it was me"

"Necklace? What necklace?"

"It's a white gold one, with a sapphire in the middle. Terry gave it to me for our 1st anniversary.....I remember him giving it to me like it was yesterday.....and yet....he threw it at my feet like it meant nothing..."

"Y/N, listen to me. He doesn't deserve you. That place doesn't deserve you. You knew I wasn't happy when you first told me about you and Terry, and I tried to push my hatred aside, if it meant you were truly happy, but this has gone to far. You can stay with me and Carmen as long as you like, you'll always have a home hear"

"Thank you Johnny"

"And as for that ancient old fuck....if he knows what's good for him, he'll wise up or get out of town"

"What do you mean wise up?"

".......I.......I know, your a strong, capable woman Y/N, and my baby sister. But, I also know that your in charge of your life, and who you choose to have in it. From seeing you both together, despite how much I hate the bastard. He did, up until today, treat you the right way. Which means he needs to wise up and apologise for what he's done, and help you clear your name......because I know you love him to death. I can see it in your eyes....how hurt you are"

"You don't care about Terry, Johnny. And yet it sounds almost like your encouraging us to work things out....I don't understand"

"Your right. I don't care about him, but I care about you. And if that grey douchebag is what makes you happy....I guess....he should have one, and only ONE chance to make things right with you. But not yet. Give it a few days, a week at least. It gives you time to calm down and think about what you want, and it gives him time to regret his choice, and come crawling back. But Y/N, please listen when I say this...Terry is an asshole....he's the one whose in the wrong hear, and I don't want you apologising or grovelling to him, ok?"

"I won't. Thank you Johnny, for everything"

"Bring it in lil sis"

From the moment he hugged you, you felt a huge weight fall from you, and it was a great relief. Being the sweet big brother that he was, he spent the rest of the day with you, asking for your advice for when Carmen has the baby, and generally keeping your mind off Terry and the whole situation. And it worked wonders. It wasn't until the evening came, and after dinner and a few drinks, you excused yourself and went to bed in the spare room of Johnny's home. You didn't fall alseep though, not yet. You looked at your phone, hoping, wishing for a text from Terry to apologise. But nothing had come through, all day, and to have one now at 11.30 at night, it was doubtful anything would come through. But, to your suprise, right before you put the phone down, a ping was heard on your phone. And it was, indeed, Terry.

{Ok sweetheart, I know I was angry at you today, but you lied to me, and vandalised my dojo. So when your ready to tell the truth, I'll be hear to listen to it. I just want you to know that I still love you, but I don't trust you right now Xx}

Is he fucking serious right now?! He sends you that?! Johnny was right, he's being an asshole right now, and you weren't going to stand for it. Angrily typing back, you were not going to allow him to talk to you like this, when you have done absolutely nothing wrong, and have never lied to him in your life. Aaaand send. Terry meanwhile, was at home, sat with a glass of wine in one hand, when he received your message.

{Terrance Silver. Since the moment we've been together, not one single time have I EVER lied to you. And the fact that you don't trust me, when you don't have conclusive evidence that I was the one who vandalised the dojo, quite frankly makes me sick. I have given you my heart, my body, love and trust for these last few years. And the fact that one simple issue, has made you think your unable to trust ME, is ridiculous and clearly demonstrates that you, right now, are not a real man. I looked you in the eyes, and told you the truth. The fact that YOU don't believe it, is NOT my problem. And that last text you just sent disgusts me. I suggest you look more into the CCTV, ask around or search for real evidence while I'm out of the house, because until you realise how much you've hurt me with this accusation, I will not be in contact with you. I will not reply to any messages. I will not answer your calls. I will not speak to you if your walking down the street or you happen to see me while I'm out. I want nothing to do with you until you see the truth. Don't message me again, because I will NOT answer. If you DO believe me, you can go through Johnny, because I will not be wanting you around.}

Terry's mouth hung open in shock. You'd never spoke to him like that before, you were sometimes firm yes, but this was almost a scalding. And the fact that you used his full name, instead of his nickname or Terry, really got into his head, that you weren't fucking around. He frowned. Stood holding the wine...then threw it across the room, smashing against the wall. He hid his face in his hand, huffing angrily, but there was something else...soft...quiet sobs. He sat back down, ran his hand over his head, and he looked awful. He didn't know what to do. Should he text you back? But you said you wouldn't answer him. No no, he can't message you, not yet at least, but the way you wrote that text really got to him. Since the moment you ran out crying from the dojo, there was a nagging, uncomfortable feeling in his gut, and his heart felt heavy, and achy, he'd never felt like this. It was guilt. But what could he do? That night, he got barley any sleep, and looked a wreck the next day. Walking into the dojo, Terry headed straight to the office, not wanting to be disturbed. John paid no attention, he was just waiting for Terry to turn back into his old self again, but Kim on the other hand, she saw how bad Terry looked...and wanted to make a start on truly, making Terry hers...

Link to part 2

[mymistakewriting]

Carlos Reyes Headcanons

As with most of my headcanons posts, this comes with various trigger warnings. Carlos is a character with dubious mental health, and I do intend to actually address that in my conversations about him. Please tread with caution.

Gabriel and Andrea raised all three kids learning both English and Spanish from a young age. Carlos used to really struggle with his English when he was still a kid. There are still words he struggles to pronounce as an adult (the way he says 'siren' in season 1 in canon, for example)

Carlos got bullied a lot as a kid. Him and Iris became friends due to this - she spent a lot of their early childhood defending him until he learned to stick up for himself.

He's the youngest of his siblings and has all of the youngest sibling brattiness and petty behaviors to prove it. Sometimes he hides it for the sake of being professional, but his personal life tends not to get a break from it.

Andrea taught all of her kids how to knit. Carlos picked it back up after TK was hospitalized for hypothermia (yes, TK gets all of the stuff he makes)

The entire reason Carlos doesn't regularly go to therapy outside of department-issued sessions is because he's worried they'll try to put him on medication for his anxiety and that it will affect his ability to do his job.

He cooks when stressed. The 126 usually gets all the food he makes so it doesn't go to waste.

While Carlos tends to be very emotional, he's not loud about his emotions. He tends to get tongue-tied and withdrawn when he's upset.

He lets his nieces paint his nails! Similar to how he did with Tommy's girls, except his nieces are usually less vicious about it, so they've been allowed to keep doing it.

Rapid switching of languages any time he's with family - be it a visit from his sisters, time with his nieces and nephews, or meals or calls with his parents. It doesn't matter who else is around.

Similarly, if he can't remember a word in one language, he switches to the other specifically for that word. God forbid that happens around someone who doesn't know Spanish, it will lead to a two-hour long spiral and him pulling up the translation on his phone with far more embarrassment than is actually calls for.

Carlos loves working with animals and will still go help on his family's ranch when he has time. That said, good lord, he's got the world's worst hay fever.

He always runs hot. That said, while he won't bundle when he goes outside, he ABSOLUTELY is a blanket thief. He just likes the weight of the blankets.

One of his sisters got him a cooling blanket for Christmas the year after he got together with TK and it's been his favorite thing ever since.

Carlos was such a daddy's boy when he was a kid. It killed him a bit when a wedge settled in his relationship with Gabriel.

There are pictures of Carlos wearing Gabriel's hat when he was little!

Similarly, there are pictures from when he was still a toddler of his sisters having dressed him up in their old clothes. He prefers no one see those.

His sisters are super protective of him, though he hasn't really registered that. He'd never introduced a partner to them prior to TK.

If he doesn't call or visit someone in the family for more than about a week, one of his sisters reaches out to him with random gossip to check in subtly. If he doesn't answer that message within an hour, they call Iris, then Judd. TK becomes the final call post-introduction.

The entire Reyes family tends to avoid serious topics. Carlos flips between avoiding things out of habit and forcing a talk about it. Just depends if it's him struggling or someone else.

Andrea used to sing to him in Spanish when he was a kid if he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. He's carried that over - he'll sing in Spanish to TK if he's having a bad night and can't sleep. He doesn't even think about it before he does it.

If Carlos is in a particularly good mood and wants to make TK smile, he'll dance with him in their living room. He just likes to have those little moments with him sometimes.

Judd and Grace are listed as emergency contacts for him alongside his family and TK.

Cause of the Ryder's being SOS contacts: Carlos definitely got himself hurt when he was trying to figure himself out and couldn't ask family to take him to get medical care.

Carlos had a stint of shame hook-ups. He learned a lot about himself because of them - he also got hurt plenty because of them.

Is not a fan of reptiles of any kind. Also really hates spiders. Any other kind of bug is on a very thin line depending on if they can fly into his face or not.

He went into the police academy half because he wanted to help his community and half to prove that he could do it. He always thought that his father thought he was too weak to make a good cop, so he wanted to prove him wrong.

The first time that Carlos met Judd was because the Blake sisters dragged him to the 126 when he was 17, shortly after he came out. Iris was scared he was going to try to kill himself, so she called Michelle, who told her to bring him to Judd. Judd's pretty much refused to leave Carlos' life since.

[themculibrary]

Spider-Man Fics Masterlist 2

part one

5 times Peter Parker ignores Flash and 1 time he didn’t (ao3) - Dorthea N/R, 14k

Summary: Flash is known for being a bully, and most of the time Peter ignores it. But what happens when he dosen’t ignore Flash?

Or 5 times Peter Parker ignores Flash and 1 time he didn’t.

A Parent Apparent (ao3) - happyaspie mj/peter T, 528k

Summary: In which the author indulges herself in some shameless Irondad/Spiderson with fluff, angst and everything in between because she needs more of that in her life.

OR

Just another one of those, oh so overdone, fanfics where Tony and Peter’s relationship grows into more of a father/son relationship after an accident involving Aunt May (who lives)

Brave as a Noun (ao3) - edema_ruh M, 161k

Summary: Some people think that Peter is Tony’s son. Why shouldn’t they? Peter seems to be orbiting Tony all the time, and it’s not like the billionaire tells him off. They have a nice relationship - Peter is glad to have a father figure, and Tony cares for the kid as if he’s actually his son.

The first problem regarding this arises when the people who think that Peter is Tony’s son kidnap him for ransom.

The second problem regarding this arises when one of the people who kidnaps Peter turns out to be Mac Gargan, the Scorpion, and he’s hungry for revenge.

Daily Bugle Report: Under New Management (ao3) - d0d0bird M, 4k

Summary: Peter Parker had worked at the Bugle for years. He and Betty had grown close. Betty had even developed feelings for him, though he never opened up to her. She considered that it may have been stupid to turn on all of her friends for someone like that. Sometimes it felt like she had no one left.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” sighed Betty with a smile, turning around to see Ned.

Ned had a gentle smile on his face as he looked at Betty digging through the trash. Ned had been the only one not to completely turn against Betty following the trial. He continued to say hi to her every morning, offer his help, and ask her advice on stories. His wide, almost dopey smile had become comforting.

Distracted by a Dime (ao3) - happyaspie steve/tony T, 56k

Summary: Peter Parker thinks he has everything figured out. Where he can eat, sleep and make a little bit of money. What he needs to do in order to continue attending Midtown High and being Queen’s friendly neighborhood Spider-man. How to keep his entire situation under wraps and most importantly, who he can trust.

Then, along comes Tony Stark with an offer he can’t refuse. The plan is to remain professional, to not get too close to the Stark-Rogers’ family. Not getting comfortable means not slipping up and saying anything that he can’t take back.

…but for Peter- things rarely go as planned…

Do I Deserve This? (ao3) - id_rather_be_reading_3 T, 72k

Summary: When the Avengers find a malnourished, traumatized, enhanced teen in a Hydra base, they manage to convince SHIELD that the kid is better off in the Compound than the SHIELD Headquarters.

Peter Parker thinks his luck might finally be changing for the better, until he hears a conversation between Captain America and Iron Man that terrifies him–if the superheroes find out that Peter was an assassin for Hydra, he feels certain they’ll kick him out–or worse, send him to the Raft for a punishment he surely deserves.

Can the Spider manage to keep his bloodied past a secret from a room full of mind readers, spies and military? It’ll certainly prove harder than he’d thought.

Dumpster Diving for Treasure (ao3) - Clovrtree T, 185k

Summary: After waking up from his own demise in an alternate universe, Peter's first course of action is to gather as much information and resources as possible to make his life easier. In doing this, he decides that dumpster diving at local playboy billionaire, Bruce Wayne's, manor would be the best place to find anything useful. Unfortunately for Peter, it's trash day, and a certain butler catches him mid-dive.

if you run fast enough (ao3) - silvyri peter/wade E, 60k

Summary: Peter probably shouldn't be falling asleep on Deadpool, but after the Merc with a Mouth saves him from being abducted by two dick Alphas, he doesn't try as hard as he should to not.

I Think Clint Was Right (ao3) - prettycheese21 G, 7k

Summary: Or that time Clint eavesdropped on a few conversations, came up with a conspiracy theory, and convinced the other Avengers to go along with it; and Tony and Peter are left wondering how this kind of misunderstanding could have even happened.

I Think I Missed a Step (‘Cause I’m Fallin’ For You) (ao3) - mokuyoubi peter/wade E, 42k

Summary: Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

it's always who is spider-man, never how is spider-man (ao3) - i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz harley/peter, wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 176k

Summary: Peter had been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.

It's a Secret to Everybody (ao3) - Snapdragon_in_the_Snow pepper/tony T, 97k

Summary: “I have kids," Clint said. "I know dad behavior when I see it.” Tony blinked multiple consecutive times, processing the statement. “Excuse me?” “Tony,” Steve said now, “how long have you had a son? And how come we’ve never known about him?” “Yeah,” Clint spoke again, “I thought I was the only one with a secret family. Turns out you’ve had one longer than me!” ------- Peter gets to spend all summer living in Avengers Tower with Tony. When the Rogue Avengers get pardoned and come back to live at the Tower too, they're confused as to who Peter is. However, once they see how Tony acts around Peter, that confusion goes away, as they know for certain who Peter must be - Tony's secret son. Tony and Peter decide to make the most of the situation, and play along. They hope they can keep up the act all summer. But they soon learn that they barely have to act at all.

Miscommunications (ao3) - Isnt_it_pretty_to_think_so T, 14k

Summary: Five times the Avengers learn about Peter Parker, and the one time the rest of the world does, too.

Missing Links (ao3) - spagbol99 steve/bucky, pepper/tony M, 424k

Summary: The Rogues are back; Tony Stark couldn't even be mad about it - it was his idea after all. He's an Avenger and that means protecting the Earth at any cost - even if he has to deal with a certain star-spangled man and his sullen sidekick. After all, he's been through worse in his life; the loss of his wife and the disappearance of his son 12 years ago. Compared to that, this would be a walk in the park.

Bucky Barnes is back on US soil as a free man. But freedom is more than just physical. On top of that, Steve is desperate for him to be the man he was before. The only problem is; that man is long dead.

Peter Parker has been through the mill but he knows he just had to adapt, roll with the (many) punches and keep going. Spider-man is his safe place now, the one time he could truly feel like himself. Like he is making a difference. He'd make sure no one would suffer like he has, even if he has to track down the perpetrator himself.

Not Who You Think (ao3) - lostintheclouds321 G. 14k

Summary: Flash and his father are awarded a tour of the Avenger’s compound.

Peter Parker’s Super Secret Snack Stash (ao3) - coconutknightshade T, 7k

Summary: Or in which Peter uses FRIDAY’s system to have a conversation with Ned about AP History while he’s sneaking into his super secret snack stash in the kitchen.

Or in which Peter’s spidey senses betray him in the most embarrassing of ways.

Protocol Be Damned (ao3) - Icylightning T, 31k

Summary: “Have you heard of Tony Stark?”

Peter’s eyes instantly widened at the mention of the man’s name. You’re not a New Yorker of you haven’t heard of Mafia Boss Tony Stark, the most dangerous and violent person in the city. Rumors say the man talks with a gun in hand and if he doesn’t like what he hears, the gun ends their conversation. It was not that the cops never tried to arrest the man but they failed everytime, either due to lack of evidence or in some cases fear of life

“Kid, hey did you hear what I just said?” the manager snapped his fingers bringing Peter back to reality who blinked rapidly, trying not to show his fear “Yeah.. Sir.. umm.. what?”

That Neighborhood Menace, Spider-Man (ao3) - Blue (SocksandFluff) T, 59k

Summary: Peter had only been in the gig of being Spider-Man for less than two years. He avoided the Avengers and other heroes like the plague, knowing that if they knew who he was and how old he was that they’d stop him from helping people.

Now Spider-Man is entangled in assumptions of character, and the fear that he is a vigilante that could go rogue and power-hungry, the Avengers are tasked at stopping him before he 'goes too far’.

This is a story about how Spider-Man and the Avengers finally meet -

- and how Peter might get more than he would ever ask for.

The Ghost of Heroes (ao3) - Enigmaris, ScarletNightFury danny phantom/spiderman T, 291k

Summary: New York City isn't prepared for a ghostly invasion. The Avengers are finally all in the same place again. Thor and Bruce are back from space with a semi-reformed chaos god and a thousand refugees in tow. Steve and the Rogues have got their pardons and are ready to start being heroes again. But Tony isn't ready trust, neither is his new protegee Spiderman. The fractured team can't seem to come together. It's a good thing then that Danny Phantom is ready to save the day. That doesn't mean anyone is prepared for when he keeps showing up.

The Lost and Forgotten (ao3) - Litcraz T, 272k

Summary: In order to save everyone's lives, Peter is forced to give up memories - their memories of him. As a result, he is left entirely alone in a world where no one knows he exists. After finally moving on with his life, a new threat arises, bringing Peter back directly into the Avengers' path.

[weebsinstash]

On the other hand, being someone who is chill with being average and a little weird is pretty comforting, albeit not as relatable or drama material. Like you have those insanely smart adopted family members, who are brooding, cool, fight crime, are insanely smart, privileged, rich and accomplished meanwhile Batsis is like,

"I watched some cool True Crime documentaries and helped Albert- Alfred with the laundry. Sorry about your shirt, Damien, added too much bleach. By the way, look at this drawing I made with a following a Bob Ross tutorial on YouTube! Looks kinda wonky but I made it myself, kinda proud of it. No mistakes, just happy accidents. Haha! :)"

By the very next morning Bruce has that shit framed on either on his desk or on the wall in his office and smiles every time he looks at it. Damian is examining the painting, "ah I see--" and waxing poetic about the different little experiential painting techniques you used on the canvas, Dick and Jason and the rest tease you about getting an exhibit at the Gotham art gallery

Like don't get me wrong I tend to write Reader inserts who are typically average (although I'd like to write a few more power fantasies lol) but I just. I feel like any feelings of inadequacy would be amplified by living with this family. For example, I get anxiety and guilt sometimes just knowing if a large or expensive gift has been gotten for me, feeling guilt about it. Just your every day to day life in the Wayne manor would occasionally be filled with all kinds of large and small splendors. A small walk through the house, passing under the crystal chandelier in the grand lobby. A weekly family dinner with actual silverware handed down for generations. Just the ever looming watchful eye of a literal actual butler, a trained professional butler who's been in service for this family almost his entire life

If anything else, I feel like you'd want to contribute in some way. Help around the house, help as a vigilante, do SOMETHING to "pay them back" which Bruce doesn't want to hear any of and also like. Realistically, if we're saying he's full yandere and you're either his adopted kid or a platonic family member or like even a romantic partner, and he's getting you gifts and taking you on trips and stuff, like. The amount of money being spent on you is a figure you will never in your life be reasonably able to pay back and it would STILL be pocketchange to him

You're just like have PANIC ATTACKS out of guilt and shame and you mention the money to Bruce and he's like "oh that? Psssh" like it's. It's nothing to him. It's more money you could make in your entire lifetime and it's nothing to him

Hey, here's a somewhat related and juicy idea. Recently I was thinking of a concept where Reader is a Gotham vigilante, educated and maybe from a well-off family but like, middle class suburbia kind of wealth, not billionaire Bruce Wayne rich. You eventually find yourself catching the eye of both him AND Catwoman and, kind of actually start having a rapport with both of them. You bump into each other on a mission, help each other out, are impressed with each other's work, and suddenly you're bumping into them out on patrol a lot more. Catwoman starts being openly flirtatious with you while Bat simply just, his shift in demeanor is more subtle for people who aren't familiar with him but. Essentially he actually talks to you now, he won't just be silent and mechanical, he'll communicate and banter and make small talk rather than just ordering you around and speaking solely about the current task at hand or future missions.

I picture everyone on a rooftop in the middle of a stakeout and it eventually becomes small talk to pass the time as you almost do a double take when THE Batman starts making idle chit chat with you (really more of you AND Cat, but you being included at all is kind of an honor, really). He's just looking through his binoculars and without moving "any plans for the rest of the evening" and Catwoman looks at her nails and he sees her throw a very obvious Look over to you "well there's a stray little kitty in my neighborhood I've been meaning to scoop up" and she's been calling you Kitty/Kitten so this whole convo has a double meaning for fucking you OR kidnapping you at this point, and you're just like, in full professional mode replying without any hint of sarcasm "that's good, a lot of people don't recognize the dangers of outdoor cats and the significant ecological impacts they can have on their local environments" and Batman is repressing a smirk as Cat is huffing because oh my god now she has TWO dense cuties to look after 😩 (bonus scene where Bruce catches you smirking and realizes you were politely putting her off or at the very least trying to make her focus on the mission and he smiles to himself about what a clever little jokester you are)

Basically the two of them start deciding they want you to be the filling in that BatCat sandwich and just. Imagine they're trying to seduce you and taking their clothes off and Bruce takes off his mask and you're just like "Whoa whoa whoa hold up, BRUCE WAYNE?" And like. YOU INSTANTLY HATE HIM, the switch FLIPS. You either have extremely personal beef with him like his company laid off a parent of yours and sent your family into poverty, or you just like, legitimately ethically hate him as a person, as this billionaire playboy. Like imagine the disgust if he kisses you as Batman and you think it's so hot and romantic and later on its revealed he's Bruce Wayne, who is notoriously An Enormous Manwhore who has kissed like tons and tons of women and been in all these love scandals. I'd feel GROSS?

Like literally you'd go from "oh my god Batman 🥰 he's so cool and dark and mysterious, I have so much respect for him, he works so hard, he's so smart, not everyone can do what he does" to "of fucking course it would be someone like you. Billionaire running around with his custom-made toys. Of course it's you, who else could AFFORD all this shit? No wonder the police just let you do whatever, you could just pay them off anyways! You'd never be arrested and go to jail and be punished like the rest of us, for anything! Of course you're running around in a suit beating people up, men like you always think they can just do whatever they want!!"

Like imagine you were literally about to fuck both of them and you take one look at their faces, "you're a billionaire and you're a millionaire" and just. Leave. Like they're both shocked and appalled because you just DROP THEM for stuff they kinda basically can't control (although a lot of it is like ethics of what they do and have they gain their wealth) and suddenly they're, showing up at your place of employment for lunch or a day-trip, you're trying to do hero patrols alone and one or both of them pops up to try and invite themselves along to qhayever you're doing (which would especially suck because like, Batman specifically could probably do everything you're doing and better so I imagine working in front of him would be extremely nerve-racking. You're just like trying to rewire a circuit board to hack a door and he just points over your shoulder "actually it's that wire" kind of shit and you have to either let him follow you or look like a massive asshole as you tell him to fuck off, which he might even refuse to do, stating that if this is to save lives or whatever then you need his help

Like legit, Vigilante Reader feels like these two rich freaks have basically been toying with you like some kind of pet and in an attempt to cut them out of your life you drive them to actually dig their claws deeper. Bruce meets Selina for coffee to decompress and he's all "so what have you been up to" since she's got this odd little smirk, "oh ive been feeling just awful lately about this little kitty running around all lonely in my nsighborhood so i just HAD to adopt them" and she just hands him her phone with a picture on it and it's. You with a little diamond studded collar that says something dehumanizing like Kitty or Kitten or Baby on it while you've clearly been crying and are maybe even visibly restrained and Bruce is just like "🙄 Selinaaaaa.... can I come visit to 😳 see this cat tho"