#and studying and having casual conversations

[liketolaugh-writes]

It wasn't the first time Lois and Clark had done undercover work. Lois in particular was a widely-known reporter of corporate crimes and human rights violations, so the people who indulged in those sorts of activities often knew her name. Clark wasn't as well-known, but he wasn't unrecognizable either. They went to Elmerton as Lois Lane and Clark Kent, and headed for Amity Park as Lucy and Clark Taylor.

Their rented vehicle was stopped not far past the billboard that read 'Amity Park: A Nice Place To Live!'

"Names," barked the agent, a brown-haired man with sunglasses that hid many of his defining features.

These types didn't like people who knew their rights. It wouldn't be impossible to get into Amity Park without using a road, but the agents inside might keep records of who had been let in. "Clark and Lucy Taylor, sir. Have we done something wrong?"

"Not yet," the agent said darkly. He repeated their names over his comm unit, and waited for the voice on the other end to give him a tinny 'they're clean' before addressing them again. "Professions?"

"Between jobs right now," Clark said with a bashful smile. "A friend of mine told me that the high school here was looking for teachers? I teach social studies. I just wanted to have a look." It was a guess. A town blocked off by the government probably had trouble finding teachers.

The agent grumbled something indistinct. "And your wife?"

Clark smiled guilelessly. "She's my wife. What do you mean?" He could practically hear Lois rolling her eyes, but the agent bought it.

"Head on through," he grunted, waving them on. "You might change your mind about living here once you've seen it."

"Oh, it can't be that bad!" Clark chuckled, and raised the window to pull away before the agent could reply.

"Soft lockdown," Lois interpreted, frowning at the road. "They'll probably have us sign an NDA on the way out."

Clark nodded. Less red tape on the way in, less suspicion from casual visitors, less eyes on them. "Not if we don't leave that way." They wouldn't be able to take Danny out through the checkpoints anyway. It'd be best to fly out.

Once they were in, it was almost insultingly easy, considering all the trouble it had taken to get this far. He focused his hearing on Amity Park, but there didn't seem to be any fighting at the moment, so he and Lois headed to a diner for lunch and, more importantly, to chat with the waiter.

"You're from out of town, aren't you?" the waiter checked, catching both of them by surprise. He smiled sheepishly and shrugged at them. "I don't recognize you, and Amity Park is a pretty small town. What brings you here?"

"Well..." Clark dragged it out, scratching his neck in embarrassment. The kid caught on quickly and laughed out loud.

"You're here about the ghosts, aren't you?" Completely unconcerned, matter-of-fact. He hadn't been told to keep it a secret, Clark realized, which meant that the GIW probably didn't want the residents to realize how tightly locked down they were.

"Yes, we are," Lois confirmed, leaning over to catch the kid's eye. "What's your name? So I can write it down."

The kid lit up, which wasn't unusual. People loved to be in the paper. "Kwan Choi!" he chirped. "Are you a reporter?"

Still no concern. The GIW had never intended outside reporters to ever get this far, probably. People at nearby tables were starting to turn around, interested in the proceedings but not stepping forward yet.

"That's right," Lois confirmed, flipping her notebook open. "May I record this conversation?"

"Sure!"

Lois set her phone to record. "So, Mr. Choi, what can you tell me about the ghosts here?"

"They're pretty much everywhere!" Kwan told her, with obvious delight that became disconcerting as he went on. "There's attacks every day, you'll probably at least hear one if you're staying for a couple of days. Ghosts are pretty powerful too, so it's not like you'll miss it. Just follow the sound of smashing concrete. And yelling."

"You don't seem very worried," Lois pointed out mildly, exchanging a look with Clark. Danny had never really indicated how powerful he was, and had avoided mentioning most of his powers. If his rogues gallery was regularly breaking buildings...

"Of course not!" Kwan exclaimed, laughing at the thought. "Trust me, we don't have anything to worry about as long as Phantom's around." He almost vibrated with excitement, obviously waiting for them to take the bait.

Clark was happy to. This was what they'd come here for, after all. "Phantom? Is he a hero?"

"He's the best!" Kwan beamed. "He's a ghost too and he's super powerful! Don't listen to what any of the ghost hunters tell you. Phantom's casualty record is literally perfect and Dash says even Superman can't say that! Course, Amity Park is a lot smaller than Metropolis..." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly while Lois and Clark exchanged a look. "Phantom beats up all the ghosts, even the ones the ghost hunters can't touch, and he doesn't cause as much collateral as the Fentons say he does! They just blame him for all the damage from all the ghosts and that's bullshit."

"So he's controversial?" Clark prodded carefully. He was startled when Kwan actually scowled at him, dropping his bouncy demeanor for a moment.

"You can't do one of those scaremongering articles on him, okay?" the kid argued, looking defensive. "None of that 'he's a scary ghost' or 'is Phantom secretly behind all the ghost attacks' horseshit. He's a hero. We'd be completely screwed without him."

"We won't do that," Lois promised Kwan, earning a beam in return. "Is Phantom the only hero in Amity Park?"

Kwan actually looked thoughtful, and he wriggled his hand. "Depends on who you ask. The Red Huntress is pretty cool too, when she's by herself, but she attacks Phantom a lot, so a lot of people don't really like her. The Fentons and the GIW are both almost as dangerous as the ghosts though, and they're not nearly as good at fighting them."

"The GIW?" Clark asked, just to see how he reacted. He wasn't entirely surprised when Kwan flinched, glancing nervously at the door.

Kwan lowered his voice. "You should probably avoid those guys, all the government people in white suits. They're, uh, pretty liberal with those guns." His nervous expression said it all. Clark's hatred for the GIW grew.

"We'll be careful," Lois assured him. "What about the Fentons?"

Kwan made a face, but he did straighten up, his shoulders relaxing. "If you're reporting on the ghost attacks, you probably want to talk to the Fentons." Another grimace. "Well, want may not be the right word. They know a lot, but they're also wrong about a lot, and they're really anti-ghost. Maybe you can talk to their son Danny instead. Rumor has it that he's where Phantom gets all his Fenton tech."

Bingo. Clark wasn't expecting Danny to fall right into their laps, but this fit perfectly: the son of two ghost hunters, already suspected of having ties to the town's hero. "And where can we find Danny?"

"He lives with his parents," Kwan shrugged. "It's hard to find him anywhere else, unless you want to catch him at school or something." Of course; if there were multiple attacks a day, he probably poured a lot of time into his vigilantism. "I don't know their exact address, but you don't really need to. They have a giant UFO on top of their house, you can't miss it."

"They have a what?"

----

They did have a UFO on top of their house.

"Well," Lois said resignedly. "I think we found it." 'Fentonworks' blinked on the sign, pointing to the door. "Now let's find your adoptee."

"Who do you think I am, Bruce?" Clark asked indignantly.

Lois didn't dignify that with a response, instead making her way toward the door and pressing the doorbell. It rang, and almost immediately, there was a crash, a clatter, and a blast on the other side of the door. Someone yelped. Clark tensed, but a moment later, the door swung open, and a red-haired woman smiled at them, unaffected by the commotion.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked, perfectly cheerful.

Lois and Clark exchanged a look, and then Lois focused on the woman. "Hello. My name is Lucy Taylor, call me Luce, and my husband Clark. Mrs. Fenton, right? I was told you were the people to talk to about ghosts." It was always best to get both perspectives of a story; even with something as one-sided as this, you had to understand what everyone was thinking.

It was also the easiest way to get in the door.

"Dr. Fenton, actually!" the woman said, with a smile that showed she wasn't offended. "Both me and my husband. Come in!"

She spun on her heel and went inside, and Lois and Clark followed. The commotion had evidently been someone dropping a large energy gun, which had then gone off and hit the ceiling; the scorch mark was still smoldering. The gun was on the floor. Clark glanced at it, and Maddie chuckled, picked it up, and put it on the table.

"Don't worry, it doesn't harm humans," she reassured them both, unconcerned. "I know it can seem a little extreme if you've never met a real ghost, but I assure you, those ectoplasmic abominations deserve no mercy."

The sudden vitriol was disconcerting with her cheerful, upbeat tone.

"Really?" Clark asked, unable to help himself. "From what I've heard so far, they sound pretty complex." Along with Kwan, who was happy to talk as long as his manager would let him, they'd heard stories from all the people at the tables around them. It wasn't just Danny; plenty of the ghosts had shown obvious signs of sapience, from dating problems to earnest chats about new music to a child ghost playing carefully with other kids, supervised by Phantom.

"Oh, this talk again," Maddie sighed, and sat down with a reassuring smile. To show she wasn't offended. She gestured for them to sit down. "Not at all. It's all in the science of it. Ghosts are very good at appearing complex; it's necessary for their manipulations. But all of the emotion and personality that they display is faked. It's an echo of who they were when they were alive. What's really happening is a mindless feeding instinct, since ghosts need human emotion to sustain themselves. The more emotion they can evoke, the more they can feed." Maddie smiled and shrugged, like 'it can't be helped.' "That's why the best thing to do is to put them out of everyone's misery. Someday, I hope, there won't be any ghosts to haunt us."

Clark couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this sick and angry. Maybe when Kon had explained exactly what had happened while he was still at CADMUS. He closed his hands gently, careful not to clench them, so as to not tip Maddie off too much.

Lois set a hand on his arm, understanding. "You want to wipe them out?"

Maddie blinked at them guilelessly. "Well, yes, of course. They're very dangerous, as anyone in this town knows. And as I explained, they're not sentient at all, so there's really no reason not to. It's like putting down rabid animals, really - after all, by rights, they should already be dead."

Clark wondered how often Danny heard his mother call him a rabid animal.

Lois squeezed his arm. "What do your children think of this?"

Maddie's smile thinned, showing that she was losing her patience. "Oh, they're quite pro-ghost, I'm afraid. Most of the children are. I try not to hold it against them; they're very vulnerable to the manipulations of Phantom in particular. It was clever of it to both take the form of an adolescent and wear something resembling a superhero costume. It even formed an emblem after a while."

"How can he be clever if he's not even sentient, ma'am?" Clark asked, quiet and even. Maddie's smile disappeared altogether.

"I see you formed an opinion before talking to an expert," she observed coolly. "One of the children, I'm guessing?"

Before the situation could escalate, the front door opened, and another energy beam fired. Clark shot to his feet, but was too late to react, caught in his secret identity; the beam hit, and the person at the door yelped in pain and reeled back.

"Mom!" they yelled after a moment, more frustrated than hurt. "You're supposed to tell me when you turn on the security system!"

With a sinking feeling, Clark guessed that that was Danny. He glanced up at the ceiling above the door. A smoking gun was pointed at the door.

"I'm sorry, dear!" Immediately forgetting them, Maddie bustled to her feet and across the room, opening a panel in the wall to input a code. The gun withdrew into the ceiling. "I really thought I got it this time, I don't understand why this keeps happening."

"Mom." Danny appeared in the doorway, giving the ceiling a wary glance before continuing inside. He hadn't noticed them yet, focused on his mother as he pleaded with her. "I'm not even asking you to stop testing it, just tell me when you turn it on, please?"

That was a pretty big concession, considering that Clark suspected it was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, and shooting a ghost that tried to come inside. Into his house, where he lived, with his parents that were supposed to be protecting him. Clark clenched and unclenched his fists, not sitting down yet.

Maddie sighed. "You're right, I'm sorry. Every time I think I've figured out why our trackers lock onto you..." She trailed off with a shake of her head, and gestured for Danny to come closer. "Here, let me fix that up for you. And be polite, we have guests."

Despite her willingness to program the house to shoot him, apparently at random, Danny approached his mom without hesitation and held up his burnt arm for her inspection. A large pink splotch was on his forearm, where he must have blocked the beam, maybe protecting his head or chest. Most tellingly of all, his heart beat slowly, at half the rate Clark was used to hearing.

Maddie winced. "Oh, that's going to blister," she murmured.

"Mom!" Danny whined, glancing down. "Did you turn up the power too? Seriously?"

"I really thought I had it this time," Maddie repeated, contrition tightening her voice. It meant nothing, Clark thought darkly. She grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink and spread burn cream over the injury, then started to wrap it up. To Lois and Clark, she added, "I'm sorry you had to see this. If you could keep it private, I would... appreciate it. I'd rather it not get around exactly how ectocontaminated Danny is."

A hint of apprehension crept into her voice. It was telling. Even the Fentons feared the Ghost Investigation Ward.

"We understand," Lois said smoothly, pointedly not promising to keep it quiet.

For the first time, Danny glanced over at them, and confusion entered his eyes. Then they widened slightly. If anyone was going to see through Clark's thin disguise in less than a second, it would be another vigilante.

Clark wasn't surprised that Danny's only response was to tense nervously and look away again, shoulders rising. He'd gone to lengths to hide his identity and location from Superman, after all.

"Who are they?" Danny asked his mother.

"They're journalists!" Maddie said, bright and cheerful again. She finished wrapping Danny's injury, that she gave him, and took his shoulder to steer him toward the living room. "Luce and Clark. They're doing a story about Amity Park, so we're talking about ghosts."

"Great." Danny looked unenthusiastic. "Can I go upstairs, to do my homework, and like, not be here for this conversation?"

Maddie paused, studying him for a moment, and then tugged him gently toward the living room. (Truly gentle - Clark had seen people yank others and disguise it as a gentle motion before, and this wasn't that.) "No, I think you could benefit from this conversation too."

"Great." Danny looked defeated, and didn't protest further as he was pushed onto the other couch. He glanced at the gun on the table. "That's a new one. What does it do?"

Maddie beamed. Clark hated everything about this.

"It's the Fenton Ecto-Incinerator! It should cause any ghost's ectoplasm to react violently with itself and boil them from the inside out!"

The look of defeat magnified into a recognizable 'I wish I had never been born' expression, with dull, lifeless eyes and slumped shoulders. Maddie didn't seem to notice. "Fantastic." He scuffed his shoes on the floor and stared at his knees. Clark tried to figure out if there was a diplomatic way to ask 'have you noticed that your son obviously needs serious mental health treatment or are you ignoring it on purpose?'

It occurred to Clark that if Danny was a ghost, and his parents didn't know, that implied that he'd died and they hadn't noticed.

Lois, as always, rallied first. "Is that an... efficient way to get rid of a ghost?"

Danny sighed softly. With a wince, Clark realized that he'd missed the part of the conversation that indicated they were against this.

Maddie sighed too, but for a different reason, and she gave them a rueful smile. "No, not particularly. We're still trying to figure out how exactly to destroy ghosts permanently. We'd need to experiment with an intact specimen to manage it, but they keep... escaping." She glanced at Danny, indicating she had a suspicion as to how, but he didn't seem to notice. "Until then, we're trying to use pain as a deterrent."

"I thought they weren't sentient," Clark said, meeting Maddie's eyes. She pressed her lips together before responding.

"Everything dislikes pain, Mr. Taylor."

Clark had to work to retain his patience. "Do you know the difference between sentience and sapience, ma'am?"

Maddie's brow furrowed. "I... didn't believe there was one?"

"Sentient beings are capable of sensing and reacting to stimuli," Clark told her, because everyone needed to understand this, even - perhaps especially - the most horrible of people. "Sapient beings possess human intelligence."

Maddie looked thoughtful. "Hm... perhaps we should amend some of our professional work. That's quite a mistake." She shrugged it off. "But the principle remains the same. They can't stay here, and the pain is a deterrent."

Danny didn't look comforted by the concession. It was possible he wasn't even listening, and Clark couldn't blame him.

"Dr. Fenton, do you realize that that mistake enabled the government to give ghosts fewer rights than are given to lab rats?" Lois asked, barely maintaining a veneer of politeness.

Maddie's voice chilled again. "Ghosts don't need rights, Mrs. Taylor. As I explained, they are evil, selfish creatures, manipulating humans and feeding on the resulting emotion. I assure you, I've read the entirety of the Anti-Ecto Act, and I have no problem with any of it."

Danny stared at his knees and picked absently at a hole in his jeans.

"There's a reason that animal cruelty is illegal, Dr. Fenton. No feeling creature deserves that, whether you believe in their sapience or not."

"Rabid animals are put down as a matter of course. Why should ghosts be any different? Of the two, ghosts are far more dangerous."

Danny poked his finger into the hole.

"They're not sick, they're not dying. Rabid animals are put out of their misery. What is the point of torturing a ghost?"

"By all rights, they should already be dead. It's frankly an abomination that they didn't stay that way. Whatever measure is required to make that happen, I will do it myself - for the safety of our town and my children."

Actually, Clark was starting to get... extremely concerned about Danny's lack of responsiveness.

"Danny," he said, interrupting the intensifying argument. "Can you hear me?"

"What?" Maddie asked, baffled. Lois, however, caught on quickly, her back straightening with alarm. She held up a hand, indicating for Maddie to wait, and watched Clark scoot closer to Danny.

"Danny," he repeated, slightly louder and firmer. He reached out to touch Danny's hand, and Danny blinked, lifted his head, and met Clark's eyes, tilting his head in silent question. Clark repeated, "Can you hear me?"

There was a pause. Danny hummed noncommittally.

"What is-" Maddie started. Lois shook her head sharply, and Maddie fell silent.

"Danny, do you know where you are?" Clark asked, keeping his voice calm and even while his anger with Maddie and the absent Jack Fenton rose substantially. He doubted this was the first time this had happened.

Danny stared at him blankly. It was apparent that he either didn't understand the question or he didn't know where he was.

"Danny?" Fear entered Maddie's voice, and that was all that kept Clark from snapping at her.

"He's dissociating," Lois explained, terse but more patient than Clark at the moment. "It's a symptom of trauma and a sign of extreme stress. Clark's trying to snap him out of it."

"What?" Maddie repeated, horrified, and this time was ignored.

"You're at home, in your living room," Clark told Danny, maintaining eye contact. "Can you see that you're in your living room? Two couches, a coffee table, a television, and a ceiling fan?" Danny glanced around, checking for those things. Couches, coffee table, television, ceiling fan. Danny nodded. "Can you tell me what else is here?"

Danny glanced down at the coffee table, and his eyes landed on the gun. He clammed up again, eyes losing what little life they'd gained and shoulders going limp. Clark suppressed a curse, and glanced at Lois, then at the kitchen. Bless her, she understood, and got up to look for the freezer. Surprisingly, Maddie also responded, and picked up the gun, disappearing into a door to the basement. She returned empty-handed, giving Danny a worried look.

Lois returned from the kitchen with a bag of frozen vegetables, which she dumped into Danny's hands without ceremony. Danny started, blinking down at the bag, then up at Lois in question. She gave him a tense smile and sat down.

"Danny, can you tell me what you have in your hands?" Clark asked.

"...bag of frozen peas?" Danny stared down at them again, then up at Clark, meeting his eyes on his own with visible confusion. "Why?"

Clark gave him a small, relieved smile. "It got your attention, didn't it? You were dissociating. Do you know what that is?"

Danny wrinkled his nose, handling the bag of peas absently as he tried to retrace his mental steps. "I... felt kind of floaty, I guess. Like in a bad dream. I dunno. I wasn't really paying attention." Something about his tone indicated that while he was responsive now, he was still trying, on some level, to 'not really pay attention.' "What's wrong? Can I go now?"

He stopped fidgeting with the frozen peas and left them in his hands, limp and forgotten. Definitely still out of it, Clark decided.

"What's wrong with Danny?" Maddie repeated forcefully, fear in her voice and clearly done with being ignored. As if she had a right, as if she hadn't just bandaged a burn on his arm that she'd put there with carelessness bordering on malice.

"Some people detach from their surroundings as a coping mechanism," Lois explained, clipped but calm. Danny blinked down at the bag of peas in a slightly more ominous kind of confusion, and Clark put a hand on his arm again. Danny jumped, looking up at him in question, and Clark gave him a small, comforting smile, trying to make him feel at ease. "They'll feel like they're just having a dream, or watching something happen to someone else. It's a way of dealing with stress or trauma."

Maddie blinked at her in infuriating confusion. "But... he's just at home. Did something happen while he was at school, or on his way home?"

"I imagine," Clark said calmly, "it's because he was attacked at the door, and then forced to sit and listen while you discussed beings, that at the very least he thinks of as sapient, and justified your desire to torture them to death."

"But-" Maddie cut herself off this time, giving Danny a worried look. "But that's just-" She faltered again, and it was obvious that she didn't know how to deal with the conflict of what was, to her, undeniable scientific truth, and the equally undeniable harm it was causing Danny. "Are you sure?"

"If it was something outside, he would have been unresponsive when he came in," Clark informed her.

Maddie shrank, and Danny looked at her with matching worry.

"It's okay!" he said hastily, trying to shake off Clark's hand. Clark kept it there, and Danny didn't try very hard. "I can deal, I just- today was a bad day is all, I'm just..." He trailed off, lost as to how to play this down.

They stared at each other.

"...I'm sorry, can you leave?" Maddie asked softly. "I think Danny and I need to talk."

Danny Fenton sends Superman a fan email in which he asks for advice. In it he says he is also a non-human hero (he is vague because being a ghost is illegal) Danny mentions that he is being raised by humans. His parents don't know about his activities or species and hate his kind.

Danny was mostly looking for advice on how to make people stop being scared of his non-human characteristics. But Clark really sees himself in this teenager's email. He knows he was lucky to get parents who loved him even as an alien, but he also recalls being young and scared that would change.

So they start regularly exchanging emails, and Superman becomes a kind of mentor even if Danny refuses to tell him anything about his identity.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader

The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Through letters and shared experiences, two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: none really, mostly fluff and some angst

Masterlist

The first letter arrives on a Monday, stuck between a credit card offer and a pizza coupon. You stare at the plain envelope for a moment, debating whether to open it right away or let it sit on top of the unopened pile stacked up on the kitchen table. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be holding it if Wanda hadn’t forced you to sign up for this pen pal thing.

“It’ll be fun!” she exclaimed as she leaned dramatically across your desk while you tried to study. “You need to talk to someone who’s not me for a change. And how exciting to meet someone across the country!��

You rolled your eyes at her and muttered something about spam emails and book characters being more your speed. But she was insistent. “Imagine it. Getting to know someone without all the noise of social media. Just words. Just paper. It’ll be good for you.”

Now, standing in the kitchen, envelope in hand, you weren’t sure if she’d done you a favor or set you up for the most awkward exchange of your life. The return address displays Brooklyn, New York, in handwriting so neat it almost looks printed.

On the other side of the country, Bucky sits at a worn, small kitchen table in his tiny Brooklyn apartment, mouth turned down at the envelope in his hands. His roommate and best friend, Sam, somehow roped him into this, using every trick in the book to sign him up.

“You’re too serious all the time,” Sam teased. “You need to lighten up, meet new people or at least, like, write to one person.”

“I meet people,” Bucky muttered, already regretting the argument.

Sam laughed. “Right. The way you avoid everyone at parties? Sure, bud.”

And now here he is, a couple of weeks later, holding a letter from some stranger in Oregon and wondering if Sam had a point. Bucky has never been good at opening up, not even with people he knew. The idea of putting his thoughts down on paper for some stranger to read made him uneasy. But at the same time there was a comfort in only writing–no faces, no judgments, just words.

The truth is, Bucky doesn’t have a clue what to say or where to start. He agreed to this so Sam would get off his back about meeting new people. Bucky is tired of the monotonous routine of the same frat parties every week. How is he supposed to get to know someone through blasting music and dozens of beers? He’s never been a fan of crowds or casual conversations. 

Maybe that’s why he’d said yes when Sam showed him the ‘Around The World’ pen pal website. To meet someone genuinely and in the most organic way his social anxiety will let him. 

You sit down at your kitchen table, coffee growing cold as you carefully peel open the envelope. The paper inside is simple, lined like the kind from a spiral notebook. Nothing fancy, just a letter. The words on the page surprisingly feel honest. 

Hey, I’m not sure how to start this. I guess an introduction is a good place? My name’s Bucky. Well, technically, it’s James, but no one calls me that. I signed up for this because a friend of mine said I should give it a shot. I don’t know if I’m good at writing letters, but I figure it can’t hurt to try. So, uh… hi.

Somehow Bucky’s awkward words bring a faint smile to your lips which makes you feel a little less self-conscious about your first letter.

Meanwhile, Bucky unfolds his letter in the quiet of his apartment, reading the loopy handwriting of his mystery pen pal.

Hi, I guess this is the part where I tell you about myself? My name’s Y/N, and I live in Oregon. Honestly, I signed up for this because my best friend wouldn’t let it go. She thought it would be fun, and I figured… why not? So here I am. I’m not sure what else to say yet, but I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, almost smiling. There’s something disarming about the tone, like you are just as uncertain about this as he is.

Neither of you expected much from those first letters, just a few introductory words sent across the miles. But as you sit at your table, thinking about what to write back, you start to feel something you haven’t felt in a long time: curiosity.

And across the country, Bucky feels the same.

Only a week later, the third letter arrives with something extra—a pressed flower, its petals delicate and pale blue. It slips out from the folded paper and lands softly in your lap.

I found this on a walk and thought it was too pretty to leave behind. Don’t ask me what kind it is, I’m terrible at flowers. But it made me think of something you might like.

You smile, gently picking up the flower and holding it up to the light. The sunlight streaming through your living room window turns the petals almost translucent. It feels strange, how something so small can carry so much meaning. In this moment, it wasn’t just a flower, it’s a glimpse into how Bucky sees beauty in the world. 

You tuck the flower carefully into the pages of your journal, pressing it between the lines of a half-finished poem you have been struggling to complete. Somehow, it seems to fit perfectly there, like it has been waiting for you to give it a new story.

You pick up a new blank page, finding yourself writing more freely than you had before. You practically spill out everything you’re thinking at the moment. You tell him about the books piled on your desk, the way your apartment smells like coffee and your favorite hazelnut candle, how the flower petal reminds you of a poem you read recently for class. You include a few lines of said poem on a piece of homemade paper you created a few days ago (a skill you learned from a YouTube video), a small gift in return for his. 

Evening light slants through Bucky’s half closed bedroom window as he opens your next letter. 

A muted tone bookmark slips out first. 

I thought you might need this for all your textbooks. Kinesiology sounds intense, so hopefully this will help keep your place when you’re too tired to keep going.

He turns the bookmark over in his hands, studying the intricate design—a swirl of blues and greens, almost like a wave frozen mid-motion. It’s sturdy, practical, and yet oddly personal in a way that catches him off guard. In both of your previous letters, you learned about each other's majors.

Bucky is studying Kinesiology and you, creative writing and English literature. 

He glances at his own textbooks scattered across his desk, a half-empty mug of tea sitting close to the edge. The long nights spent studying, the endless diagrams of muscles and tendons, the impending need to study for an upcoming test overwhelming his mind. 

He doesn’t say it out loud, but it feels nice to be thought of.

Bucky pulls out the old cigar box he keeps on his bookshelf, the one where he stashes little things that matter—ticket stubs, Polaroids, a dried four-leaf clover. Carefully, he places the bookmark inside, alongside the growing pile of letters.

Later, as he writes his reply, he mentions how the bookmark reminds him of summers at the beach when he was a kid. 

My mom used to drag me and my sister there every weekend. I pretended to hate it, but I think I loved it more than I let on. The waves were calming, you know? Kind of like the way your letter felt. Thanks for that.

He hesitates for a moment before folding the letter, then slips a small photo inside, an old snapshot of his hometown beach at sunset. He doesn’t remember exactly when he took it, but it felt like the right thing to share.

As he seals the envelope, his smile grows. A private gesture that no one else besides Sam usually sees. For the first time in a long time, the act of sharing doesn’t feel so hard.

Did you ever climb trees as a kid? There was this big oak in my backyard growing up. I used to climb all the way to the top, even though my mom always yelled at me for it. There was this one branch that stuck out just right, and I’d sit there for hours. It was the one place I felt like I could breathe.

When you read his words, something clicks in your memory. The reminder of your grandmother’s magnolia tree comes flooding back. Its branches were low and sturdy, perfect for climbing, and the flowers always smelled faintly sweet, even when they were just starting to bloom. That tree had been your secret world, a place where you could escape everything else and just… be.

You respond, telling about your afternoons of sitting in the tree with a journal, scribbling drawings and stories no one else has ever seen. 

It was the first place I felt like I could dream. Funny how trees do that for you too, huh?

Bucky leans back on his couch as he reads about your memory. He hasn’t thought about that tree in years, not since it was cut down after a bad storm. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the texture of the rough bark under his fingers and how the world seemed so small from up there. 

That night, instead of going straight to bed, Bucky finds himself sitting by the window, staring out at the sparse trees lining the streets below. The city doesn’t have the same kind of quiet his backyard had back then, but his memory of that oak tree now feels like it was something he could reach out and touch.

Your conversations about trees continues. In your next letter, you mention how you used to take a backpack filled with snacks and book up into the magnolia tree, like you were setting off for some great adventure. You confess how you fell asleep up there one afternoon and scared your grandmother half to death when she couldn’t find you. 

Bucky’s laughter fills his bedroom as he reads that part, trying to put a face to you as he imagines that scene play out. 

I used to stash stuff up there too. Snacks, comics, even a pair of binoculars I borrowed from my grandpa. It felt like my own little hideout, you know? Like the world couldn’t touch me when I was up there.

As the letters went on, the conversations turned into something deeper. You start talking about the feeling of having a place to escape, a space where the world feels manageable. For Bucky, it used to be the oak tree and now the gym, where he can lose himself in the rhythm of movement and focus. For you, it’s always been words—books, notebooks, even napkins when nothing else was around.

Do you ever feel like you’re still climbing? Like you’re still looking for a branch high enough to sit on, where you can finally just… breathe?

Bucky stares at that question for a long time. 

Yeah. But sometimes I wonder if I’m looking in the wrong places. Maybe the branch isn’t what I need anymore. Maybe it’s just knowing there’s someone out there who gets it.

When you read those words it’s like the miles between you two has gotten a little smaller.

You must write a lot for your classes. Creative writing sounds… intimidating, honestly. I don’t think I could do it. I’m better with structure, you know? I like knowing how things work, how muscles move, how the body functions. It feels concrete, there’s always an answer.

You giggle at his admission. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that writing seems almost impossible to accomplish but to you, it’s almost the easiest but scariest thing in the world. 

Concrete sounds nice.  Writing feels like a brewing storm you can see from hundreds of miles away but as it creeps closer the weight of what to do next has you frozen on the spot. It’s easy in the sense of how subjective it is and everyone always has something to say. The scary part is being brave enough to expel your own thoughts or imagination for the world to have an opinion on.  But I can’t imagine kinesiology being any easier. Do you ever feel like you’re carrying too much? Like the weight of learning all this stuff about the human body just… piles up?

Bucky nods to himself as he reads, his pen pausing above the paper. He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, the pressure of being in his program is overwhelming—the constant exams, the endless memorization, the unshakable feeling that one mistake could mean letting someone down in the future.

Yeah, it gets heavy sometimes. But I think about what it’s all for, and it makes it easier to keep going. What about you? What keeps you writing?

When you read his question, you stop to think. What keeps you inspired? The answer seems obvious–it was just something that came naturally to you, from a young age. But the longer you sit and dive deeper into his question, the harder it is to really put it into words. 

Because I don’t know who I am without it.

You didn’t expect those words to carry a weight you didn’t know you have been holding. 

It’s not always easy, though. Writer’s block isn’t some fantastical word people use as an excuse. It’s brutal. Trying to put the right words in the right order drives me crazy most of the time. But even when it’s hard, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like… me, if that makes sense.

Bucky thinks about how he feels when he is at the gym, or working with the human anatomy models in class. He doesn’t always love the grind of school, but there’s something about the act of moving, of learning how things worked, that makes him feel like he is on solid ground. He taps his pen against the table, thinking before continuing his next letter.

That makes a lot of sense, actually. I don’t know if I feel the same way about kinesiology, but I get what you mean about needing something to hold on to. For me, it’s movement. It sounds weird, but when I’m working out or studying how the body works, I don’t feel as… stuck, I guess. Like I’m figuring out the puzzle one piece at a time. And yeah, sometimes the puzzle sucks, but I think that’s just part of it.

He hesitates before adding:

Do you ever feel like writing is your way of figuring yourself out? Like it’s not just about telling a story, but about finding pieces of yourself you didn’t even know were missing?

His question lingers in your mind for days. It isn’t something you’d ever admitted to yourself, let alone anyone else, but he’s right. Writing isn’t just about creating, it’s about uncovering. 

You write back:

All the time. It’s like every time I write something, I leave a little piece of myself on the page, but I also find something new. It’s terrifying sometimes, to feel so exposed, but I think that’s why I can’t stop. It’s the only way I know how to make sense of the world and myself. What about you? Does movement ever feel like that for you? Like it’s not just physical, but… more?

Bucky’s next letter was slower this time, but when it arrives, it’s longer than usual.

Yeah, I think it does. I never thought about it like that before, but now that you mention it, maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it. When I’m moving—running, lifting, even just walking—it’s like the noise in my head quiets down. I don’t have to think about everything all at once. It’s just me and my body, and for a little while, that’s enough.

He pauses, then adds:

I think that’s why I want to help people. I want to give them that same feeling, like they’re not trapped in their bodies, but free because of them. Maybe that’s the piece of myself I’m trying to figure out.

With his next letter, Bucky includes a small, fraying string bracelet. It’s clearly worn from age, some threads are thinner than others, and a few have almost completely unraveled. 

I used to wear this all the time as a kid. It’s nothing special just something a friend gave me back when life was simpler. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I figured maybe it’s time it meant something to someone else.

You hold the delicate bracelet, running your fingers over the worn strings. The softness of the fibers and each fray holding a story Bucky hasn’t shared yet. There’s a weight to it, not in size, but in meaning. The way he decided to pass it down to you. It makes you think of the small tokens you’ve saved over the years–notes from old friends, concert tickets, friendship bracelets–those scraps are pieces of who you are, fragments of a past you’ll never be ready to let go of. 

You didn’t want to just thank him for the token. It deserves more than that. 

You decide to package a worn, dog-eared paperback book, edges wrinkled from the years of being opened and reread. It’s one of many copies of Pride & Prejudice you have. The first book that made you fall in love with writing. You can remember all the late nights you spent highlighting lines, making notes in the margins. 

This was the first book that made me want to be a writer. It’s been sitting on my shelf for years, and I think it’s time someone else enjoys it. Maybe it’ll mean something to you too.

You hesitate for a moment, a knot swirling in your stomach. It was something small, seemingly insignificant but also personal. The book was more than a vintage piece of writing. It’s a piece of your past, something that has shaped who you are. 

Bucky opens the package carefully, turning the book over in his hands. It looks like it’s been loved, its pages soft and curling at the corners. He can tell it’s been read over and over again.

He smiles genuinely. He’s never been a huge reader—always preferred the practicality of learning from textbooks or manuals—but this book makes him grateful to have a part of your world that you’re willing to share with him. 

Bucky flips to the first page, the ink of your handwriting spells out a note ‘I hope this means something to you’ 

With a sigh, Bucky carefully places the book beside his bed. He’ll start reading it soon, maybe later tonight. There’s something comforting about knowing that, through these letters and small tokens, you are building something real, something that isn’t defined by distance or time, but by the simple act of sharing.

I’ll start reading it tonight. I can’t promise I’ll be as into it as you are, but I think it already means something to me. That bracelet I sent you, it isn’t just a piece of string. It's a piece of me, one I wasn’t sure how to share until now. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I’m glad you’re the one who has it now.

He folds the letter and slips it into the envelope, sealing it with the same quiet smile that has been creeping into his letters more often. 

Over the next few weeks, your letters became less about what you both do in a day and more about the things that have shaped you. Bucky told you about him joining his school's track team and local races all the kids in the neighborhood would have every summer. You told him stories about how you would write stories for your stuffed animals and act them out alone in your childhood room. 

With each letter, it’s become harder to imagine not knowing Bucky, who in so many ways, is still a stranger. But also the one person in the world you feel free enough to share parts of you that you can’t with the closest people you see daily. 

Your heart clenches at Bucky’s next admission:

It’s not that I don’t like people, but it’s like there’s this invisible wall between me and them. Like I’m always watching, but never quite part of it.

You couldn’t write that feeling any better. 

I guess I’ve always been more comfortable in other people’s worlds than my own. Books made sense when nothing else did. I could lose myself in them and forget everything else—even for just a little while.

One day, his letter comes with a sketch tucked between the pages. It’s rough, the kind of drawing someone might do absentmindedly, but it has this subtle energy to it. It’s a street corner in Brooklyn with buildings stacked close together, fire escapes twisting up their sides like veins.

You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it, almost restless but steady at the same time. The city’s always moving, but if you look close enough, there are these little pockets of stillness. I think you’d find it inspiring.

You could almost imagine it. The sounds of the city, how different the air might feel. You’ve never been to the east coast. Your finger traces over the sketch, admiring the little piece of Bucky’s city he offers you. 

That night, you feel inspired. You pull out an old journal and try to put words to his drawing. Imagining what Brooklyn must feel like, blending his description with your own ideas. You aren’t sure how cohesive your stream of thoughts are but you don’t take time to edit it. You rip the page out and fold in, slipping it in with your letter. 

When Bucky opens the envelope and finds your poem, he reads it twice, then a third time, trying to imagine his own city through your eyes. You make Brooklyn feel less gray and crowded. As he sits by his favorite coffee shop window, he draws another sketch of what’s in front of him, he even includes a sticker the shop sells. 

Your letters have become a map of sorts. A shared exploration of places neither of you have been to but can picture so vividly because of each other’s words. You print a picture of your favorite spot back home, a cliff overlooking the ocean where you’d sit for hours. 

Writing on the back of the photo: The kind of place that makes you feel small but full of light.

In his reply, Bucky describes a park in his neighborhood where he goes for runs when he needs to clear his head. 

There’s this one bench under an old sycamore tree. Sometimes I stop there and just sit for a while, watching people go by. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet. Peaceful.

With every letter, the walls between you seem to shrink. And yet, there’s still so much you don’t know about each other, so many questions left unspoken, fears left unsaid. Would the connection you’d built survive outside the pages of these letters? Or was it something that only made sense in this space you’d created?

You’re sprawled across the couch in your shared apartment, a blanket draped over your legs as Wanda flips through a magazine on the other end. The soft glow of fairy lights makes the room feel cozy, even as the stack of textbooks and your half-drunk coffee mug on the table scream anything but relaxation.

“You’ve been smiling at that piece of paper for ten minutes,” Wanda says, not even looking up.

You glance down at the letter in your hands, catching yourself before you grin again. “No, I haven’t.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “You totally have. That’s a ‘someone special wrote me something adorable’ smile if I’ve ever seen one.”

“It’s not like that,” you mumble, though your cheeks are already heating up.

Wanda scoots closer, pulling the letter out of your hands before you can stop her. She scans it, her face softening as she reads. “‘You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it—restless but steady at the same time.’” She looks up, her expression a mix of curiosity and teasing. “Okay, first of all, swoon. Second, who is this guy, and why haven’t you told me everything about him yet?”

You groan, snatching the letter back and holding it to your chest. “He’s just my pen pal. You know, from that website you made me sign up for.”

“I strongly encouraged you,” Wanda says with a smirk. “And clearly, I was right. You like him.”

“It’s not like that,” you repeat, but even you don't seem to believe your words. “We just… get each other. Like, in a way no one else does. It’s hard to explain.”

Wanda grins, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Oh, it’s not hard at all. You’re totally falling for him.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny it. Because maybe, she’s right.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, the photograph of the cliffside you sent him in his hands. His thumb traces the edges of the picture absently, his eyes fixed on the jagged rocks and the expanse of sky above them. Sam sprawls in the armchair across the room, one foot lazily rests over the armrest. The faint sounds of the video he’s watching on his phone fills the room. 

“Is that the photo your pen pal sent you?” Sam asks, nodding toward it.

Bucky glances up, startled slightly. “Uh, yeah.”

Sam smirks. “You’ve been staring at it for, like, twenty minutes, man. What’s up with that?”

Bucky shrugs, setting it carefully on the nightstand. “She said it’s her favorite spot near where she grew up. Told me she used to sit there when she needed to clear her head. I don’t know—it’s just… personal, you know?”

“Yeah, it sounds like it,” Sam sits up a little. “So, what? You’re into her now?”

“She’s just my pen pal,” Bucky sounds unconvinced by himself. 

Sam laughs, leaning back again. “Don’t even try it. I know that look. It’s the same one you had when you started watching that baking show and tried to convince me it was just for the ‘techniques.’”

Bucky shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. “She’s just… easy to talk to. Like, I don’t have to explain everything, you know? She just gets it.”

“Yeah, you sound totally detached,” Sam’s grin widens.

Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a pillow at him. “Shut up, man.”

But as he picks the photo up again, studying the way the sunlight played across the rocks and the faint edge of the ocean in the distance, he knows Sam isn’t entirely wrong.

The next morning, you’re sitting at your desk, chewing on the end of a pen as Wanda brushes her hair in the mirror.

“So, what’s his name?” she asks casually.

“Bucky,” you say before you realize. 

Wanda freezes mid-brush. “Bucky? That’s his real name?”

You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “Technically James but he prefers Bucky.” 

“Okay, first of all, iconic. Second of all, why aren’t you, like, booking a flight to meet him?”

You look at her shocked. “Because that’s not how this works.”

Wanda frowns, turning to face you. “That’s so stupid. What if he’s your soulmate or something?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

But later, as you reread his latest letter, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to meet in person. 

Meanwhile, Bucky is walking to class with Sam, the book tucked under his arm.

“So what’s her deal?” Sam asks.

“She’s a writer,” Bucky says. “Creative writing and English lit major.”

Sam whistles. “Damn. She sounds deep. You sure you can keep up?”

Bucky smirks. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”

But as he heads into class, flipping open the book to one of your underlined passages, he knows he’s not fooling anyone—not even himself.

I know this pen pal, letter sending thing is supposed to hold some kind of anonymity but sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to meet you. Don’t worry—I’m not suggesting anything crazy. It’s just… you’re such a big part of my life now, and it’s weird to think I wouldn’t even recognize you if I passed you on the street. I’d probably walk right by and never know.

Bucky pauses as he writes his next letter, staring at the words he’s written, debating whether to cross them out. Instead, he adds more

Have you ever thought about it? What would it be like if this wasn’t just on paper?

When you read his words, something inside you shifts. Of course you’ve thought about it too—what his voice sounds like, what kind of expression he wears when he writes to you.

Sometimes, I imagine what it’d be like to meet you too. It feels strange to think about, like breaking some kind of rule we’ve been following for three months. But if I’m honest, yeah, I’ve thought about it. More than once.

You hesitate, chewing on the end of your pen before adding:

What if we start small? Like a phone call? It’s not the same as meeting, but maybe hearing your voice wouldn’t feel so strange. What do you think?

Bucky sits with your letter in his hands, rereading your suggestion. A phone call. He’s thought about hearing your voice before, but seeing it written makes it real in a way he hadn’t expected.

A phone call sounds… terrifying, if I’m honest. But also kind of exciting? I mean, I want to hear what you sound like. I want to know if the way you talk matches the way you write. If you’re sure, let’s do it. Just don’t laugh if I sound awkward—I’m not great at this kind of thing.

You’ve never been good with phone calls. Honestly, you surprised yourself when you offered the suggestion to Bucky along with your phone number. But, knowing that Bucky feels similar, eases some of the nerves. 

When the time comes, you sit on your bed with your phone clutched in your hand, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You exchanged numbers in the last letter, but staring at his name in your contacts feels surreal. After a few deep breaths, you hit the call button.

“Hello?” His voice was quiet, a little hesitant.

“Hi,” you respond, smiling even though he can’t see it. “It’s me.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “Hey. This is… weird, right?”

“Yeah, but in a good way.” 

There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that might feel awkward with anyone else, but with Bucky, it’s comfortable. Like the pauses in his letters, deliberate and thoughtful, holding space for meaning.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually call,” Bucky admits. “Not that I thought you wouldn’t. I just… I don’t know. It’s different hearing someone’s voice after reading their words for so long.”

“I know what you mean,” you reply, tucking your legs under you. “It feels like meeting you all over again, in a way.”

He hums in agreement, and you try to picture what he looks like by his voice. “So… what’s new?”

You laugh at the simplicity of the question, but it’s grounding in a way. “Not much. I’m still fighting my way through this writing project for class. I swear, my professor has a personal vendetta against me.”

“Or they just know you’re good at it and want to push you,” Bucky offers, his tone lighter now. “You ever think about that?”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“What’s the project about?”

“Character studies,” you reply, leaning back against the pillows. “Creating these detailed backstories for characters we’ve made up. It’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

“I bet you’re great at it,” the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you say softly, caught off guard by his compliment.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, phone balanced against his ear, a faint smile tugging at his lips as you tell him story of the stay cat you see everyday on your way home from class. “So, what’s the cat’s name?”

“I don’t know. He’s not mine—he just hangs out around my apartment building. But I’ve been calling him Poe.”

“Poe, like the writer?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course,” Bucky chuckles. “I should’ve guessed.”

“What about you? What’s new in your world?”

“Honestly? Not much. Sam tried to make lasagna last night. I’m pretty sure he invented a new species of food poisoning instead.”

You laugh loudly, the sound hitting a spot in his chest unexpectedly. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” he says, grinning. “I think the smoke alarm’s still traumatized.”

The conversation drifts, covering everything and nothing at once. You talk about your classes, your friends, your routines. He tells you more about his favorite places in Brooklyn, the way the city feels alive even when he feels anything but.

And soon, the nerves melt away completely, replaced by the same ease you’ve always feel through his letters.

“You know,” Bucky says after a long pause, “I think I like this. Talking to you.”

Your heart skips at his words, and you’re grateful he can’t see the flush creeping up your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “It’s nice. Like… you’re real now. Not just words on a page.”

You smile, staring up at your bedroom ceiling. “I like it too.”

When your call ends two hours later, you sit for a moment, staring at your phone. The world feels quieter, smaller, like it doesn’t quite matter as much.

And on the other side of the country, Bucky feels the same, staring at your name in his recent calls and wonders how someone so many miles away feels closer than ever. 

What started as one phone call quickly became a routine. 

Some nights, you call Bucky while sitting at your desk, the sound of his voice filling the quiet as you work on an assignment. He talks about his latest lecture or the annoying guy in his study group, and you share stories about your professor’s dramatic poetry readings or the characters in the story you were writing.

“You have a nice laugh,” he compliments, during a late-night call. “It’s different than I imagined, but in a good way. I like it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”

“Well, I mean it. You have a good laugh. It makes everything sound less… heavy, you know?”

You sit back in your chair, glancing at the screen of your laptop, but your focus is entirely on the phone now. “I guess I could use a little less heaviness. Especially with my current assignment. I swear, my professor’s idea of ‘creativity’ is to make us write the most pretentious stuff imaginable.”

“I think every professor thinks they’re shaping the next great mind,” Bucky states. “Mine’s the same. My last one made us analyze a yoga position and turn it into a thesis. Like, what is this, ‘Kinesiology 101: Zen and the Art of Muscle Movement’?”

You giggle at the absurdity of it. “That’s both weird and kind of genius. Imagine doing that for one of my stories. The whole plot could be a yoga class, but with a secret mystery and forbidden love.”

“Now that’s a story I’d read,” Bucky jokes. “But seriously, I get it. It’s like they try to make everything sound deep and philosophical when sometimes… it’s just about getting through the day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you agree, tapping your pen against the desk. “But hey, at least we’re doing something we enjoy, right? Writing, studying—whatever it is, it keeps us busy.”

“Yeah, but I think what really keeps me going is knowing that there’s more to it. I’m not just learning about muscles or how to help people move. It’s like a way of understanding how everything fits together—how the body moves, how it heals, and maybe even… why it breaks down in the first place.”

“I get that. For me, it’s the stories. I want to figure out why people do what they do, what drives them. Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to find the puzzle pieces and just waiting to put them together.”

“And when you do?” Bucky wonders, tone softer now.

“When I do…” You trail off, unsure of how to explain the feeling. “I think that’s when everything clicks. Like, the world makes sense, even if just for a moment.”

“I think that’s the best part of what we’re doing,” he adds thoughtfully. “Trying to understand how we all fit together in this world. You know, why we’re here.”

Another comfortable pause stretches between you.

“You know, sometimes I wish I could just leave all the work behind and go somewhere. Take a break from everything, just for a little while. Do something completely different.”

“Yeah, I get that. I think I’d like to go somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin in the woods, or… a secluded beach. Somewhere I could just… breathe.”

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees. “No expectations. Just… space. Maybe one day we’ll both get to do it.”

You smile at the thought, imagining the peace that comes with leaving everything behind, even if just for a few days. “Maybe one day.”

Even without the ability to see one another, to meet face-to-face, you’ve found a space where you belong, right here with Bucky, in this quiet corner of the world you’ve created together.

The phone calls haven’t replaced the letters; if anything, they made them more special. You still send small items tucked into the envelopes, like pressed flowers you found on a walk or the postcard from a local bookshop with a note scribbled on the back: ‘This place feels like it belongs to you.’

Bucky sends things, too—a tiny seashell he’d found on a rare trip to the beach with Sam, one of his favorite protein bars (“I’m convinced these are the only reason I survive exams”), or a handwritten note on the back of a kinesiology diagram he thought you’d find funny.

I’m glad we started talking on the phone. It’s weird, but I don’t think I realized how much I needed it.

The next time Bucky’s name appears on your phone, you find yourself talking for hours, the way you always do. Bucky tells you about a new project he’s working on for class and you share the struggles of keeping up with your creative writing assignments. You laugh together about how you’ve both procrastinated on something important, even though you know you’re going to pull through in the end.

“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little softer now, “I never really realized how much I needed to hear from someone like you. It’s just… easy, you know? Talking to you.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I feel the same. I didn’t know I could talk to someone this much without feeling like I’m overdoing it.”

There’s a silence for a moment, and then Bucky’s voice comes through, more vulnerable. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like if we could meet in person? Like… I don’t know, maybe take a trip or something?”

Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t expected the question, but it feels like it’s been lingering there for a while. “Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what it’d be like to actually meet you. Maybe we could go to that bookshop you told me about, or that café you go to all the time.”

“I think that would be nice,” Bucky agrees, mentally curating a day for you both like it might happen.

You sit on the floor of your room, your textbook open in front of you, but your mind is far away. Wanda, sprawled across your bed, scrolls through her phone.

“So, you’ve been talking to Bucky on the phone a lot lately, huh?” Wanda says casually, glancing down at you.

You look up from your book, the words of your professor blurring in your mind. “Yeah, a lot. Why?”

She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Because it sounds like you two are practically a thing now. You’re sharing things that nobody else knows, stuff you haven’t even told me, and that’s… kinda big.”

You feel your cheeks warm, but you try to act nonchalant. “It’s just easier, you know? With him, it’s different.”

Wanda leans forward, setting her phone down, her expression turning serious. “So, when are you actually going to see him? I mean, for real, not just through letters and phone calls. You’re both in different states, and I get that it’s complicated, but... aren’t you curious? Don’t you think it’s time to see the real thing?”

There’s a knot in your stomach at the thought of meeting Bucky in person. “I don’t know. It feels so risky. We’ve got this thing, this connection, and I don’t want to mess it up by... meeting and finding out it’s not the same.”

Wanda sits up, her voice soft but insistent. “I get that, but listen to me, this thing you have, it’s real. I can hear it when you talk about him. You don’t have to know everything, but maybe it’s time to take that step. Meet him, see if what you feel is the same in person. If it’s worth it, you’ll know. And if not, you can go back to what you have now. But you won’t know until you try.”

You look down at your hands, the words swirling in your mind. “I don’t know if I can just... show up there, though. What if it’s too much?”

Wanda leans forward, giving you a meaningful look. “You’ll never know unless you do it. And what’s the worst that could happen? You go to Brooklyn, meet up with him, and find out if what you have is more than just letters. If it’s real. You deserve that, okay?”

You bite your lip, thoughts racing. Deep down, you know she’s right. But still, the idea of taking that leap is terrifying.

Bucky leans back against his chair as he closes the kinesiology textbook on the kitchen table. Sam is working on his own assignment, typing away across the table, though his eyes are trained on his friend, the expression on his face full of mischief.

“So, have you talked to her lately?” Sam asks, not looking up from the laptop.

Bucky shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, we’ve been texting. Calls, too. Same as always.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You sure? ‘Cause every time you pick up that phone, you get this dopey grin on your face. Like, way too much of a dopey grin.”

Bucky shoots him a look, but it’s hard to keep the smile off his face. “Shut up, man. It’s just easier to talk to her than anyone else. She’s cool. It’s... nice.”

Sam stops typing and leans forward, his tone shifting. “Look, Bucky, we’ve been best friends for years, and I can tell there’s something more there. You’ve never talked about anyone like you talk about her. You’ve been sending stuff, taking time to connect with her, and now you’re talking on the phone like you’ve known each other forever. What’s holding you back from making it real?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with the idea. “I don’t know. It feels too soon. I’ve only known her for like five months, and I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to be that guy who shows up, and then everything falls apart. What if it’s different in person?”

Sam leans back, crossing his arms. “What if it’s better in person? You’re both out there, being real with each other. But you’re still holding back. Maybe meeting her, seeing her face to face, will show you something you didn’t even realize you needed.”

Bucky looks down at the table, conflicted. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a lot to ask of her. I don’t want to make things too complicated.”

Sam smirks. “Bucky, she’s probably thinking the same thing. You’ve built something real, and now it’s time to see if it stands up in person. If you really care about her, you should at least give it a shot.”

Sam’s words weigh on him, and he can feel the pull, the desire to take that next step, to finally know what it would be like to stand face to face with you.

“You’re right,” Bucky mutters after a pause, his resolve slowly hardening. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it happen.”

Sam grins. “That’s what I like to hear, man. Just don’t wait too long, alright?”

The fall air outside is crisp. You’re favorite time of the year. You sit on your porch swing, finishing up your morning coffee. You’ve been buried in finals for the past few days, and it feels like the weight of them is starting to catch up. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, but you ignore it for the moment, reaching instead for the stack of mail that you checked this morning.

You sift through the usual bills and flyers until something catches your eye—a familiar handwriting. Your heart does a little flip when you recognize Bucky’s name on the envelope. The anticipation surges as you rip it open, the paper inside feeling heavier than usual.

A ticket slips out. A plane ticket to be exact.

You freeze for a moment, not quite able to wrap your mind around what you’re holding. You unfold his letter quickly. 

Y/N, I’m not sure how to even begin this, so I’ll just say it plainly: I’m sending you a plane ticket. I know this is sudden, and I completely understand if you think this is too much or too soon. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, and if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, I won’t be offended in the slightest. It’s a refundable ticket, so no pressure, I promise. But if you’re open to it... I’d love for you to come visit me in Brooklyn. I remember you telling me your Fall break is coming up, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I want to show you everything here—the parks, the food spots, the places that always make me feel like I’m home. I’ve even made a little map of things I thought you’d enjoy. It’s not the grandest of plans, but I think it could be a good start. I’m giving you the time to decide, but if you do decide you want to take this leap... I’ll be waiting for you at the arrival gate, next Saturday. I’ll make sure I’m there early, just in case. And if not, I completely understand. You’ve been amazing, and I wouldn’t want to ruin what we’ve got, whatever it is. I hope to see you soon —Bucky

You blink, the words blurring together for a moment. The excitement is a bit overwhelming. He’s giving you space, no pressure, just an invitation. The ticket, the map—he’s really thought all of this through. And the idea of being in Brooklyn, of standing face-to-face with the person who’s been your constant for months now, feels... possible. 

You glance down at the ticket again, your fingers trembling slightly as you trace the flight details.  You take a deep breath, setting the ticket down beside you and run your fingers over the map he made, the carefully marked spots where he hopes to take you. You smile at his gesture. It’s simple, thoughtful... real.

You think of Wanda���s voice, urging you to take the leap.

Are you ready for this?

part two

Thank you so much reading <3 Please let me know what you think and reblogs always help!!

[httpvomitello]

hii, would you write a Fred Weasley one were they have been friends for a really long time but are too afraid to confess and when someone else flirts with her Fred gets a bit jealous so he decides that it is time to confess?

Hello, hello! Hope you like it ~ ♡

My First Love *⁠.⁠✧

fred weasley x f!reader

Summary: You and Fred Weasley have been best friends for years, but the unspoken feelings between you both have always been left unsaid. When someone else shows interest in you, Fred realizes he can’t hide his feelings anymore.

You sat on the worn-out couch near the fireplace, your Transfiguration textbook on your lap, but your attention far from the words on the page. Fred Weasley was sprawled on the armchair beside you, tossing a small ball into the air and catching it lazily. It was a scene that had played out countless times over the years, the two of you sharing an easy comfort that only years of friendship could bring.

But lately, something had shifted. At least for you.

You had been best friends with Fred since your first year, and over time, the playful banter and late-night conversations had started to mean something more. You’d catch yourself staring at him a little too long, your heart fluttering whenever he grinned in your direction. But the thought of risking your friendship terrified you, so you kept your feelings to yourself.

Fred wasn’t much better. He’d always been protective of you, but lately, he’d noticed how his stomach twisted when someone else made you laugh, or how he’d find excuses to be near you even when he didn’t have to be. He told himself it was just friendship, but deep down, he knew better. He was head over heels for you.

The weekend came, and with it, a lively atmosphere in the quidditch area. You were sitting on the floor, laughing at something Jordan had said. Fred had been watching from afar, his lips quirking into a smile at the sound of your laughter. But his smile quickly faded when he noticed a Hufflepuff boy—Jason, he thought his name was—walk over and sit beside you.

Jason leaned in close, clearly trying to flirt, and Fred felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t sure what Jason was saying, but whatever it was, it made you laugh. Fred’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the broom he was holding.

“Looks like someone’s jealous,” George said, nudging Fred with a smirk.

Fred scowled. “I’m not jealous,” he muttered, but his eyes never left you and Jason.

“Sure you’re not,” George teased. “You might want to do something about it before someone else does, mate.”

Fred didn’t respond, but George’s words stuck in his head.

Later that evening, the common room had emptied out, leaving only a few stragglers. You were still sitting on the couch, flipping through a book, when Fred plopped down beside you.

“Hey,” he said casually, but you could hear the edge in his voice.

“Hey, Fred,” you replied, glancing up at him with a smile.

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against his knee. “So… you and Jason seemed pretty friendly earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment. “We were just talking. Why?”

Fred shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “Just curious,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Fred, is something bothering you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned on doing this tonight, but the thought of someone else stealing your attention—stealing you—was too much.

“Look,” he began, his voice lower now, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while. I just… I’ve been a bit of a coward about it.”

You frowned, setting your book aside. “Fred, what’s going on?”

He turned to face you fully, his brown eyes locking onto yours. “I like you, Y/N,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not just as a friend. I mean, I like you more than that. I’ve liked you for ages, but I didn’t want to ruin what we have. And then tonight, seeing Jason talk to you, it just… I couldn’t take it.”

Your heart stopped, his words sinking in slowly. “Fred…”

“I get it if you don’t feel the same way,” he continued quickly, his voice tinged with nervousness. “I just needed you to know because I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You stared at him for a moment, your mind racing. Then, without thinking, you reached out and took his hand. “Fred,” you said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His eyes widened. “You have?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’ve liked you for ages too, but I was scared to say anything. I didn’t want to lose you.”

A grin spread across his face, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he said, his voice lighter now.

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “So… what now?”

Fred’s grin turned mischievous. “Now, I think I owe you a proper date. How about Hogsmeade next weekend?”

You smiled, your heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that.”

[leiyanzyves]

"Blades and Shadows"

Katarina x f! reader — arcane

Synopsis: In the toxic depths of Zaun, Katarina teams up with a cunning informant to eliminate a chem-baron threatening Noxus' plans. Their uneasy alliance grows amid danger, but after the mission's bloody end, Katarina vanishes without a word, leaving only memories in her wake.

Author's note: This is the very first story that I wrote, so please bare with me.

The air in Zaun was thick and suffocating, saturated with the smog of industry and the sharp tang of chemicals. Katarina du Couteau had always hated this city. Its twisting streets and narrow alleys reeked of desperation and danger. It was a far cry from the calculated chaos of Noxus. But this time, her mission brought her here, and she had no choice but to endure the city’s suffocating embrace.

Her target was a chem-baron—a petty tyrant who had made the mistake of opposing Noxus' expansion into Zaun. He was hiding somewhere in the underbelly of the city, protected by his lackeys and the labyrinthine layout of Zaun’s slums. Katarina had tracked him for days, but he was slippery, constantly moving from one hideout to another.

Tonight, her search brought her to a brothel on the edge of the Sump, a place where shadows lingered and secrets were traded like currency. It was the kind of place that thrived in Zaun, offering its patrons anonymity and indulgence in equal measure. Katarina slipped through the door, her red hair hidden beneath a dark hood, her daggers concealed but always within reach.

The interior was dimly lit, the air heavy with perfume and the low hum of conversation. She moved with purpose, her sharp green eyes scanning the room. The patrons barely noticed her; their attention was on the women and men who entertained them. But Katarina wasn’t here for pleasure.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asked, cutting through the haze of murmurs and laughter.

Katarina turned, her gaze locking onto you. You stood with an air of confidence, dressed in attire that clung to you like a second skin, designed to catch attention. But what struck her wasn’t your appearance—it was your eyes, sharp and calculating, a stark contrast to the practiced smile on your lips.

“That depends” Katarina replied, her tone measured. “Are you someone worth finding?”

Your smile widened, though your eyes remained wary. “That depends on what you’re looking for. Information costs extra, you know.”

Katarina chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “I’m looking for a chem-baron. He’s been hiding in places like this. You might’ve seen him—tall, greasy hair, a scar across his cheek.”

You leaned against the counter, studying her. She was out of place here, her every movement too precise, too deliberate. But there was something else about her, something dangerous.

“I might’ve seen him,” you said cautiously. “But if you want me to talk, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Katarina stepped closer, her presence commanding despite the casual way she moved. “And if I don’t have time for games?”

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. “Then you’ll have to try and make me talk.”

The confrontation didn’t escalate into violence, though you weren’t sure it wouldn’t. Instead, Katarina followed you to a quiet corner of the brothel, where the noise of the main room faded into the background. You poured two glasses of cheap whiskey and slid one toward her.

“Before you start threatening me,” you began, taking a sip, “you should know that I’ve survived worse than a Noxian assassin.”

Katarina’s lips twitched into a smirk. “You’ve got sharp eyes. Most people don’t spot me so quickly.”

“Most people aren’t me,” you replied.

There was a beat of silence as the two of you sized each other up. Finally, Katarina leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

“You’ve seen him,” she said, her tone leaving no room for denial.

You nodded slowly. “He was here a few nights ago. Big spender. Flashy, loud, the type who thinks he’s untouchable. He left with some of the girls.”

“Where did he go?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering toward the entrance as if you expected someone to overhear. “He mentioned a safehouse in the Sump. But I don’t know the exact location.”

Katarina’s eyes narrowed, her frustration evident. She hated loose ends.

“I could help you find it,” you added, your voice softer now.

Her gaze snapped to you, suspicion flaring. “Why would you help me?”

You shrugged, your smile returning. “Zaun’s better off without people like him. And besides, you intrigue me, Noxian.”

The partnership was uneasy at first. Katarina wasn’t used to working with anyone, especially someone who lived in a world as different as yours. But you proved resourceful, navigating the treacherous streets of Zaun with ease. You knew how to blend in, how to listen for whispers of information, how to avoid the chem-baron’s thugs.

Katarina, for her part, was a deadly shadow at your side. She didn’t trust easily, but as the nights wore on, she found herself relying on you more than she expected. There was something about you—your quick wit, your sharp tongue, the way you carried yourself with a confidence that belied the danger around you.

One night, as the two of you crouched in an alley, watching one of the chem-baron’s lackeys enter a rundown warehouse, Katarina broke the silence.

“Why do you stay here?” she asked, her voice low. “In Zaun, in a place like that brothel?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the warehouse. Finally, you said, “It’s all I’ve ever known. Zaun’s ugly, but it’s home. And the brothel… it’s survival. Better than starving in the streets.”

Katarina nodded, her expression unreadable. She understood survival better than most.

The night you found the chem-baron, everything went wrong.

The safehouse was heavily guarded, more than either of you had anticipated. The two of you managed to slip inside, but as you crept through the dimly lit corridors, a guard spotted you. The alarm was raised, and suddenly you were surrounded.

Katarina fought like a whirlwind, her daggers flashing as she cut down anyone who came too close. But there were too many, and even she couldn’t protect you from all of them.

You were cornered by one of the thugs, his knife glinting in the dim light. Panic surged through you, but before he could strike, Katarina was there, her dagger slicing through his throat.

“Stay close to me,” she snapped, her voice harsh but laced with concern.

The two of you fought your way to the chem-baron’s office, blood and chaos in your wake. When you finally burst through the door, the man was already scrambling for an escape.

Katarina didn’t hesitate. She threw one of her daggers, the blade burying itself in his back. He collapsed with a choked gasp, and just like that, it was over.

Afterward, the two of you stood in the ruins of the safehouse, bloodied and exhausted.

“You didn’t have to save me,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Katarina turned to you, her green eyes piercing. “You didn’t have to help me. But you did.”

For a moment, the distance between you seemed to dissolve. You stepped closer, your breath hitching as her gaze dropped to your lips.

Then, as if realizing what she was doing, Katarina pulled back.

“This isn’t a place for attachments,” she said, her voice cold.

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “No, it’s not.”

Katarina left Zaun the next day. She didn’t say goodbye, but you hadn’t expected her to. People like her didn’t linger.

Still, you couldn’t forget her—the sharpness of her gaze, the way she moved, the fleeting moments of vulnerability she’d shown you. And though you tried to bury the memory of her, you found yourself looking toward the door of the brothel every night, wondering if she’d ever walk back in.

And she never came back.

[luckyroll3]

Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 4

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 8,077

You slide into the seat across from Chan at your usual table in the student center. He's got his textbook open, papers sprawled with equations and diagrams on the table. But his focus is wavering, his gaze lifting to meet yours with a flicker of something unreadable.

"Hey Channie," you begin, your voice light but probing, "how was the rest of your weekend?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, a practiced ease in his shoulders, but the tightness around his eyes betrays him. "Usual stuff," he says, though the words lack their typical cocksure rhythm. "Yours sounded... eventful." You see his eyes drop to your neck, noting the bruises from the weekend, although they are faint now, the evidence of your escapades already starting to fade.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the dreamy tone from your voice.

Chan looks up from his book, his eyes guarded but curious. "Oh yeah?" he asks, trying to sound casual as he leans back against the chair. "Do tell."

You recount snippets of your beachside escape, careful not to delve too deep into the intimacy shared with Changbin. As your words flow, you notice that Chan's smile seems a bit forced, his laughter a touch hollow, not quite ringing out like normal. His usual quips don't punctuate your sentences. Instead, there's a hush, a thoughtful silence that curls around his clipped replies like fog.

Chan nods, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Sounds nice," he mumbles, shuffling some of his papers. "I'm glad it went well."

"Seriously, Chan, everything was perfect," you say earnestly, meeting his gaze. "I couldn't have asked for a better first time. Thank you."

"Hey, no problem. It was part of our deal," he replies, looking away and fidgeting with the corner of a textbook page. "Just happy I could help."

You lean in, trying to catch his eye. "Is everything okay, Chan? You seem a little... off."

He shrugs, still not meeting your gaze. "Just stressed about the upcoming final. Nothing to worry about."

"You sure?"

"Of course," he quickly counters, a little too swiftly to be convincing. “I would tell you.” His gaze slips away from yours again, finding a sudden interest in the scattered notes before him.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills the room. You can't shake the feeling that something’s not right. You're not convinced that he’s okay, but decide not to push; with his final exam looming, you focus on why you’re there.

You let it go, sinking into the rhythm of tutoring. The two of you diligently review equations and problem sets, but the air between you remains charged with unspoken tension.

You can't shake the feeling that something's different. Chan's usual playful banter is absent, replaced by terse responses and long silences. Every so often, you catch him staring at you with an unreadable expression, only for him to quickly look away when you notice.

After an hour of stilted conversation and halfhearted studying, you decide to try one more time. "Chan, are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You know you can talk to me, right?"

For a moment, it seems like he might open up. His eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. But then he blinks, and the moment passes.

"I'm fine," he insists, forcing a smile. "Let's just get back to these equations, okay?"

You nod, pushing down the nagging feeling that there's more beneath the surface. As you return your attention to the textbook, you can't help but wonder what's really going on in Chan's head.

Later that week, you're curled up in bed, a book forgotten on your lap as you check in with Chan.

You: Hey, just checking in. How's the studying going?

Chan: Slow, but getting there

You picture him there, surrounded by textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You: Keep at it, Einstein You got this, dude 👍🏽

You hope that your teasing draws out that boyish grin, even if you can't see it.

Chan: Will do, coach 😁

****

Chan smiles warmly at your texts before he sets his phone down.

The quiet hum of the desk lamp is the only sound accompanying his thoughts, which are consumed by memories of your tutoring sessions and the undeniable connection he feels with you. He's never experienced anything quite like this before, and it both terrifies and exhilarates him.

He leans back in his chair, letting his head roll over the edge as he stares at the ceiling and thinks about you riding him. He can’t get the image of you moaning on top of him as you came out of his head. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to have sex again with one of his conquests and he wondered what it meant. Although, he didn’t really consider you to be one of his ‘conquests’. He’s not sure what he considers you. This was new territory for him. Chan struggles to keep his newfound feelings at bay. They're different… and confusing.

Just as Chan is wrestling with these unfamiliar emotions, his phone buzzes again with a new text from you.

You: Forgot to mention I found this.

Chan clicks on the link you sent, which opens to a NASA summer internship program for future engineers.

You: Thought of you when I saw it. Assuming you pass Diff Eq (which, I totally believe in you! ️🙃), your GPA will def qualify

Chan: Shit, this is fucking awesome. Thank you.

You: I know it’s not roller coasters, but rockets are basically roller coasters in space 🚀 🚀 And definitely cooler 😆 Plus, I’ll be there next summer too - got recruited for a Women in Astrophysics program How awesome would it be to be there together?

Your message sends a thrill through Chan, not just for the opportunity but because it means he could be in the same orbit as you this summer. He can’t help but imagine the possibilities of spending the entire three months with you.

Chan: That would be amazing. I mean, if you don’t mind me harassing you all summer long.

You: I wouldn’t, so apply fucker! I’ll let you get back to your studying. Holler if you need anything.

Chan: Thanks!

He stares at the phone, at your name, longingly. Then the realization hits him like a punch to the gut: he's caught feelings for you. Real, messy, complicated feelings that go against everything he thought he stood for.

“Shiiiiiiit!” he breathes out while covering his face with the palm of his free hand, now very concerned about what this means. But he can't deny it. He wants you. It’s more than that; he wants to be with you.

He knows he's breaking his own rules, but he doesn't care.

He decides in this moment that he needs to make a plan for how he can keep you.

But that will have to wait until after this final. He sighs as he throws his phone on the bed and flips the textbook page to the next set of practice problems.

****

You’re sitting across from Chan in the library at his final tutoring session. He slides papers over to you. His face breaks into a wide grin, those infamous dimples appearing as he announces, "I passed! And not just barely – I fucking aced it!"

Without thinking, you leap up and throw your arms around him. "Channie, that's amazing! I'm so damn proud of you!"

As you embrace, you feel his strong arms wrap around you, holding you tight. The scent of his cologne – a spicy, woody fragrance – envelops you. A tinge of sadness colors the moment, a silent acknowledgment that this chapter is ending. You suddenly become acutely aware of how long this hug has lasted, how his chest feels pressed against yours, how his breath tickles your ear.

You pull back, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Chan's eyes are sparkling, his hands lingering on your waist. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says softly.

Clearing your throat, you step back, trying to regain your composure. "Well, you did all the hard work. I just guided you a bit."

Chan runs a hand through his tousled blonde hair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We should celebrate! How about drinks tonight? My treat."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering. "I can't tonight, Chan. Changbin and I have plans."

His smile falters for a split second before he recovers. "Right, of course. How about this weekend then?"

"Sure, that’s perfect," you agree. "I'm free Saturday night. I can be all yours."

Chan nods as he considers your words. All yours, you said. And that’s exactly what he wants — for you to be all his. "Saturday it is." He pauses, then asks, "So, how are things with Changbin? Still going strong?"

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. "Better than ever, actually. Thanks to you."

You watch as Chan chews on his lower lip, pushing down whatever thoughts are threatening to surface. "That's great. Really great," he replies, a note of dejection in his voice.

****

A few days later, Chan joins the soccer game at the park near campus. Today, he and Changbin end up on the same team. As everyone warms up, Chan watches as Changbin jokes and laughs with the other players. Everyone loves him, even the opposing team. He can see why you love him too.

Chan grits his teeth as he watches Changbin effortlessly dribble down the field, avoiding defenders with swift footwork. But Chan can’t concentrate on the game. All he can think about is you and Changbin together. He wonders if Changbin made you shiver and moan the way he did, how quickly Changbin made you cum, how many times you’ve let Changbin fuck you since your anniversary night. It’s all driving him fucking insane.

When Changbin scores a goal, his teammates cheer and rush to congratulate him. Chan hangs back from the rest of the team, clapping half-heartedly.

During the water break at the end of the first half, Changbin jogs over to Chan.

“Hey man, how’d your final go?” Changbin asks, clapping Chan on the back with genuine warmth. “It was earlier this week, right?” He shares that you were talking about him and his exam all weekend. “Now I’m just as fucking invested in you passing too,” he laughs. He wipes the sweat off his face with a towel before tossing it onto his duffel.

Chan feels a flare of irritation at the casual mention of your name. "Oh, I did well. Passed with an A actually," he replies, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.

Changbin's eyes widen. "No way, nice job!”

“All thanks to my favorite tutor.” Chan takes a long swig from his water bottle and licks his lips, his jealousy simmering just below the surface. Against his better judgement, he adds, “It was a really big help when she agreed to our tutoring trade.” Dark Chan on his shoulder is cheering him on as he lights a match and tosses it into the dry bush.

Changbin's brow furrows in confusion as he chugs a lime-colored Gatorade. "Trade? What trade?" He sticks the bottle into his duffel.

"Just a simple quid pro quo. I helped her prepare for your anniversary weekend and she comped my tutoring sessions," Chan replies nonchalantly, the underlying insinuation clear as day. “It was a win-win. How was your anniversary by the way? You two have fun?” Chan smirks as he squirts gasoline onto the already out of control flames.

The implication lands like a punch to the gut, and Changbin reacts accordingly — anger rises within him instantly and his hands clench into fists at his side. Seconds later, his right fist connects with Chan's jaw before anyone can intervene. Chan stumbles back with the force of the blow, shock registering on his features before it twists into anger. The other players are just as stunned at the sudden violence.

"You son of a bitch," Changbin growls through gritted teeth. “How fucking dare you!” he spits out furiously as he lunges at Chan again and grabs him by his shirt.

Chan shoves him back and takes a wild swing, the punch grazing Changbin’s cheek. The fight erupts, a storm of flying fists and tangled limbs. Soon, they are grappling fiercely, trading blows as their teammates shout and scramble to break them apart. It takes four of Changbin’s frat brothers to drag him away from Chan just as things threaten to escalate further.

“Bin! Chill dude,” one of them shouts. “That’s enough!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Changbin shakes loose, elbowing and shoving them off of him one by one with ease, breathing hard, his face flushed with rage.

“Shit! I’ve never seen him this mad before,” another one whispers. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Fuck this!” With a furious glare, Changbin grabs his duffel and storms off the field, his expression dark with betrayal.

Chan straightens up, wiping blood from his lip, a twisted sense of satisfaction settling over his features. As blood drips from his nose, he tilts his head back, but his smile is victorious despite the pain from getting his ass kicked. In his mind, the score has been settled, even if it means wounding the one he's come to care for most.

****

You’re hunched over your quantum physics textbook, trying to focus on the advanced equations when your dorm room door flies open with a bang. Changbin bursts in, his normally warm eyes blazing with fury, his face flushed with anger, a bruise forming on his cheek. His duffel drops to the floor with a thud.

"Have you been sleeping with Chan?" he demands, his voice cracking with emotion, raw with anger and hurt.

The question is a cannonball that hits you square in the chest.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you force yourself to stay calm. “Changbin, what are you talking about?” But you know exactly what he's talking about.

Changbin’s fists clench at his sides. “Tell me about this tutoring deal with Chan. What did you trade?” His words are sharp, cutting through any pretense.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to come clean. Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice even. "It was an exchange. I wanted to be more... experienced, gain experience. For you," you explain.

His lack of response is a vacuum that sucks you towards him. You rise from your chair, closing the distance between your bodies.

His silence is deafening, and you rush to fill it, words tumbling out.

"Everything with Chan was a learning experience, nothing more. Purely educational. I approached it from a practical perspective, like a class. You know how my brain works. I needed to make sense of the mechanics." You're pleading now, trying to bridge the emotional gap you feel growing between you with earnestness. You grab his left fist in both of your hands, rubbing your thumbs in slow circles on his wrist. "I don't have feelings for him, Changbin. I love you. Only you. I’ve only ever loved you."

Changbin looks at you, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonesty.

His jaw tightens. “Maybe you don’t have feelings for Chan, but he clearly has feelings for you," he counters, a growl underlying his words. “You just can’t see it.”

"That's not true," you argue, heat rising to your cheeks and feeling a surge of defensiveness despite knowing deep down that you’d seen signs of something in Chan’s eyes and there may be some truth to what Changbin is saying. But you quickly push those thoughts aside. "Chan knows the rules. It was just —"

"Rules?" Changbin interrupts as he rips his hand away from yours forcefully, his voice rising. "What kind of 'rules' are involved when fucking someone else's girlfriend?"

You flinch at his words, guilt and frustration warring inside you. He’s never been so angry with you before. "It wasn't like that!’ you protest trying to justify your actions, feeling smaller under his accusatory gaze. “I did it for us, for our relationship!" But even as the words leave your mouth, doubt creeps in.

“You keep saying that. You did this for us, for me, for our relationship. So what? You would test things out with him and then do them with me? Is that why you’ve been so eager to move things forward.”

“I wanted to be incredible for you. To reward you. Are you saying you didn’t enjoy any of it?”

“Of course I did, but that’s not the fucking point.” He rests his face in his palms as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is not how you show someone you love them. This is psychotic.”

“So, you’re saying I’m crazy for wanting to make our first time special?”

He looks up at you with sadness and disappointment. “I’m saying you don’t give your virginity away to the campus fuck boy extraordinaire.”

“‘Give my virginity away’?!?! I didn’t know I needed to protect my fucking virtue. Does this mean my family no longer gets the 3 cows and 5 goats that were promised?” you question sarcastically.

“No one’s saying that.”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” you huff. “I wasn’t a virgin because I was committed to staying chaste and pure until marriage or whatever other fucking reasons people have. You know I don’t believe in that patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit. I’ve just never been interested in sex before you. And I didn’t want to be awkward with you. What does it matter if I got all of that out of the way before you? You’ve fucked other girls.”

“Not while we’ve been together!” he yelled. “Are you telling me you don’t see anything wrong with fucking someone else while we’re in a relationship?”

“I told you, it wasn’t like that. It didn’t mean ANYTHING. It was just fucking sex.”

“So, is that what we did? Just fucking sex??”

You go back and forth, the argument escalating, words flying from each of you like daggers.

Finally, Changbin sighs and takes a step back, his expression unreadable. "I need to think about this," he says, his voice low and cold. "About us.” He picks up his bag. “And I can’t even stand to fucking look at you right now."

Before you can respond, he's gone, the door slamming behind him with a sharp finality that echoes long after he's left.

Silence blankets your room, a heavy, suffocating shroud over the remnants of the confrontation. You sink onto your bed, your mind reeling. You sit there, surrounded by the ghosts of whispered confessions and heated accusations. You think about the decisions you've made and how hurt Changbin seems.

You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Did you really need to test things out with another guy before furthering your relationship with him? Was it worth hurting him like this?

But you’re also pissed. Anger bubbles inside you as you realize that Chan not only broke the rules but also maliciously threw this situation in Changbin's face. He shattered your trust.

You lie down, throwing your arms over your face and breathing deeply.

A few hours later, you hear a notification ping on your phone. It’s your calendar, reminding you of your plans to celebrate with Chan at the bar. You swipe it away, too emotionally drained to deal with people tonight. Twenty minutes later, you decide to keep your plans, determined to confront Chan head-on.

Upon arriving, you spot him leaning against the bar in the dimly lit corner, a drink in his hand as he talks to Minho. He doesn't see you approach, too caught up in his conversation.

"Chan," you say, your voice slicing through the murmur of the crowded space. “We need to talk.”

Chan stiffens as he hears your voice, his eyes darting towards you before quickly looking away again. He mutters something to Minho, before turning back to you, his expression hardening.

"What’s there to talk about?" he asks flatly, still not quite meeting your eyes. His words slur slightly. He’s clearly been drinking for a while already. Your gaze drops to his busted lip before shifting back up to his eyes.

Minho glances back and forth between the two of you. He shoots you an apologetic look before quietly walking away to serve someone else at the other end of the bar.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Don’t fucking play with me. You know what. I want to talk about Changbin. About why you felt the need to provoke him like that."

Chan scoffs. "I didn't do anything. I just told him the truth about our extracurricular activities."

You frown, struggling to keep your temper in check. "You knew exactly what you were doing. This whole arrangement was supposed to be discreet, but you used it to hurt Changbin. Why?"

Chan looks away, his jaw tight. He scoffs again, his lip curling in a sneer. "Oh, so now you care about Changbin's feelings?” He looks you square in the eyes. “Funny how you didn't seem to give a shit when you were fucking me behind his back, moaning my name."

You grimace at his crass words but remain resolute. "You knew what this arrangement was about, Chan. You're the one who crossed the line by deliberately throwi…”

Chan slams his glass down on the bar, the loud sound cutting you off. He looks away, his eyes settling on the rows of liquor bottles on the wall directly opposite him.

When he meets your eyes again, there's a flicker of something vulnerable there beneath the bravado.

“Fuck,” he says softly. He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his blonde strands shifting out of place. "I’m sorry; I don't know. I was angry… and jealous. He said something to me about you and I just... I lashed out. I fucking lost it."

“What are you jealous about?”

“You!” he says forcefully, his usual charm nowhere to be found as he pounds his fist once on top of the bar, replaced by a turbulent sea in his eyes. "This is your fault! You made me feel something for you; you made me fall for you," he accuses as he points a finger at you, his voice low and raw. “The hugs, the desserts, the laughing, the gifts, the conversation.” He pauses and sucks air in between his teeth. He continues, this time in a softer tone. “The way you call me ‘Channie’ like my mom does, how you listen to my crazy stories without ever judging me,” he pauses again, sighing before continuing, “the way you look at me when you’re beneath me…. How was I not supposed to fall for you?” His voice is a mix of anger and confusion. You let him talk, allowing him to get everything off his chest.

"Chan, listen to me," you start, calm against his storm. "We agreed—no strings attached. This was always just a quid pro quo arrangement. Just physical. That’s how you wanted it." Every word is deliberate. “You broke your own rules. No feelings, no clinginess. Remember? You broke them; I didn’t. I never caught feelings for you Chan.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you close, desperation lacing his touch as he slips them around to your lower back. He leans in close to whisper against your ear, "So all of our moments together meant nothing? I can’t believe that’s true." He nuzzles his nose against your neck, kissing and sucking the thin skin gently before pulling back slightly to search your eyes.

"Of course they meant something," you admit gently, allowing the truth to flow softly between you. "You're a great guy, Channie, and we have developed a relationship. We're friends. All those things you mentioned… They are what friends do for each other. More than that; I consider you one of my best friends now." Your hand comes up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric. "But that’s it. I’m sorry. I'm in love with Changbin. Always have been, which I’ve told you since the beginning. That’s never changed for me. Whatever else you’re feeling, that's on you, not me.” You take a deep breath. “What’s on me is that I should have ended this after your birthday party," you say softly.

The air shifts, a moment of understanding flickering in his eyes before it's veiled again by doubt. "Friends…?" he echoes, a whisper lost in the swell of music and chatter.

You look up at him earnestly. "Only if you can accept that." You touch his face gently. “I absolutely adore you. I want you in my life… as my best friend, Chan. But it’s up to you. You need to figure your shit out.” You kiss his cheek and let the words hang in the air between you, leaving the next move to him. You remove his hands from your waist and give them a gentle squeeze before letting go. They drop lifelessly to his side. With one last look, you turn away, the warmth of his gaze on your back as you navigate through the crowd and out the door, the weight of decisions and desires trailing behind you.

****

The morning sunlight streams on your face, casting warm golden rays on the frat house as you hesitantly approach. The campus is dead, not surprising, given that it’s 7:00 am on a Sunday morning. The only people out are those who you assume are doing their “walk of shame”; you are too, though yours is for slightly different reasons.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Your heart races in your chest, a flurry of emotions swirling inside you as you prepare to face Changbin. You haven’t heard from him since he stormed out of your room, and you haven’t reached out, determined to give him space for the night to cool off. But when dawn approached, you couldn’t wait anymore. Taking a deep breath, you turn the doorknob and step inside. They never lock the front door.

As you step into the living room, your eyes fall on Changbin and several of his frat brothers sitting in front of the large TV playing some video game. They are spread out between the couch, the floor, a couple beanbags, and chairs from the kitchen table. By the empty bottles of beer, cans of energy drinks, and bags of snacks surrounding them, you assume they’ve been up all night playing. You’ve barely slept either, awake most of the night thinking about how to fix this fucking mess you’ve created.

Changbin’s eyes glance over to you briefly before settling back on the screen, his face impassive as he continues to press the buttons on the controller.

One of his brothers nods at you and you give him a weak smile. You sit in the empty recliner to the left of the couch and wait. Your pulse races, your palms damp with anxiety. You’re here to mend things, to stitch the seams of a relationship frayed by truth and jealousy. You curl your feet under you and watch them play as you wait.

When the round ends about half an hour later, you look towards the couch. "Changbin," you start, voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Can we talk?"

His intense eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a flutter in your stomach – equal parts nerves and longing. Finally, he gives you a slight nod. He sets the controller on the coffee table and stands with a groan. Silently, he turns and walks towards his room. You follow behind.

He stands aside so you can enter first, closing and locking the door behind him. You both sit on the bed, a respectful distance apart while a chasm of silence stretches between you. He waits, eyes searching yours for something unspoken. His eyes are filled with a mix of hurt and uncertainty.

You swallow hard. Finally, you can't take it anymore, the silence.

The words bubble up, urgent and sincere. "Changbin, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. More than anything. Is this... can we move past this? I need to know if we can move forward from this. You are my future. You have to know that I’m desperately in love with you."

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck coiling tight. You see the weight of hurt in his gaze, but also a glimmer of something else. He looks down and runs a hand through his hair, as he thinks deeply.

“You promised you would never let me go,” you add, your volume so low that you can barely hear yourself. “Never.”

A blanket of silence settles back over the room. For a few moments, it’s just the sound of the two of you breathing.

"I'm sorry that I overreacted last night," Changbin starts softly. "I was pissed, hurt, confused." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat before continuing. "I've been thinking a lot," he begins slowly as he looks back up at you. "About us, about what you did with Chan."

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it, you think. He's going to end things. You brace yourself for the inevitable fallout and wonder how bad your breakdown will be. They’ll probably have to restrain you…

But then Changbin surprises you. "I understand why you did it," he says, his voice softening. "I don't like it, I’m still furious about it, but I get it. I get how this made sense for you. You know I love how your brain works. And… I love you too much to let this destroy us."

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. "Really?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

After a long pause, he sighs and nods. "I can move past it.” He reaches out to take your hand. His touch sending a familiar spark through your body. “But I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," you reply without hesitation.

"From now on, if you want to try anything new, any additional learning experiences… you come to me. Let me be the one to teach you. I’ll show you everything you want to know.” His gaze unwavering, his eyes hold a new intensity, a silent plea for trust.

"Of course," you agree, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. "I promise," you breathe, leaning in closer. "Only you, Changbin. Always."

His lips curl into a small smile as he leans forward, closing the distance, to press your foreheads together. “Good,” he says softly before his lips find yours in a kiss that seals your vow to never take this man for granted again. It’s a mix of tenderness and fervent hope, a promise of continuity and new beginnings.

This is more than just a makeup kiss; it's a reconnection of your souls, a restarting of the fire that’s always been there between the two of you, smoldering just below the surface. His hands are in your hair, gripping it gently as he angles your face perfectly, deepening the kiss. Your hands roam over his muscular back, feeling the contours of his body through his shirt, fueling your desire.

Suddenly, this isn’t enough. You both need more. You need to feel all of him against you, skin to skin. Changbin breaks the kiss only for a fraction of a second to peel off your t-shirt, throwing it behind him. Simultaneously, you tug his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it next to your shirt. As you continue to kiss furiously, you both shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, creating a pile on the floor with the items.

Changbin breaks away to look at you, his eyes full of adoration and something else, something that makes your heart race even faster. He suddenly reaches over to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small foil packet. He meets your gaze with a silent question. A question to which you respond by nodding eagerly. This is what you both need right now, this physical connection that reaffirms your love for each other.

He rolls on the condom before settling between your legs. His lips find yours as he slowly enters you. You moan into his mouth as he starts to move within you, setting a slow pace that only serves to increase the intensity of your pleasure.

You feel like you’re soaring, the sensation of being connected with him in every way is overwhelming in all the best ways. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as he thrusts into you deeper, but keeping his speed the same, slow and controlled.

He’s also kissing you with the same unhurried pace as his hands roam lightly over your body. You’re lost in a sea of sensations, your mind consumed by him and him alone. Eventually, his hands find yours, interlacing your fingers before sliding them along the smooth sheets until your arms are above your head. He holds them in place there, while he continues to fuck you, oh so slowly.

His body shifts slightly, hitting a spot inside of you that makes white-hot pleasure shoot through your body. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out his name. Changbin finds that spot again and again, each time sending waves of ecstasy through you, the buildup excruciating.

You can tell he’s close too; his movements becoming more erratic and desperate. His forehead rests against yours as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

He groans your name, then adds, “I love you so much.”

His words send a surge of emotion through you, tears brimming in your eyes. You wrap your legs around his body and pull him closer, then deepen the kiss between you two.

"I love you too," you whisper against his lips.

With one final thrust, both of you reach your climax together, crying out each other's names. While Changbin’s body tenses, yours shudders beneath him. Changbin collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he presses kisses against your jaw, neck and shoulder.

After a few moments of catching your breath, he rolls off of you and pulls out gently before removing the condom and tossing it towards the small garbage can beneath his desk. He chuckles when it misses, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. He then curls up next to you, pulling the covers over both of your naked bodies. When he notices the tears on your cheek, he uses his thumb to gently wipe them away.

You lay there, tangled up together, letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of you. Lying there wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this — this raw passion, mixed with vulnerability, trust, and love — is what you share, and always will. Eventually, even as the sun climbs higher in the sky, the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

****

Chan paces his room, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair as he worries about how he fucked this all up. Chan has come to really adore you. The thought of losing you – even as a friend – is more painful than he ever could have imagined. But how can he fix this?

His eyes land on the books you gave him as a gift. Next to them is a framed photo of him surrounded by a group of giggling girls at a party. He’s slept with almost all of them. He flips the frame down, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, the silence around him amplifying his turbulent thoughts. He tries to make sense of the feelings that have taken hold of him. The walls of his fuck boy persona crack, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

"Is this really what I want?" he whispers to himself, staring at the floor. “What do I want?”

Some hours later with a newfound resolve, Chan picks up his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. His breath hitches as he presses 'call,' the sound of the rings echoing in the silence. He’s lost count of the rings and he’s about to hang up when you answer.

“Hey,” you say softly, surprised by the call. You ease out of Changbin’s bed, not wanting to wake him, and snatch his recently discarded hoodie from the floor, pulling it on to cover your naked body before exiting his room to sit in the hallway.

"Hey, it's me.” Chan’s voice comes out more vulnerable than he intends. “I... I wanted to apologize for everything," he starts, each word laced with honesty. “I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I projected my feelings onto you and Changbin, and neither of you deserved that. Shit, I really like the guy. I don’t know why I was so hell bent on screwing with him."

“Thank you, Chan,” you say, touched by his sincerity. “I think he likes you too. Well at least he did before you told him you fucked his girlfriend,” you tease, unable to stop yourself.

He laughs half-heartedly. “Too soon. Way too soon.”

“Sorry,” you say with a chuckle, glad that the two of you can still joke with each other.

“I’ll apologize to him too, at a later point in time when he doesn’t want to rip my arms from my body. Because he totally could. You know it took four guys to pull him off me?”

“I heard. But he should be fine. We talked, we made up, and we’re good. I’ll leave you boys to hash out your own shit, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You two are perfect for each other.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen. You were right. We did develop a strong bond. I consider you one of my best friends too. I’ve shared things with you that I’ve never told anyone else.”

“Me too,” you agree softly.

“And if you’ll have me, I would like to be in your life. As a friend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he exhales, sounding relieved. The two of you are silent for a few moments before Chan speaks again. “So, I submitted my application for the NASA internship.”

“You did?” you ask excitedly.

“Yeah, on Friday. I won’t hear back until February though.

“Love it! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you get selected. They’ll be sending me site options in February too. Hopefully we can be stationed at the same one.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” Another pause. “Hey, I've been thinking, it might be time for a new deal.”

“I don’t know Channie,” you say hesitantly. “Our last deal ended up being nuclear reactor meltdown levels of catastrophic.”

He laughs loudly. “I know, I know. But just hear me out. I need someone to help me unlearn my ways."

“Your ways?” you ask confused.

“Yes. Can you tutor me in how not to be fuck boy?”

His admission hangs in the air, a confession borne from the raw edges of self-revelation. On the other end of the line, your response is soft, a gentle affirmation that stirs something deep within him.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Okay, Chan. We can try. But is that what you really want? I kinda like Bang Chan. He’s fucking great. He’s my best friend."

“I kinda like him too,” Chan admits. “But he’s also a bit of a mess right now. I need to clean him up, make him presentable for the future. You know, grow up a little.”

You pause, considering his words. “Growing up is overrated,” you say, but there’s a note of seriousness beneath your playful tone. “It’s not like you have to choose one or the other, you know. You can be both.” You hear him hum in approval and can picture in your mind how his head nods slowly in the way that he does when he processes something. “Well, how about you figure out if you really want to give him up. And whichever way you go, I’ll be there. I’ll either help you clean up your ways or be your personal wing woman. That’s what best friends are for.”

“Okay, deal. I’d like that.”

“Deal.” You smile quietly to yourself. “And what would I get in exchange?”

Chan laughs, the sound warmer, more genuine than before. “Oh man… Let me think….”

“Come on, don’t make me wait forever,” you tease, shifting your weight as you sit cross-legged in the hallway.

“How about… unlimited access to my brilliant engineering mind? I’ll help you with all your mechanical problems.”

You snort. “Like you ever fixed my bike.”

“I could if I wanted to,” he retorts playfully. “I just didn’t have time this semester. It’s on my list.”

“Uh huh…” You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Fine, how about this: I’ll buy your beer anytime we go out. Lots of beer… and shots. As much as you want.”

“That you’re paying for? Not Minho?”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Yes. Out of my own pocket.”

“Now you’re talking. Top Shelf?”

“Mid. You know I’m on scholarship.”

“I can work with that.”

Another pause, this one more comfortable, as if both of you are soaking in the new terms of your relationship.

“So,” Chan starts, hesitating. “Are we good now?”

“Yeah. I think we will be,” you confirm, though you know it’s not that simple. You need to clear any potential complications with Changbin.

“Ok good.” You hear the smile in his voice, the relief, the lingering uncertainty. This won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. “I’m glad we cleared the air.”

“Me too.”

You both linger on the line, not wanting to let go of this newfound clarity and the tentative hope it brings.

“Get some rest,” you finally say. “You sound exhausted.”

“I will. You take care, okay?”

“You too, Channie.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

Chan exhales, a sound of relief mingled with newfound determination. You’re still there, just in a different way. And as he hangs up the phone, he lets himself believe that perhaps there's more to life than the fleeting pleasures he's known—perhaps there's a chance for genuine connection, for growth, for friendship... and maybe even for redemption. And perhaps, it’s also just fine for him to simply be who he is.

You walk back into Changbin’s room, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Hey,” he says groggily. “What are you doing?” He rubs his eyes.

“Nothing babe. Just stepped out to take a call.” After a few seconds of back and forth in your head, you add, “with Chan,” and wait for his reaction.

“Hmmm.” He lifts the sheet and beckons you back to bed. You climb in and snuggle against his bare chest as he wraps his arms and legs around you like a koala hugging a tree branch. “What did he want,” he said calmly.

“To apologize.” You look up and lock eyes with him. “He would also like to apologize to you, if you’re open to that.”

“Maybe next week. Right now, I still want to rip his fucking arms off and beat him with them.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what he predicted you would do,” you say with a chuckle.

Changbin smiles. “As long as he’s appropriately terrified.”

“You won’t mind if we stay friends, would you?”

“Are you going to do it anyway?” Changbin raises an eyebrow at me.

“Probably.”

“Why did you even ask then?” You shrug, causing Changbin to laugh. “No, I don’t mind. You’re lucky I love you.” He kisses you gently. You decide you’ll wait to tell him that you and Chan might be spending the entire summer together, when tempers and tensions have fully dissipated. “You know, I kinda like that bastard too.”

“I knew it!” you whisper excitedly, tapping your fingers on his pecs.

“But I will break his scrawny ass in half if he ever says any disrespectful shit about you again.”

You smile and give him a quick kiss. "I know you will. That's one of the many reasons I love you."

You snuggle closer, resting your head on his chest, comforted by his protective yet understanding nature. There's still healing to be done, but you feel a sense of hope about the future. With Chan, the path forward is less certain, but you're willing to walk it with him as a friend.

For now, you're content here in Changbin's arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you towards sleep. The world feels full of possibility, new adventures on the horizon. But you know you won't have to face them alone – your two favorite men will be by your side. There's comfort in that thought as you drift off, Changbin's warmth enveloping you.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this messy ass story. Leave me a comment, let me know your thoughts or any requests.

My Masterlist

[kangshxrtie]

Twelve | What if I

"She lyin' to me, and I'm lyin' to her, fuck it, guess we both ain't shit" - B.A.S. by Megan Thee Stallion ft. Kyle Richh

"y/n isn't answering my calls," xinyu complained to nien as she walked up to them.

"you want me to try?" nien offered, casually pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"mayu and i have been trying for the past hour," xinyu huffed. "why would she-" her words cut off mid-sentence as nien raised her phone to her ear, signaling that you had, in fact, answered her call.

"heyy, y/n," nien greeted, her voice smooth and easy.

xinyu and mayu exchanged wide-eyed, disbelieving looks before their gazes snapped to nien, who was now smirking slightly as she held the phone to her ear.

"oh, nothing," nien continued, glancing at the two other girls. "xinyu and mayu wanted to talk to you. mind if i put you on speaker?"

"uh... sure," you replied, silently cursing yourself. it wasn't like you were purposely ignoring xinyu and mayu; you'd just been buried in studying and didn't think their calls were that urgent.

nien hit the speaker button and held the phone out between the three of them.

"y/n?" xinyu's voice shot out immediately, firm and demanding.

"yes?" you replied, bracing yourself.

"what is this behavior?" she asked, the mock exasperation in her tone making it clear she wasn't letting this slide.

"well..." you began, searching for an excuse but coming up empty. "i see how it is, y/n," mayu said, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "i'll remember this betrayal."

"what did you two even want?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic.

"we wanted to know if you wanted to hang out, but clearly, you don't mess with us anymore," xinyu chimed in, crossing her arms dramatically.

"i do!" you whined. "i was just studying."

"but you answered nien's call," mayu pointed out, her tone teasing. it was clear they weren't about to let this go easily.

"nien's my partner for a project," you explained, trying to sound convincing. "i answered because i thought it might be important."

"and what if i was dying on the side of the road?" xinyu asked, feigning offense.

"why would you call me and not, i don't know, the ambulance?" you shot back.

"you could've been my last call," xinyu said, ignoring your logic entirely, "and you didn't even answer."

"what did you two actually want?" you asked again, rolling your eyes playfully.

"we wanted to invite you to grab something to eat with us," mayu replied.

"just to be clear, i'm not paying for anyone," you said, already wary of their antics.

"is that what you think of us?" xinyu gasped like you'd just accused them of something heinous. "we only wanted to hang out with our dear friend y/n."

"i've been lied to before," you muttered, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

"come on," mayu coaxed. "it'll be fun. besides, nien's coming too."

"when was i invited?" nien's voice chimed in from the background.

"just now," xinyu said without missing a beat. "and you're coming with us."

you groaned loudly, knowing you had no choice in the matter. "fine, i'll go. just send me the location."

"yay!" mayu cheered triumphantly.

"great," nien said, suddenly grabbing the phone. "hanging up now. see you there!"

you tried to suppress a smile but failed miserably. you were just happy you'd get to see nien today.

"what have you been up to today?" xinyu asked, poking at her food.

"just studying," you replied with a shrug, taking a sip of your drink.

"studying? or avoiding us?" mayu teased, giving you a side-eye.

"why would i avoid you?" you said, feigning innocence.

"i don't know, maybe because someone ignored my call earlier?" xinyu said, narrowing her eyes at you.

you groaned, already sensing where this was going. "oh my god, i already explained this! i thought nien's call was about our project!"

"and i could've been calling to save your life," xinyu shot back, biting into her fry.

"yeah, but you weren't," you countered, rolling your eyes. "i thought you were calling to ask some stupid shit like what time i woke up or something."

"she's got a point," nien chimed in, smirking as she leaned back in her seat. "i've gotten some of those calls before."

"nien you get no say in this," xinyu said, glaring at her.

"what?" nien said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "i was just saying, if you're dying, maybe don't call y/n first. call someone more... capable."

"wow, okay. y/n's just gonna let you disrespect me like that?" xinyu said, turning to you for backup.

"don't drag me into this," you said quickly, raising your hands defensively.

"you're already in it," xinyu said. "but you know what? it's fine. i'll remember this betrayal next time i'm out to eat and think about inviting you."

"speaking of study breaks, what are we doing after this?" mayu cut in, clearly trying to change the subject.

"i vote karaoke," nien said immediately.

"you always vote karaoke," mayu said, laughing.

"because it's fun," nien argued.

"for you," xinyu said, giving her a look. "meanwhile, the rest of us are forced to sit through all of your sad-ass ballads."

"no do not blame me for the ballads" nien gasped, "that's all dahyun."

"it's both of y'all," mayu quipped, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.

"guess we're just a part of some alternate reality where i've chosen a ballad song at karaoke," nien said, pouting. "y/n, i've never done that, right?"

you tilted your head as you thought back to all the times you've been to karaoke with this group. "i have seen you pick one before."

"wow," nien said, shaking her head as everyone burst into laughter. "i thought you were on my side!"

"i am! just not when it comes to your ballads," you said, grinning.

nien narrowed her eyes at you but couldn't hold back her smile. "alright, fine," she said, dramatically crossing her arms. "no ballads tonight. happy now?"

"thank god!" xinyu chimed in.

"you're all ungrateful," nien huffed, but her exaggerated pout just made everyone laugh harder.

once you all were done and the check was paid, the four of you headed out to a nearby karaoke spot. once you were in the room nien wasted no time grabbing the remote and scrolling through the song options as she plopped down on the couch and started building a queue.

"alright, who's up first?" nien asked.

"y/n got that!" mayu said just as xinyu chimed in with, "yeah, y/n can totally go first."

you narrowed your eyes at them, catching the smirks on both their faces. "i feel like this was a setup," you muttered, reluctantly getting to your feet.

nien turned to you, narrowing her eyes. "don't even think about it, y/n. you're going first."

you groaned, but it was hard to say no when everyone was now staring at you expectantly. "fine, but i'm picking the song."

"all you," nien said, handing over the mic as you grabbed the remote.

the first few notes of an upbeat pop song filled the room, and everyone immediately started cheering. "classic y/n choice," xinyu said, nodding approvingly.

you started singing, and while you were no professional, the group didn't care. mayu and xinyu quickly joined in during the chorus, their voices more yelling than singing, but it only added to the chaos. nien stood up and danced around like it was a concert, holding an imaginary mic and hyping you up like a true hype person.

by the time the song ended, everyone was out of breath from laughing and shouting the lyrics. "and you were worried for what?" mayu said, clapping as you took a dramatic bow.

"my turn," nien announced, grabbing the mic and immediately queuing up an energetic dance hit. "and i don't want to hear any complaints!"

"nobody was gonna fight you for it anyways," xinyu said.

as nien launched into her performance, complete with over-the-top dance moves, the rest of you doubled over laughing. she leaned into the role, spinning and pointing dramatically at each of you during the verses. when the chorus hit, mayu and xinyu jumped up to join her, turning the room into a chaotic dance party.

"why does this actually feel like a concert?" you said, clapping along as they sang.

"because we're stars, y/n," nien replied with a wink, holding out the mic to you for the next line.

the night continued like that, song after song. at one point, xinyu and mayu tried to duet a love ballad but couldn't stop laughing long enough to get through the first verse. so, of course, you and nien had to upstage them by performing your own love duet to show them how it's done. but nien started blushing furiously every time you got too close to her. she kept looking away or giggling when you touched her, which wasn't helping your case at all.

by the time the session ended, all of your throats hurt from singing and you all were craving for something to drink.

"that was actually so fun," mayu said as you all stepped out of the karaoke spot into the cool night air.

"yeah we don't do that as much as we should" xinyu said.

"because everytime i wanna go everybody is all of sudden busy and shit" nien complained.

"you asked me in the middle of class one time" mayu said.

"i had a sudden urge to do it" nien shrugged.

"i'd skip class to do karaoke with you" you spoke without hesitation.

"really?" nien turned to you fast.

"of course" you nodded.

"i'm glad my two besties are friends now. I don't know how or why but I'm glad" xinyu said.

"we'll tell you eventually" you said.

"actually can't wait to find out the story" mayu said.

"right!" xinyu agreed. you were about to respond but then you got a message on your phone causing you to look down at it.

huh yunjin (01)where are u rn?

y/n y/l/ni'm w sum friends, why?

huh yunjin (01)come over

y/n y/l/nu want me to just leave my friends for u

huh yunjin (01)yes. i want to see u y/n y/l/n well i'm sry but i'm prob gonna be w them for a while huh yunjin (01) js say u wanna hang out w nien more

y/n yl/ln and if i did?

huh yunjin (01) nvm don't come overi feel like you'll js piss me off y/n y/l/n glad we could come to an agreement :)

you let out an audible groan as your phone buzzed with another notification, causing everyone to turn and look at you.

"bro, are you good?" xinyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

"it's just my—oh—umm..." you stammered, quickly realizing you couldn't exactly tell them the truth. "some people in our project being stupid," you said, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

nien checked her phone too, curious about what had you so worked up. when she realized what it was, she nodded in understanding. "oh. yeah, i see what you mean. they're definitely annoying," nien said, smoothly covering for you.

"y'all wanna talk about it?" mayu asked, looking genuinely concerned.

you waved her off, not wanting to talk about it. "let's just go get drinks."

"that works," xinyu said with a shrug.

with that, the four of you headed to a nearby spot for some drinks, the conversation quickly shifting to different topics. afterward, you all made your way back to their house.

"do you wanna sleep here tonight, or are you heading home?" xinyu asked as you all wrapped up your night.

"i should probably head home. i have an early morning tomorrow," you said, stretching your arms over your head.

"that's fine. want us to walk you back?" mayu offered.

"i can walk y/n home," nien cut in, her voice calm but insistent. "we've got some things to talk about."

"she's all yours," xinyu said not hiding the smirk on her face/

you exchanged goodbyes with everyone before heading out with nien. the streets were quiet, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you walked side by side.

"by any chance," nien began, her tone soft as she fidgeted with her hands, "are you planning on dating anyone after you officially end things with yunjin?"

you glanced at her, surprised by the sudden question. "yeah, i'm interested in someone," you said simply.

a smile spread across nien's face, her eyes lighting up at your answer.

"why are you smiling? i didn't say it was you," you teased, raising a brow.

"what? i'm just happy you're moving on from yunjin," she replied, her grin widening.

"i bet you are," you said, shaking your head with a small laugh.

the two of you fell into light conversation as you made your way to your house. when you reached your door, you gestured dramatically. "welcome to my humble abode."

"it's nice in here," nien said, looking around with interest. "i can't believe this is my first time over."

"well, we just became friends a couple of weeks ago, and i don't let just anyone into my space," you said.

"well, i'm honored to be invited in," she said with a warm smile.

"you want anything before you head out? i feel bad letting you walk back this late," you offered, leaning against the wall.

"i wouldn't have offered if i minded," nien said, shrugging.

"still, i'd feel terrible if something happened to you because of me," you said, a touch of worry in your tone.

"i'll be fine. my muscle will scare off anyone who tries anything," she joked, flexing dramatically.

you laughed. "yeah, okay. my bad for doubting you.."

"do you have no faith in me?" she asked, feigning offense.

"nope," you teased, grinning. "i don't even know why i was worried. you're obviously stronger than everyone out there."

"i don't appreciate your sarcasm," she said, pouting playfully.

"it wasn't sarcasm. i was being serious," you said, trying to keep a straight face as you laughed.

"sure," she said, rolling her eyes before changing the subject. "i've been meaning to ask... what the hell do power rangers mean?"

you couldn't help but laugh, caught off guard. "oh god, that. they're like... codewords yunjin and i used to keep our relationship a secret."

"so there's more?" nien asked, clearly intrigued.

"yeah, we made a whole list. we came up with it for when we hung out with common friends," you explained.

"i have to see this list," nien said, sitting up with newfound determination.

"no way, that's shits embarrassing," you said, shaking your head.

"embarrassing? power ranger and simba are already cute! it can't be worse than that," she teased.

"we only used words that wouldn't come up in normal conversation," you said defensively.

"come on! i need to see how bad it gets," she said, moving closer to you, her excitement evident.

"it's safely locked away in my notes. you'll never see it," you declared, crossing your arms.

nien's eyes darted to your phone lying on the table. before you could react, she snatched it up, holding it toward your face to unlock it.

"really?" you said, unbothered at first, thinking it wouldn't work. but then, to your horror, it did.

"nien, no!" you yelled, jumping up as she opened your notes app and started scrolling.

"wait, you actually locked the note?" she laughed, dodging the pillow you threw at her.

"yes, because of people like you!" you shot back, chasing her around the room.

finally, the note opened, and nien grinned as she began to read. "power ranger: i want to be alone with you. simba: i'll miss you. aww, this would be so cute if she wasn't a cheating bitch. white ranger: let's talk later. nala: i need to tell you something..."

"stop reading them!" you whined, trying to grab your phone back as she kept it just out of reach.

"oh my god, i've heard these before! you two made it sound so casual," nien said, finally handing the phone back after reading the list.

"usually, we used them better, but she just used them to get us away from each other," you admitted with a sigh, slumping onto the couch.

"ah, so the plan is working," nien said, sitting next to you.

"yeah, she's pretty jealous of you for some reason," you said, laughing.

"she thinks i'm a threat," nien said smugly, clearly enjoying the thought.

"you're too cute to be a threat."

"what? i'm literally in the process of stealing you from yunjin," she said, moving closer to you.

"are you, though?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"do you doubt me?" nien asked, her voice low as she gently brushed your hair aside. she leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck. "so you're saying i couldn't steal you if i wanted to?"

you shook your head, staying still to see if she'd follow through.

she pressed her lips lightly against your neck, trailing soft kisses up to the corner of your mouth. "really?" she whispered again.

"i mean... maybe," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

at that, nien pulled back with a small, satisfied smile. though she wanted to go further, she didn't want to make you a cheater too.

as she leaned back, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"if you want, you could just spend the night," you offered, trying to play it cool despite your racing heart.

"are you sure?" nien asked, her eyes meeting yours.

"yeah, you should take the offer. i don't just let anyone stay over," you said with a smirk.

"how could i say no to that?" she replied, grinning.

Masterlist ــــــﮩ٨ـ Next

[tannedalien]

sypnosis: momo yoayorozu is the sugar mommy to our afab!reader and maybe it's like chappell roan core idk

i never see any love for my gurl momo cause she is so fine and the thought of her being dominant in general makes me foam at the mouth omg

warning: LESBIANS

You adjusted the strap of your designer bag, glancing nervously around the upscale café as you sipped on a latte that cost more than your usual weekly grocery budget. The rich, nutty aroma wafting from the porcelain cup reminded you just how out of place you felt. The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of fine china created a symphony of wealth and refinement, a world far removed from your own.

But this wasn’t just any ordinary café visit.

You were here to meet her—Momo Yaoyorozu. A woman whose name carried weight, whose wealth was practically legendary, and whose attention you somehow, miraculously, had captured.

It all started on a whim. A joke between friends spiralled into you creating a profile on a “dating” app that catered to wealthy women seeking younger companions. You never expected anyone to take you seriously, much less someone like Momo. And yet, here you were.

The moment she walked in, it was like the air shifted. Heads turned, conversations quieted, and for a second, it felt like time itself paused. Momo Yaoyorozu was elegance personified. Her long, jet-black hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her tailored burgundy coat hugged her figure perfectly. She radiated confidence, the kind that could only come from a life of privilege and refinement.

“Darling,” she said, her voice as smooth as velvet, as she approached your table. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

You stood up hastily, nearly knocking over your chair in your nervousness. “N-not at all! I just got here,” you stammered, your cheeks flushing as she leaned in to kiss your cheek.

Momo smiled warmly, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement as she took her seat. “Good. I’d hate to keep you waiting. You’re far too lovely for that.”

Her words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you quickly busied yourself with your latte, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way your hands trembled slightly.

The conversation flowed easily, despite your initial nerves. Momo had a way of making you feel at ease, her refined demeanour balanced by a surprising warmth and genuine interest in everything you had to say. She asked about your studies, your hobbies, and your dreams, her attention never wavering.

“You’re remarkable,” she said at one point, her tone sincere. “You have such a passion for life. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Me? Remarkable? You’re... you’re Momo Yaoyorozu. You’re practically a genius, not to mention one of the most influential people in the country. I’m just—”

“You’re far more than you give yourself credit for,” she interrupted gently, reaching across the table to take your hand. Her touch was soft, her fingers warm against your skin. “And I’d like to help you see that.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Help me… how?”

Momo’s lips curved into a small smile, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “By giving you the freedom to pursue your dreams without worrying about the things that hold you back. Consider it my investment in you.”

Her words hung in the air, the weight of her offer sinking in. You knew what she meant. This wasn’t just a casual date—it was an arrangement. She’d take care of you, spoil you, in exchange for your time, your company.

It was overwhelming, the idea of someone like her choosing someone like you. But as you looked into her eyes, you realised this wasn’t just about money or status. Momo saw something in you, something worth nurturing.

“Okay,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “But you might regret spoiling me. I can be a little… indulgent.”

Momo laughed, the sound rich and melodic. “Darling, I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”

The weeks that followed felt like a dream. Momo whisked you away to high-end boutiques, insisting you try on outfits that made you feel like you belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. She’d drape her arm around your shoulders as you walked down bustling city streets, unbothered by the whispers and stares.

Her affection wasn’t just material, though. She’d surprise you with thoughtful gestures—a bouquet of your favourite flowers, a handwritten note left in your bag, a quiet evening in her penthouse where she’d cook for you herself despite her insistence she wasn’t much of a chef.

One night, as you lay curled up on the sofa together, her fingers combing gently through your hair, you found yourself blurting out the thought that had been nagging at you since the beginning.

“Why me?”

Momo stilled for a moment, then tilted your chin up to meet her gaze. “Because you make me feel like more than just… all of this,” she said, gesturing vaguely around the luxurious penthouse. “You remind me what it’s like to live, to laugh, to be myself without expectations. I didn’t realise how much I needed that until I met you.”

Your chest tightened at her words, and you reached up to cup her face, your thumb brushing over her cheek. “You deserve that,” you said softly. “You deserve to be happy, Momo.”

“And so do you,” she replied, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

In that moment, surrounded by her warmth and the quiet hum of the city beyond the windows, you realised you weren’t just her sugar baby. You were hers, and she was yours.

[iwoulddieforher]

Here’s an ask! (For Casey x Alex obviously lol)

You’ve mentioned a couple times Casey tends to be self deprecating. How does Alex support her?

When/how does Alex realize Casey uses the batting cages/gym as an outlet (and takes it too far sometimes)? How does she handle it?

Oh! And while I’m on firsts! How about the first time Alex sees Casey in one of her shirts that say Cabot? (Loved the stealing clothes stuff btw!)

Thank you so much for the ask <333 I LOVE ASKS I LOVE TALKING GRAAHHHHH

This got hella long!!! Warnings for discussion of self harm, self hatred, blah blah blah and also implied sex below.

Have this picture of upset Casey (fittingly for what I ramble borderline incoherently about here) so the reply doesn't seem so short above the divider

It's always difficult for me to write more comforting interactions between the two, because as much as it feels natural to make them comfort each other to a really high degree, I want to keep the characterization provided by the show as closely as possible and thus despite my intrinsic urge to project the way I personally as an author want someone to treat me if I was in the high-stress scenario these two find themselves in, the reality of it is overt comforting probably would not work well on either of them. They're both strong, independent and emotionally resilient women- and the flaws they have oftentimes probably could not be directly addressed or they'd just withdraw and become defensive.

Thus, since Casey slips self-loathing comments into casual conversations, it always comes off more as a wry joke, and that's why other people such an Olivia or Elliot just assume she's poking fun at herself or venting frustration. Alex, too, initially perceives similar, but then she starts registering Casey's 'tells'. The way her hand flexes as though she wants to bite the fingernail on her thumb and has to consciously hold herself back from doing so, the way she refuses to make eye contact with anyone and if she is forcing herself to do so anyway her gaze is very blank because she's not actually looking, the angle of her shoulders and collarbones in relation to her spine- stupidly specific, intricately tiny things in Casey's body language that show, no, she's actually really stressed. When the correlation between these minor actions and Casey's comments jumping to a more frequent pattern emerges, Alex realizes this is actually an issue and although Casey conceals it by jesting she's being dead serious, she does believe she's unworthy of what she has or incapable or whatever else negative Casey believes about herself.

Since noticing it at all used such attention to detail and the actions are so minor they're unexplainable, Alex realizes that if she approached this issue head-on Casey would probably do a wonderful job at gaslighting her into believing she was making up problems, so she doesn't. Instead, she simply begins peppering praise and reassurance throughout daily interactions, enough that Casey realized it had increased but not much that she'd grow suspicious. Little things, like staring at Casey's figure for a little bit extra long so Casey would notice Alex was admiring, making sure to smile down at the legal notes Casey had asked her to review so when Casey studied her face intently while Alex read she'd know Alex was beyond proud of her, or just straight on whispering compliments into Casey's hair when they passed eachother in hallways.

Eventually, she did see Casey's deprecating comments decrease, and instead when Casey was stressed she subconsciously sought out Alex because she knew she'd find gentle praise and reassurance from her when Casey felt as though she was lacking.

I think your second ask is somewhat asking for a continuation of Softball to the Ribs (Kiss it), so I'll just talk about the storyline I would've written had I decided to make a next part (which I won't, all my fics exist solely as one-shots);; Alex finds out because Casey did tell her in the bathroom that it was a softball, she just didn't know the details of how the injury occurred. I think Casey would never tell her, Alex would find out from something like Life360/Find my Phone since it would make sense to me that at some point they start sharing locations due to the nature of their job. Casey vanishes for random hours at a time when she's grappling with heavy caseloads and Alex checks it to find her location as being at the batting cages. The first time she sees it she does nothing, she just makes sure a warm bath is already all set up for her when she comes home and drops by an Apotheke (what the hell is Apotheke in English????? nOt my language) to pick up muscle rub and then pretends she's initiating sex as an excuse to massage it into her. Casey is nonethewiser.

Eventually, though, when Casey has been gone too long or it's happened back to back on multiple days, Alex goes to the batting cages and sort of just sits in the corner with her legal notepad and despite being uncomfortable in the weird sporty setting proceeds to try to work there. Her presence is grounding for Casey and it makes her want to push herself less because she doesn't want Alex to watch her get hurt- and when Alex gets bored of faux scribbling random shit she just starts being the one who controls the batting cage so she can press the button to stop it if she thinks it's going too far.

Self-harm is a very difficult issue and I wrote Casey to be using exercise dependence as a means to do it, and I have a concern with many fics in which a character's romance causes them to suddenly lose interest in what is a destructive coping method, and I think at least in my experience that's unrealistic. Self harm is wildly addictive and Casey is dependant on this to make her feel as though she's coping with stress she otherwise can't, and although Alex would obviously love to step in and pull that feeling out of her, that's just... not how life works, most of the time. If it was something like cutting or burning one self, obviously that's an entirely different story, but where the line between healthy exercise and an overt dependence that leads to self destruction ... that's hard to differentiate at times. What athlete hasn't accidentally gotten injured? The same story could exist in which Casey uses exercise as a healthy method to deal with stress (literally in the show that's what it is.) and the whole thing happened by genuine accident if it wasn't for the fact Casey simultaneously wasn't eating. If her ribs weren't visible in that fic Alex probably wouldn't have known something was seriously wrong. But I wrote Casey as intentionally putting herself in positions in which the risk for it is very high, and not caring for herself after- but how could Alex read Casey's internal dialogue and draw the line somewhere? It's complicated.

Alex focuses, then, on fostering a nurturing, loving environment and accepting every part of Casey as she is.

She can't directly stop Casey from participating in sports but she does ensure Casey eats and sleeps to a healthy degree and if she realizes something like Casey skipping meals more than is normal for people with inconsistent work schedules she'll do something to make sure Casey gets the care she needs.

Eventually, through this environment and Alex's comfort, Casey can build the emotional skill set required to cope with stress adequately - that's the ultimate goal, because even if Alex did somehow twist exercise out of her grasp, there's always the possibility something in their relationship would break and Casey would fall straight back into it. Alex is smart enough to avoid that possibility.

Finally, the first time Alex realized Casey was wearing something of her's was one of the first times the accidental swapping of blazers occurred that I described in the other post. Alex had stopped by Casey's office with food during a lunch break and while they ate Casey extended her arm to reach for something, and Alex realized her name was on the sleeve. Cabot suddenly becomes very bothered and jumps Casey's bones the second they're somewhere more private because holy shit does the idea of Casey being her's and similarly labeled do something for her.

[marryinred]

Everything happened so quickly.

Lydia’s heart felt like it was about to burst forth out of her chest, like one of the little creatures in the Alien movies. The look of confusion and panic in Barbara’s eyes almost pained her to see. She tried to explain, but Barbara just wouldn’t let the young woman speak. At the scent of cigarette smoke, Lydia sought out its source–Juno, seated casually on the edge of her bed. Barbara immediately went silent as she took notice of the woman as well, her curls bouncing as she whirled her head around to see the older ghost.

Distantly, Lydia registered the sound of a door slamming and heavy footsteps against the staircase before her door flung open, relief instantly washing over her as Byron appeared. After shutting and locking the door behind himself, he immediately stalked across the room to be at Lydia’s side, his arms circling around her in a protective embrace. Barbara’s jaw dropped and with wide, amazed eyes, she simply watched in abject horror as Byron’s disguise flickered away, leaving the form of the bio exorcist that had tormented them years ago. She didn’t even hear the conversation–all she saw was sweet little Lydia, her mortal daughter, wrapped in the arms of a monster.

After a beat of silence, Barbara found her voice. “Lydia… WHAT is going on here? I need you to explain this!” Her dark eyes flicked to Juno, then, and she pointed in the older ghost woman’s direction with an accusatory finger. “You too!” She called out, the anger in her voice evident. Sandworm wrangler that she was, Barbara had no fear of whatever authority Juno might have wielded. Not when it came to Lydia. “Adam and I thought you had taken care of him–why is he with her? Why isn’t he locked up in the Netherworld, away from all of us? That’s where he belongs! Don’t you remember what he did–what he tried to do?!” 

Having heard his wife’s distressed, raised voice, a knock came at the door, and Adam’s concerned voice rang through. “Barbara, honey? Lydia? What’s going on?” The knob rattled. “Why is the door locked?” 

Lydia’s shoulders bunched with tension as she pressed her cheek against the lapel of Betelgeuse’s jacket. They’re going to take him away from me, she thought to herself as the panic built. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that wouldn’t happen–but even the fear of him being torn away from her for whatever reason was the greatest threat she could imagine. Lydia wasn’t sure what happened then–if Barbara unlocked the door, or perhaps it was Betelgeuse with a wave of his hand, or even Juno–but the door was thrown open, Adam shuffling in in a panicked hurry. His spectacled eyes caught sight of Betelgeuse immediately. 

Reaching up to adjust his glasses, Adam took in the scene unfolding around him–his beloved wife Barbara, looking enraged and ready to attack the poltergeist. Juno continued to sit comfortably on the edge of Lydia’s bed, a long and skinny cigarette clutched between her boney fingers. She looked as if she’d rather be filing an eternity’s worth of paperwork than dealing with any bit of this nonsense. Finally, he took a moment to truly study the focal point, the epicenter of this mess–Lydia and Betelgeuse.

The ghost’s arms wrapped around Lydia like two striped boa constrictors–one wrapped firmly around her waist and the other gently cradling her head against his chest. He only barely registered the presence of the others in the room; his entire focus was on the young woman pressed against him. Lydia looked ready to run like a scared rabbit, her eyes tightly closed as she tried to steady her nervous heartbeat. She finally opened her dark honey-colored eyes to see Adam, and the expression on her face could only be described as pleading. 

Silence stretched on for what felt like forever, until Barbara’s passionate voice cut through the air once again. “Adam, he’s here with her–they’re together! We can't let this happen!” She whipped her head to face Juno again. “Did you know about this?!”

The panic that was tightening in her chest began to subside the very moment Betelgeuse embraced her.  Lydia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as he placed a gentle kiss against the top of her head. She gazed adoringly at him as he gave Barbara what-for, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that began to play at the corners of her mouth.

God, I love him, she thought to herself.  

Barbara, however, stood completely still, her chocolate brown eyes wide as dinner plates. Adam, too, was shocked, his jaw gone slack in awe at how this complete stranger was speaking to them as if he knew them. 

But he was passionately defending Lydia, and wouldn’t he do the very same for Barbara? Adam took note of the man’s gentle nature as he silently comforted Lydia, and how the young woman completely melted into his arms. He saw how Byron’s hand gripped Lydia’s shoulder–soft, yet with an undertone of possessiveness. As a man, he read the body language easily. It screamed “She’s mine, and you’re hurting her. This is a warning.”

Byron’s spiel ended as Charles appeared in the doorway, blissfully ignorant of what had just transpired between everyone. There was a moment of terribly awkward silence as they just stood there, not knowing how to react. 

“Oh! Uhm! I changed my mind!” Delia called out, her voice cracking a bit. She immediately started bringing out skillets and placing them on top of the stove. “How does sausage, eggs, and bacon sound? Hm? Want some toast as well? There’s orange juice in the refrigerator!” 

Lydia smiled inwardly and gave her dad a good morning kiss on the cheek. She lead Byron into the living room to sit for a bit, just so she could decompress after what had just happened. Barbara’s eyes followed them all the while, until Charles and Adam began exchanging pleasantries. 

“Thank you,” Lydia whispered, her hand finding Betelgeuse’s and giving it a tight squeeze. 

[neverbelessthan]

I just read someone’s hot take on ‘the mermaid scene’ being ‘peak cringe’ and I just-

Sweet, sweet human. That’s Ed’s psyche you’re taking about. My dude is having his life flash before his eyes in the most beautiful little heartbreaking s1 montage, and if that’s how he wants to picture Stede coming to redeem his lonely fucking soul - as a glittery goddamn tits-out merman, then that’s HIS GODDAMN BUSINESS.

[its-murderous-business]

Sometimes I wonder why people think im a buzzkill and then I hear myself talk at social gatherings and I go oh yeah. That tracks actually.

[welcometoteyvat]

xingqiu should meet heizou they’d bond over uptight older brothers, a strong sense of justice and being second sons who are pushed to take on their family or father’s line of work 

mr light novelist goes over to inazuma and, while performing acts of chivalry for the common people, meets an easy breezy detective with whom he gets along surprisingly well—heizou seems to know quite a lot about him! rather uncanny, but he supposes it’s all part of what a good detective should be able to deduce. maybe he can use this material to improve his writing—he’ll finally be able to master writing a good mystery novel! except there seems to be more to this handsome young detective than meets the eye... this is delightful! xingqiu will get to the bottom of this puzzle, and perhaps discover something about himself in the meantime....

[monsieurdetalleyrand]

"Historians who wished to study the archives of the Imperial police must have hated you for this huge bonfire." ((author's note: YES WE DO))

To say his love life had been hectic would be an understatement. Like a butterfly flying from flower to flower, he had spent his life tasting the pleasures of the flesh without ever lingering, without thinking of choosing a companion with whom to spend the rest of his life. He had married Catherine out of obligation, because she was from a very good family and was expecting a child from him. The beautiful Dorothée had pleasantly accompanied and enlivened the last years of his life with her unparalleled beauty and intellect. But it was his solitude he needed to fill, not his heart. She herself had had a lover and two children with a lover while they were married. Talleyrand's love life was a missed appointment.

And what about his children? Ah. Fouché, a notoriously caring and present father figure preoccupied with the happiness of his offspring, probably had a very strong opinion of Talleyrand's ability to love his children. His children, who didn't bear his name, were scattered, uprooted, and for some had never even known who their actual father was.

"I always made sure that my children lacked nothing and suffered no differential treatment. I kept a close eye on each and every one of them. And I was crazy about my little Charlotte. But believe me, if they were content, if life gave them a few moments of happiness to cherish, if their minds developed so healthily, it was because they were far away from my influence. Staying away from the plague is the least likely way to catch it. And what if..."

He paused, hesitating to speak his mind. But something deep inside him urged him to be sincere for once.

"What if my sons had turned out like me?"

He said it with a laugh, faking casualness. But something in the wavering of his voice betrayed the genuine fear he'd had as he imagined looking at Charles or Eugène and finding himself facing a reflection of the monster he was.

Fortunately, the tone quickly became lighter again and he was able to regain control of the conversation on less uncertain ground.

"Ah, my dear, that was completely necessary. Exaggeration is encouraged, even expected. That is the difference between flattery and a simple compliment: the intention behind it."

Fouché was generally good at hiding his true thoughts and true feelings behind courteous coolness or tired indifference. But the body and the swings explained by the humoral theory never lied. He was bright red, like the coat he wore in his most famous painting. Talleyrand's satisfaction was so perceptible that it almost could take on a material form.

But very quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That Fouché didn't think of himself as a handsome was one thing. That he considered himself an idiot was quite siomething else. There was only one rational explanation for this strange and sudden devaluation.

"I disconcerted you."

It wasn't a question but a statement. He tilted his head, analyzing the effect of his words on Fouché like a painter admires his masterpiece once he's finished it.

"Interesting."

[@serpentofotranto]

@monsieurdetalleyrand & @serpentofotranto

————————⁘•⁘————————

Oh. So that's your conversational partner. Yeah, this might get weird. You might try to maintain some civility, you might simply remain deeply cold to each other, or perhaps your potentially mutual dislike of your partner will prove to be too strong to resist, resulting in some form of argument.

Please use this thread to converse - or argue - with your partner. If you're stuck, we'd recommend starting with your reaction to realising who your partner is.

————————⁘•⁘————————

OOC Considerations:

Please converse with your partner in this thread. Do not post in other specific pairing threads you are not tagged in - if you would like to address someone else (or stare pleadingly at a friend for help), you can use the general table thread.

While our characters will be aware of appropriate manners in this situation, it's up to you whether or not they maintain civility given their present circumstances. Arguments, tension and awkwardness are all encouraged, just don't get too disruptive like setting the place on fire or something.

Don't take in-character actions personally. We're literally sitting people who hate each other together for the explicit purpose of observing the resulting carnage. Rudeness in-character does not reflect out-of-character feelings.

As I'm sure we're all aware, we are humans with lives, and it's okay if you can't respond immediately to everything. So long as there is some amount of conversation we can call it a success.

These threads can run for as long as you want to keep them running. While officially the event lasts for 4 weeks, if you have a good thread going on you are absolutely welcome to continue it past that time.

If your partner has disappeared (or not appeared to begin with), feel free to communicate with others through the general table thread. Conversations had here are considered separate to the (in-character) private ones in the designated threads.

Enjoy!

[causticsunshine]

been working on some photo studies in the hopes that perfecting my rendering skills and the like will help me finish more pieces and idk if i suddenly got really good at painting faces or what but god i’m doing something right with this one study and i can only hope it means something good for my art

tbh most of the art i scrapped the last few years—which was mostly the 1d pieces i lost rip 😔—i scrapped because i didn’t like how i painted the faces so?? yeah i really hope. the tide is turning

[frozenambiguity]

Very long Initial thoughts and first impressions on the Caribert Archon Quest in the tags. Spoiler alert!!

[incognit0slut]

Hypothetically

Chronically single, you suggest a pact with your best friend to start a family together when you turn forty.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x bau fem reader

Category: fluff/comfort

Warnings: marriage and baby talk, reader is insecure because she feels left out

A/n: This is my entry for the kid fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins! This was like a breath of fresh air from all the smut I’ve been writing

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

The scalding coffee burned his tongue as your question lingered in the air. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his chest, his eyes drifting towards you. "Uh... what?"

"Hypothetically," you replied, the tap of your pen echoing against the round table between you. "It's like a pact. If we're both still single in the future, we get married to one another and, well, start a family together."

Spencer felt the clamminess of his palms as he set his mug down, trying to steady himself. He considered you as one of the closest people in his life, if not his best friend, and he was accustomed to your random questions, but this sudden topic of conversation seemed to strike a nerve.

"Where..." he began, wiping his palm along his pants. "...where is this coming from?"

You shrugged casually, the tapping of your pen momentarily ceasing. "Just a thought. I mean, we're both at that age where these things start to cross our minds, right?"

Spencer swallowed, trying to push down the unease rising in his chest. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, but as he studied you, he noticed the tension in your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze flickered away for a moment before you sighed, slumping against your chair.

"I have a wedding coming up this weekend." Spencer frowned, not understanding what you were trying to say. You continued, "And another one next week, and guess what? Two of my cousins are getting married next month."

"What does that have to do with...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see."

But you weren't finished. Somehow, the thoughts that had lingered in your mind for the past few days spilled out right then and there, in the middle of broad daylight when you were supposed to be focusing on the case you were working on.

"And a close friend I went to high school with just gave birth while another friend from college announced she's two months pregnant. And look at me," you exclaimed, your arms flying around. "No wedding. No pregnancy. Spencer, I don't even have a boyfriend, heck, I forgot what it's like to go out on a date!"

He watched as your brow furrowed into a frown, and although your demeanor was all over the place, he couldn't help but notice how you still managed to look pretty.

"Spence?" You asked, nudging his leg with your foot under the table. "Are you listening to me?"

He blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts by your voice. "Sorry," he replied. "I'm listening."

You gave him a skeptical look, but the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you leaned back in your chair.

"I just... I don't know, I feel like I'm left behind." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I'm happy for my friends and all, but sometimes it feels like everyone's moving forward but me. Like I'm stuck in this... this rut."

Spencer wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he knew how it felt to want something that seemed out of reach, but on the other hand, he felt like it wasn't his place to offer advice when he wasn't even sure what the future held for him.

"I get it," he finally said, trying to gather his thoughts. The least he could do was try to offer some comfort. "But just because you haven't reached those milestones yet doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."

"But what if it doesn't happen? What if I'm still all alone and nobody loves me when I'm gray and old?"

He frowned at you. "I'd still love you when you're gray and old."

"Platonically. You love me as much as you love JJ. Or Emily. Or Penny, or even Morgan." You leaned over the table. "I want to be loved passionately by someone who is head over heels for me, who can't imagine a life without me. I want to feel that kind of happiness."

His frown deepened. "I don't think you should find happiness in another person."

"You're missing the point," you groaned, crossing your arms. "I'm not saying I want to depend on someone else for my happiness. But is it too much to ask for someone to share it with? To feel like I'm someone's everything and not just another friend in the group?"

His expression softened as he listened, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He remembered feeling the same thing once, or maybe more than once; he wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times he felt his life was falling short.

But he realized the more he thought about the why—why was he so different? why couldn't he find love?—the more he felt worthless, and he hated that. So what was the best thing he did to ignore those thoughts?

Bury himself in work, because to him, pushing those feelings aside was easier than confronting them. But now, as he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing his own reflection and your words hit him harder than he expected.

"No," he quietly agreed. "It's not too much to ask for."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm tired of waiting for life to happen to me." Your gaze slowly met his. "So I came up with a plan."

His throat felt dry as he recalled how this conversation started in the first place. "The... baby plan?"

You nodded enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Think about it. If we're both still single when we're..." You paused, furrowing your brow as you did a quick calculation. "Forty? Yeah, let's say we're both still single when we're forty, with no partners, or like, no friends with benefits?"

You shook your head.

“Just... with no one in our lives—we get married. You and me."

He blinked, trying to process your proposal. It was unexpected, to say the least, but there was a strange logic to it that he couldn't quite shake. The idea of marrying his best friend as a backup plan was both absurd and oddly comforting.

"But what about... love?" he asked cautiously. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

You paused, considering his question before responding. "I mean, I don't think it's impossible," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Marry your best friend'?"

His gaze lingered on you, his heart beating hard against his chest. "You're saying that we can fall in love?"

Your eyes met his, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Who knows?" you replied softly. "Stranger things have happened."

Spencer shouldn't entertain the possibility. After all, who knew what could happen in the future? It seemed like an absurd thought, but as he stared at you, it was hard not to imagine a life with you as his wife.

He imagined you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on your face. He pictured you both in the house you had just bought, dancing joyfully around the empty rooms as you unpacked boxes together.

Then thoughts of you being pregnant with his child—or maybe even children—filled his mind, and he envisioned a future where your kids would run around in the backyard with a pet dog trailing behind.

And then he considered the prospect of growing old with you, watching as your children eventually started families of their own while you found comfort in each other's company. All of these possibilities didn't seem so bad, because if anyone could understand him on a deep level, it was definitely you.

Maybe this crazy plan of yours wasn't so crazy after all.

"I... I guess it's not impossible," he finally admitted. Then, not wanting to seem too eager, he added, "Hypothetically speaking."

"Of course," you replied with a smile. "Hypothetically speaking."

Suddenly feeling flustered by your gaze, Spencer looked away and focused on his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Then you heard laughter and footsteps drawing closer, and soon Derek and Emily entered the room. Their eyes immediately landed on the two of you, sitting closely together at the table.

"What are you children whispering about?" Derek's voice interrupted, his eyebrows raised curiously as he glanced between you.

You didn't miss a beat. “Spencer and I are having a baby together."

Spencer choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed and sputtered. You quickly moved to pat his back.

"Well, we're gonna get married first, right, Spence?" you added with a grin, glancing at him expectantly.

Spencer finally managed to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shot you a sideways glance. "Um, yeah, of course," he stammered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment. "Hypothetically."

Derek and Emily exchanged bemused glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Emily's curiosity seemed to win out as she lifted a hand, turning her attention back to you. "Care to explain?"

"We were discussing our backup plan."

"Backup plan?" Derek echoed. 

"Yeah," you replied with a nod. "In case neither of us finds the right person by the time we're, oh, I don't know, forty or so, we figured we'd marry each other and start a family."

Derek placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. "And you chose Pretty Boy over me?"

"I'm not going to compete with all your lady friends," you shot back, rising from your seat. "Come on, Spence, let's grab some lunch and brainstorm baby names."

He stood up, giving you a pointed look.

"Or do you want to discuss how we'd make those babies in the future?"

"Well, I was thinking of Amelia if it's a girl..."

You grinned, linking your arm through his before guiding him towards the door. Derek and Emily observed the natural closeness between you two, how you were practically clinging to him and how he seemed to be comfortable with it.

Derek turned to Emily as you disappeared down the hallway. "Do you think they'd actually get married when they hit forty?"

Emily shook her head. "Nope," she replied confidently. "I give it a year until he's already down on one knee."

He laughed, nodding in agreement. With the way Spencer's gaze lingered on you with unmistakable affection, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.