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januaryembrs · 8 months ago

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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”

“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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witchywithwhiskey · 1 month ago

Text

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen.

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit.

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow.

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow.

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening.

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you.

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway.

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat.

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older.

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well.

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck.

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger.

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face.

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks.

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them.

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown.

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers.

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives.

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything.

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead.

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same.

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.”

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night.

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss.

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done.

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?”

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout.

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed.

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends.

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer.

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market.

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was.

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze.

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it.

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.”

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly.

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared.

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again.

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question.

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found.

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him.

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.”

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear.

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?”

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin.

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him.

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth.

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan.

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips.

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face.

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show.

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter.

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire.

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening.

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile.

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm.

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in.

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve.

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest.

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you.

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him.

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer.

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera.

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.”

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest.

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word.

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans.

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly.

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater.

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight.

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye.

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure.

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal.

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release.

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release.

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome.

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet.

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep.

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours.

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?”

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock.

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you.

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening.

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand.

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed.

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you.

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist.

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop.

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss.

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something.

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away.

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock.

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body.

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer.

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always.

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question.

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took.

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust.

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply.

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned.

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt.

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts.

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips.

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing.

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt.

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear.

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else.

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head.

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning.

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.”

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek.

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse.

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked.

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss.

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin.

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday.

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together.

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #navy and roo's sleepover #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers au #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #witchywithwhiskeywork #december daze #friends to lovers

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frmisnow · 5 months ago

Text

1:37AM : BAROLO ! - (nsfw)

summary. you had been avoiding your ceo as best as you could after the intimate drunk meeting you had shared, so what do you do now when you both are forced on a business trip?

notes. second chapter! hope y'all enjoy🍷✶𝄞

warnings/includes. (3.3k words / smut!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x f! employee! reader, smoking (reader's first time), masturbation heavely implied, fingering, giving m. head, pussy eating, drunk!!!, tad bit of angst at end

"we didn't sleep together, you fell asleep on my coach, i wasn't going to take advantage of you"

his words from a few days ago remain firmly in your head. you had done so good at avoiding him: taking the long way to not walk by his office, instantly running off to god knows where when you saw him - only for the very man you've been dodging so well, to ask you to go on a business trip to milan.

the flight was quiet.

the only thing that was hearable was the sound of a lighter getting light up every hour or so. he smoked.

it was his private jet after all, you didn't blame him. your mind trails off to your ex once more, you had thought you had managed to get rid of him in your mind completely, but he always managed to sneak back in.

he resented smoking, called smokers 'self-indulged assholes' if they did it in public. he was the kind of man who thought the world revolved around sheerly him, to think that another person would calmly invade said-world with a bit of smoke, was beyond unforgivable for him.

you glance towards jungkook, taking in the calm assurance in his eyes as he takes another slow puff. he seemingly notices your stare, his tone soothing, "do you want one?"

you physically feel your ex trying to pull the hand you're reaching out to take what jungkook offered, back. but he doesn't succeed, you win. you had never smoked before, you go based of what you've seen in pop culture. lightning, drag, wasn't it?

you can visably see jungkook fighting a smile while he reaches out for the cig, hanging it between his very own lips as he leans forward in his seat, one of his hands gently guiding your fingers so the cigarette was now in between your own plush lips

you slowly breathe, the smoke stinging your lungs and making you cough. he lets out a tsk, clicking his tongue disapprovingly as he looks at you from under his eyelashes, "inhale deeper," the voice not mad, more like gentle scolding.

the hotel room was mostly quiet, besides the soft hum of the AC and the faint noises of the dazzling city through the open window. you both had shared a few more words earlier, incrediably vague, until you parted ways to your respective rooms.

you couldn't quite fall asleep, you blamed it on loud milan when you in reality couldn't stop thinking about his fingers which had been on your lips, your fingers trace over them, imagining his tattoed ones doing just that. you had to ask him what the history behind those was, next time. next time?

your hands wander to your tits, where his eyes had lingered more then once if your memory didn't fail you. and you imagine his hand wrapping around yours, guiding you.

"i want you," the words you had whispered against his mouth replay in your head multiple times.

just as your fingers trailed further, there was an abrupt knock on the door. you glance at your phone: it's 1:37 a.m.

as you open the door you see a image of your boss, you haven't quite seen yet. jungkooks hair is visabily messed up, his shirt loose around the neckline. "couldn't sleep," he mumbles, his tone sounding almost like an confession, he shouldn't say, "do you want to take a walk with me?"

you give in, you don't want to give much thought into how weird it was for a boss to ask his employee out on a walk at almost 2am.

the uber drops you off at a 24hr shop which seemed out of part for the milan you've seen so far (through car windows)

"if you want a snack or a smoke or something," he looks at you, "and then we walk"

you don't know what prompts you to say, "wine" with so much confidence but you do regardless. please make me feel like that night, i want you the words linger in your head shortly, words you'd never say out loud.

if he's surprised he didn't show it, moreover he looked satisfied, pleased with your answer. and that's exactly what you liked about jungkook: he knew how to read the room. did he hear you touch yourself? maybe. did he mention it? no.

he leads you deeper into the store, towards the back where there were rows of alcoholic beverages, the lights dim. he moves to stand behind you, his chest almost touching your back, as he reaches to grab a bottle of barolo from a high shelf.

the music in the background is some indie tune, you had heard before, you nod your head along to the sound absentmindedly.

you can see him smile at the corner of your eye, not a smile that was mocking or finding something funny, more filled with general admiration.

"you like this song?" he asks, his voice quiet, nearly a whisper almost as if it was a secret while he placed the bottle down to the cashiers table, pulling out his card, black.

you nod with a genuine smile.

you end up settling down on a bench in a nearby park, opening the bottle. you sit crosslegged, looking over the park at night, genuinely intrested, "so what music do you like?"

"i like...indie stuff, mostly," jungkook responds, turning his head to look at you, the light night breeze running over his hair, "but i have a soft spot for a few italian punk rock songs from when i was younger."

"ever seen any of them live?" you ask, taking a sip from the bottle, "y'know you are in milan after all"

he can firmly smell your perfume. the same one that had stuck to his coach for days which made it simply unbearable to sit on it, without thinking about you.

jungkook laughs, the sound soft, almost as if it wasn't entirely voluntary. he runs a hand through his hair, the ends just falling back into his face. "no," he says, tilting his head back a little, "i haven't."

"maybe you should," you respond casually. you don't know why you were giving such tips to a business man with a multi-million empire to his knees. did he even have time to go to silly little concerts? what kind of life did he live?

he laughs again, you loved the sweet sound of it, "maybe i should," raising the bottle to drink once more, "would you go with me?"

you reach out to take another large sip, you need some more alcohol in your system to answer him, "maybe"

he watches you intently as you reach for the bottle again, his eyes flickering to your throat as you tilt your head back to drink.

"maybe," he says again, smiling to himself, "that's so vague of you, maybe."

handing the bottle back to you, repeating, "maybe," his voice teasing.

you repeat the same word once more as you both laugh. you can feel the alcohol begin to warm you from the inside, the feeling of slight dizziness setting in.

meanwhile he's looking at you, his eyes wandering over your face, resting on your mouth, the way your lips are tinted red from drinking the wine.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you mutter though your tone grazed on something reminding a joke. stupid fucking question.

jungkook's smile remains if not widening while he moves closer, "how am i looking at you?"

"like you want to fuck me," you mumble, chuckling at your words like it was a ridiciulous thought on it's own.

"does that bother you," he whispers, his voice low, his words just a little bit slurred from the alcohol, "knowing i want you like that."

you raise your eyebrows, taking another sip, "so you're admitting it?"

jungkook raises his eyebrows, copying your movement, a lazy, almost cocky smile on his face. he grabs the bottle from your hand, raising it to his lips, drinking a mouthful of wine, holding eye contact with you as he does. and you're convinced he wants to see you dead.

he hands the bottle back to you, his smile still present on is face, "yes," he says, his voice low, the sounds almost like a soft moan, "I'm admitting it."

"you're actually so sexy when you're like this," you respond, clearly just as intoxicated as he was. 'like this' when you are not scolding me for not bringing the right documents, is the part you leave out.

he laughs, louder if that wasn't the alcohol talking. "sexy when I'm drunk," he teases, his words slurred, "is that it?"

"maybe," you babble which just makes the both of you giggle again.

he takes the bottle out of your hand, setting it down on the ground, the empty glass making a small clinking sound as it hits the concrete.

"you're drunk," he says, his words still a little slurred, the sound teasing, "i think you need to shut up."

you grin at this man's sheer audacity, replying, "i think you need to learn how to take a compliment properly"

jungkook just moves closer, not responding for a few seconds until you were so close that your noses touched, "you like compliments?"

he practically makes you lie down on that damn uncomfortable bench, "you want me to tell you how sexy you are? cause i will"

"i won't fuck you on a bench, kook"

"i never get to be just kook," he mumbles, something reminding a pout on his face, an adorable sight. "i'm always boss, or sir."

you don't know how to respond, you want him to be kook to you but that is something that is practically out of your control. so you moan.

you can hear jungkook say something — something about the city, something aboout the driver's taste of music? the words slip through your head as soon as they are said and all you manage to do is laugh.

the car feels to fast, milan is way to blurry and for a second you seriously ask yourself if you had taken any drugs. jungkooks hand slides over your thigh as you tilt your head, letting out a breathy chuckle.

the chuckle turns into a suppressed moan as his fingers brush over your underwear. you can barerly think straight, dare tell him to stop though you wouldn't even want to, even if you could.

you nod or at least try to; you didn't know why in the first place, it’s hard to tell if your head is moving or if you’re just imagining it. your eyes are half-closed, barely able to focus on his face, but you can feel his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties, brushing against your slick, aching core. "you're so wet f' me"

you make a mental note to rate the uber driver five stars later, because of the sheer noises that man had to hear. you were incrediably grateful for the music covered it up at least a bit.

just as you were about to cum, the car came to a sharp stop. the poor driver's voice pulls you back to reality, announcing you've arrived to the hotel.

jungkook brings his juiced fingers to his lips, licking them with a small 'pop' noise. for a second you actually consider pushing him onto the dirty ground in front of the hotel and fucking him right then but you regain compusure through a groan.

you both stumble through the lobby if you saw it properly one of the large clocks showed it was 2:51am but there was a big chance that your eyes were fooling you.

he practically pushes you towards the elevator as the door closes, jungkook looks adorably confused at all the various floor buttons, his finger unsurerly moving from one to the other.

"don't think," you pull him closer by his shirt while jungkook's hands instantly craddle your face, no thoughts in his head. you press as many random buttons as you could while he presses his lips onto yours.

his hands get tangled in your hair, he pulls you even closer as if he wants to breathe your soul in, moaning into your mouth.

the elevator opens with a little 'ding' and you have to look around to see if it's the right floor, you had surprisingly gotten lucky. the hallway lights automatically turn on at your movement, they feel way to bright.

you both reach the door of his room as he fumbles with they keycard, trying to slide it into the lock, cursing under his breath whilst you laugh. the door refuses to open which just makes him release a giggle, cute very untypical, "how do these even work"

logicaly he should be a man who has opened multiple hotel doors like this before but it was most certaintly the alcohol in his system that made everything a bit to fuzzy to handle. jungkook finally manages to slide the card into the door, the light turning green with a small click.

he pulls you with him, tugging you towards the bed, his movements messy as he almost falls once on his way. flopping down onto the covers, pulling you on top so you're straddling him.

it's a pretty view, him under you. he really did look hypnotized in a way whilst you ran your fingers over his facial features, they are not as rough as you thought, on closer inspection.

"you got to many clothes on," you mumble, removing your own shirt and shorts in a clumsy haste.

"then take them off"

you grin, your fingers moving to his shirt to pull it over his head, the action surprisingly slow and tender though it was probably the wine making your mind all foggy.

jungkook looks up to you like you are the moon and the sun, his eyes droopy, his words a stark contrast to his loving gaze, "you're taking to long, c'me here"

"you are in no position to give me orders," you reply, working on his pants.

his head falls back against the sheets, the smile on his face evident, "i think i am, i'm the big, mean boss man"

big, mean boss man - that's how you need to save him in your contacts, you chuckle at the thought, pulling away his boxers. his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing with need.

"shut up or no head," you don't wait for his response, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss onto the tip before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste and texture.

jungkooks hands tighten in your hair, guiding you with a mix of need and tenderness while he bucks his hips. you move your head up and down with precision, taking him deeper with each passing minute.

he curses, curses in a manner you've never seen a man like him do. and you feel a sense of pride in knowing that you have this man practically wrapped around your finger or better said — mouth.

his release is sweet, warm. you swallow each drop especially when he asks you to clean him up, you lick it all off. here and there you look up to him with your lashes and he moans each time.

you can firmly feel something shift in the air when you release him with that little 'pop' noise, reminding of how he left you without an orgasm in that damn uber. at least you had made him cum.

following, he gently pushes you onto the bed. you look over to your right, evidently amused noticing a closed wine bottle on his night desk. perhaps it automatically came with the hotel, it seemed expensive.

a hazy thought lingers in your mind, a blend of the lack of sleep and the alcohol still coursing through your veins. you reach out for the bottle, fingers grasping the cool, smooth glass.

with a tipsy giggle you uncork the wine, bringing it to your lips to get a quick taste before ultimately pouring about a good one third of it over your tits.

you can barerly make out jungkook's face, why did you mind seem so hazy? but you can hear his words, "you're a mess" his tone isn't insulting rather he says it like it was a just a mere fact.

but he calmly licks the liquid of you with the same ease as you had done with his cum.

“such a fucking mess,” he repeats, his words softer now, almost affectionate, as he sucks his way down the curve of your tit, "my mess"

his hands wrap around your thighs, putting them on his shoulders. he raises his eyebrows at your state, "all for me?" it sounded like a question though it was clear he didn't expect an answer — he certaintly didn't wait for one either.

the feeling of his hot, wet tongue against your core is a stark contrast to the coldness of the wine-soaked skin in combination with the ac, creating a delicious tension that had you whining for more.

jungkook’s hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he works his mouth over you, each flick of his tongue and suck of his lips calculated to drive you to the edge of sanity. he alternates between gentle, teasing licks and more aggressive, demanding sucks, making sure you’re fully engulfed in pleasure, one way or another.

jungkook eats you out like it's a part of his job, with much care and ease. an grunt or a groan vibrating against you more often then not.

his name slips over your tongue multiple times, and you would've been embarrassed for your porn-like moans if it wasn't for the release washing over you.

it falls over you in one motion and it would've felt like to much if it weren't for jungkook: jungkook, who's fingers wander over your thighs and tummy gently as if trying to bring you back on earth. jungkook, who gives you all the time in the world and whispers reassuring little sweet nothings against the sensitive skin.

when he sees you're somewhat ready to function again, his arms softly lie you onto him, one of his hands working through your hair attentively while his other reached out and lit up a cigarette.

the room has a special scent — wine, sex cigs.

jungkook takes slow, deliberate drags as you trace patterns over his chest, circles, hearts. his fingers absentmindely moving to lightly drum over your back while he takes another hit.

“want a puff?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, and without thinking, you nod, your brain swimming in a delightful stupor. he brings the cigarette to your lips, and you take a tentative drag, the smoke filling your lungs.

“breathe it in, babe” he murmurs, the nickname slipping from his lips like a forbidden secret. “like you did before.”

you do as he says, managing it properly this time as he gives you an approving hum instantly going in for a kiss.

you wake up with sunlight on your face, your first instinct is to smile, the curtains were open, did you forget to close them yesterday?

but as your senses sharpen, you realize something. something: or rather, someone is pressed against you. panic bubbles inside you as you register that jungkook lies beneath you, deep asleep, a peaceful smile grazing his face.

what had you done?

thankfully you remembered everything, though it was much more a curse then a blessing. you hadn’t wanted to cross this line.

there was no future here — he only desired you when you were both drunk.

and what was even worse was that you actually felt your heart clench when you looked at his clueless, oblivious face.

you wanted, no- you needed to disappear before the reality of this situation hits the both of you. it was a dick-move but that was what he had done that night, wasn't it?

but just as you begin to shift, a low, sleepy murmur escapes his lips, and he stirs beneath you. his eyes flutter open, a lazy smile making it's way onto his lips as he registers you on top of him, blissfully unaware of your inner conflict.

"good morning, babe," he reaches forward to brush one strand of yours behind your ear, you were convinced there was nothing currently working behind those eyes, "did you sleep well?"

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd , @1-in-abillion , @ahgasegotarmy116 , @copycat-namjesus , @malkaimoon , @geminiml95 , @taiwan0618 , @jungkookfics , @rrosiitas , @stuti2904

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mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1854 - could it be love?

chapter summary: You meet Logan, a young man who is briefly stopping by in New York City. Despite both of your better judgments, you quickly realize that perhaps there's nothing wrong with falling in love.

word count: 22.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: ahh!! welcome to this new series! i'm very excited to start this journey with all of y'all! just a note, when i say 'character death(s)' in the warnings it means that reader is going to die at the end of every chapter. that's the entire premise of this series, which was inspired by the 11th doctor and clara (iykyk). but first, we have a lot of time to cover before we even reach the first x-men movie so strap in!

i also didn't mean for this to be as long as it is, oops

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, slow burn, illness, character deaths

series masterlist → chapter 2

You didn’t necessarily love your job, but it was better than other options available for you. You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the sidewalk of New York City, horses neighing and wheels rattling on the brick street.

The bonnet on your head protected you from the sun beating down, keeping you from further heat in your dress. You had many things to do while you were out, get the children some new clothes and toys, buy some groceries, and buy some extra cloth for when you eventually had to sew their clothing.

As you passed by a small shop, you paused, peering in through the window. A few wooden toys sat on the shelf inside, simple and sturdy. Perfect for the boys. You pushed the door open, a little bell jingling as you entered, and you made your way toward the display.

"Can I help you, miss?" The shopkeeper’s voice startled you, but you smiled politely.

"Just looking for some toys," you replied, eyes scanning the shelves.

As you picked up a carved wooden horse, the door opened again behind you, letting in a bit of fresh air and a man’s heavy footsteps. You didn’t pay it much mind until you felt a presence nearby, a little too close for comfort. You turned slightly, catching sight of a tall man with dark hair and an unshaven face, dressed in a rough shirt and worn pants, a bit out of place among the polished streets of the city.

He glanced your way, his sharp eyes catching yours for a brief moment before he looked back to the shelves.

Something about him felt different—dangerous, but not in the way that made you want to run. More like it pulled you in, made you curious.

You turned back to the toys, but your mind kept wandering back to the stranger standing nearby. You couldn’t help but glance his way again.

"Those are good for little ones," the man said, his voice rough but casual. He nodded at the toy horse in your hand. "They hold up well. Tougher than they look."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden comment. "You have experience with them?"

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "A bit. Used to make ‘em myself."

You looked him over more closely now, intrigued. "You don’t seem like the toy-making type."

His eyes flicked to yours, something amused in the way he looked at you. "Not anymore," he said, then turned his attention back to the shelves.

There was a silence between you for a moment, but it didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt like he didn’t mind you being there, like he was used to people drifting in and out of his space.

You finally spoke again. "I suppose these are sturdy enough for two boys, then."

"Yeah. They’ll survive a beating."

You laughed, the sound surprising you. He gave you another look, a bit more interested this time. There was something about him that made you feel seen in a way that was different from how most men looked at you.

You gathered a few more toys, careful not to spend too much, but you couldn’t resist getting something extra for the little girl you looked after. She was sweet, and it wasn’t her fault she was stuck in such a strict household.

The stranger watched you with those sharp eyes, like he could see more than what was right in front of him. You wondered what his story was, but you weren’t about to ask.

As you headed to the counter, he followed, though he didn’t buy anything. The shopkeeper took your coins, and you gathered your parcels, still feeling the man’s presence behind you.

"Thanks for the advice," you said over your shoulder, more as a courtesy than anything else.

He nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Anytime."

With that, you left the shop, stepping back into the sunlight, the weight of your errands still on your shoulders. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe that wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

---

Edwin and Phillip seemed to enjoy the toy you got them, already fighting over who gets to play with it first. They were the eldest, Edwin was 9, Phillip was 7, and Ada was 6. You handed her the toy you got for her, one she got to keep all to herself.

Ada's face lit up when you handed her the small, carved doll. She held it in her hands gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"For me?" she asked, her voice soft with disbelief.

You smiled and nodded. "Just for you, Ada."

Her eyes sparkled, and she hugged the doll to her chest. "Thank you!"

Edwin and Phillip were already in the middle of their tug-of-war with the wooden horse, the two boys shouting over whose turn it was.

"I had it first!" Edwin argued, pulling the toy toward him.

"You always get it first!" Phillip shot back, his voice growing louder.

You sighed and stepped in, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Why don't you take turns? If you can't share, I'll have to take it away, and no one gets to play with it."

They both groaned but reluctantly agreed, setting the horse on the floor. Edwin was a bit of a handful, but he could be sweet when he wanted to be. Phillip, the quieter one, usually followed his brother’s lead. At least Ada wasn’t much trouble.

After helping Ada settle in with her new toy, you turned to check on the boys, making sure they hadn’t already forgotten your words. But as you did, your thoughts drifted back to the man in the shop. There was something about him—something that lingered in your mind even now. He didn’t fit in with the usual crowd you saw around here, but he didn’t seem bothered by that.

It was odd, though, that someone like him would be in a toy shop of all places. You tried to shake the thought away, but it kept creeping back, a sense that your brief encounter meant more than it appeared.

Later, after the children had settled down, you found yourself with a rare quiet moment. You sat by the window, staring out at the street below, watching the people passing by. The day was winding down, the sky fading into hues of orange and pink, and yet, the man’s sharp eyes lingered in your mind.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for thinking too much about a stranger. It was just a passing moment—nothing more. You had far more important things to focus on, like taking care of the children and making sure everything ran smoothly for the household. That man, whoever he was, wasn’t part of your world.

But still, something in the back of your mind whispered that you’d see him again. And the thought of it didn’t exactly bother you.

---

The next few days were a blur of your usual routine. The children kept you busy, and you barely had a moment to yourself. But even as you went through the motions of your daily life, you couldn't help but feel that sense of something—or someone—waiting.

It was on a brisk afternoon, a few days after your encounter at the shop, when you found yourself running errands again. The streets were busier than usual, with carriages clattering over the cobblestones and people bustling past in a hurry. You had a long list of things to pick up, and the thought of weaving through the crowded market already had you dreading the trip.

As you made your way through the streets, you spotted a familiar figure standing at the corner near a fruit stand. The man from the shop. He hadn’t seen you yet, but something about the way he stood, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, watching the passersby with a quiet intensity, made you pause.

You debated for a moment. Should you approach him? Or would it seem too forward?

Before you could decide, his gaze lifted, and he spotted you. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing over his features, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you.

You took a deep breath and made your way over, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Fancy seeing you here again," you said, trying to sound casual as you approached.

"Didn’t expect to run into you either," he replied, his voice still rough, but there was a hint of something in his tone. Amusement? Interest? You couldn’t quite place it.

"I was just running errands," you said, gesturing to the market behind you. "You know how it is."

He nodded, his eyes flicking over you for a moment before landing back on the crowd. "Yeah, I get it."

There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it almost felt... familiar. Like talking to him wasn’t so strange after all.

"Are you from around here?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. "Not really. Just passing through."

"Do you always pass through toy shops when you're in town?"

His lips quirked into that almost-smile again. "Only when I feel like it."

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "Mysterious, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, not giving much away. "Maybe."

You were about to ask him something else when a shout came from behind you. You turned to see one of the street vendors, an older man, calling out angrily at a young boy who had clearly tried to swipe an apple from his cart.

Before you could even react, the man next to you stepped forward. His movements were quick and fluid, like he was used to handling situations like this. He reached the boy before the vendor could get too close, gripping the kid by the collar.

"Hey," the man said, his voice low but firm. "That’s not how you do things."

The boy froze, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting to be caught so quickly.

"Put it back," the man ordered.

The boy, trembling slightly, dropped the apple back onto the cart. "I’m sorry!" he blurted out before scurrying off into the crowd.

You watched as the man exchanged a few words with the vendor, calming him down before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, surprised by how quickly he had handled the situation.

He shrugged again. "The kid’ll learn his lesson. Better this way than the other options."

You looked at him, a little more curious now. He wasn’t just some rough-around-the-edges stranger. There was something deeper to him, something that made you want to know more.

“I don’t think I caught your name the other day,” you settled on, meeting his eyes as the energy of the crowd buzzed around you both.

He gave a small nod, like he was considering whether to answer or not. "Logan," he said simply.

"Logan," you repeated, trying the name on your tongue. It suited him, rough around the edges but solid. "I’m Y/N."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he gave another slight nod, acknowledging it. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something unspoken passed through the space. Something that told you he wasn’t just another passerby in your life.

"Thanks for helping that kid back there," you said, breaking the quiet. "Not everyone would step in like that."

Logan shrugged like it was nothing, his eyes scanning the crowd again. "Not a big deal."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "You do that a lot? Play the hero?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely there, but it was enough. "No. Just don't like seeing people get hurt when I can do something about it."

There was a gruffness to his words, but it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. And it was clear that he wasn’t the type to go around explaining himself to anyone. You liked that.

"Well, either way, it was good of you." You glanced down at the parcels in your arms, suddenly remembering the rest of your errands. "I should probably get going, before I’m late getting back."

Logan gave you a small nod, his eyes flicking down to your parcels. "You take care."

You hesitated, a part of you not wanting to walk away just yet. But what could you say? You didn’t know this man, not really, and yet you felt drawn to him in a way that was hard to explain. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he had been through more than he let on. Or maybe it was the quiet strength in him that made you feel oddly safe.

"Maybe I’ll see you around?" you offered, not wanting to make the goodbye feel so final.

Logan’s eyes met yours again, and for a moment, there was something softer in his gaze. "Yeah. Maybe."

With that, you gave him a small smile and turned to leave, weaving your way through the bustling street. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance back once, just to see if he was still there. He was, standing where you left him, watching you go.

---

The following days fell back into your usual routine—taking care of the children, running errands, keeping the household in order. Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. Something about him lingered in your mind, and it wasn’t just because he had helped out that kid. There was something deeper, something you couldn’t quite shake.

You found yourself wondering if he really was just passing through, or if there was more to his story than he was letting on. You didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did.

One afternoon, as you were helping Ada tie the ribbon on her new dress, she looked up at you with her big, curious eyes.

"Y/N, are you thinking about something?" she asked innocently.

You blinked, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you’re smiling," she said, her voice soft and sweet.

You hadn’t even realized. "Oh," you said, chuckling softly. "I guess I was just lost in thought."

Ada giggled, her small hands playing with the ribbon you had just tied. "You think about a lot of things."

"That’s because I have to keep track of all you rascals," you teased, tickling her side gently.

She squealed in delight, wriggling away from you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. But as you settled back into the moment, that same thought returned, uninvited. Logan. Would you see him again?

---

It wasn’t long before the answer came.

You were out in the market again, picking up some fresh bread for dinner. The smell of the bakery wafted through the air, warm and comforting. You had just handed over your coins to the baker when you felt that familiar presence—something just outside the edge of your awareness, like a shadow that suddenly moved.

Turning slightly, your eyes caught sight of Logan standing near a fruit cart, his hands in his pockets, watching you. It wasn’t a surprise this time, but your heart still gave a little flutter at the sight of him. You made your way over, the crowd parting as you walked.

"Logan," you greeted, a smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it.

"Y/N," he replied, nodding in acknowledgment. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something almost... pleased in his eyes. Like he had expected you to come over.

"Still passing through?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced around the busy street before answering. "Seems like I’ve been here longer than I planned."

"Any reason for that?" you asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious.

Logan looked at you for a long moment, like he was debating how much to say. Finally, he shrugged. "No reason."

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it go. Instead, you gestured to the bread in your basket. "If you’re still around tomorrow, you should come by the park. I take the children there sometimes in the afternoons. It’s quieter than here."

Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, considering. "Maybe I will."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction from his answer. It was small, but it was something.

"Well," you said, shifting the basket on your arm. "I should get back before the boys tear the house down."

Logan smirked at that, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the sight of it. He wasn’t a man who smiled easily, but when he did, it felt like a reward.

"Take care," he said, his voice low and steady, and you couldn’t help but notice how those words made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you walked away, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, lingering long after you’d turned the corner.

---

The next day, you found yourself at the park, just as you had promised. Edwin and Phillip were racing around, laughing as they chased each other, while Ada sat quietly by your side, her doll clutched in her hands.

You tried not to look around for Logan, but you couldn’t help it. Every time someone passed by, your heart gave a little jump, only to settle back down when you realized it wasn’t him.

Just as you were beginning to think he wouldn’t show, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

"Mind if I join you?" Logan’s voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you smile.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. "Not at all."

Logan gave a nod, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. He stretched his long legs out, looking completely at ease. The sounds of the children’s laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you just sat in companionable silence.

“Boys giving you trouble?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“They always do,” you replied, watching as Edwin tackled Phillip to the ground. “But I think they’d explode if they didn’t.”

Logan’s lips twitched at that—almost a smile. “Kids’ll do that. Got too much energy.”

You tilted your head, studying him out of the corner of your eye. “You got siblings?”

Logan paused for a second, like the question had caught him off guard. “Yeah. A brother.”

You didn’t press, sensing there was more to the story but knowing better than to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to the children.

“Do you have any?” Logan asked, nodding toward the boys.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I look after them for the family I work for. They keep me busy, though. Might as well be mine.”

He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, resting his elbows on his knees.

“And her?” Logan nodded toward Ada, who sat a little apart from the boys, her doll tucked protectively in her arms.

“That’s Ada,” you said, smiling softly. “She’s the quiet one. A little sweet thing, really.”

“She’s got good taste,” Logan remarked, glancing at the doll in her hands.

You chuckled. “That was the least I could do for her. Life’s not exactly fun in that house.”

Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “It never is.”

You frowned, catching the weight behind his words, but before you could ask what he meant, Ada wandered over to you. She gave Logan a curious glance but stayed close by your side.

“Who’s he?” Ada whispered, gripping your sleeve.

You smiled. “This is Logan. He’s a friend.”

Logan gave her a small nod, and Ada, ever cautious, just stared at him with wide eyes. After a beat, she leaned in close to you and whispered, “He looks like a bear.”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway. Logan gave a low chuckle of his own, shaking his head slightly.

“Smart kid,” he murmured.

Ada, encouraged by your laughter, gave a shy smile. Then she wandered back toward the boys, apparently satisfied with Logan’s presence.

“She’s got you figured out,” you teased, grinning.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, and he gave a small shrug. “Kids see things plain.”

You leaned back on the bench, letting yourself relax. It was strange, how easy it felt to be around him. You didn’t know much about him—hardly anything, really—but something about Logan made you feel like you didn’t need to fill the silence with useless conversation.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked suddenly, curious. “You said you were just passing through, but it seems like you’ve stayed a bit longer.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the park, his expression thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not often, though.”

“That sounds lonely.”

His jaw twitched slightly, and he turned his head to look at you. “You get used to it.”

You held his gaze for a moment, sensing that there was more beneath the surface than he was letting on. But instead of prying, you just nodded, accepting his words for what they were.

“Well, if you ever feel like staying in one place for a bit, you know where to find me,” you said lightly.

Logan’s eyes flickered with something—something you couldn’t quite name—but he gave a small nod, like he was filing that thought away.

“Appreciate it,” he murmured.

Before you could say more, Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, out of breath and covered in dirt.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Edwin shouted. “Phillip said he could run faster than me, but I totally won!”

Phillip scowled, wiping mud off his cheek. “Only because you pushed me.”

“You pushed him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Edwin.

Edwin squirmed. “Not that hard.”

Logan snorted quietly, drawing both boys’ attention. They looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Who’s that?” Edwin whispered loudly, leaning closer to you.

“That’s Logan,” you said. “He’s a friend.”

Edwin tilted his head, squinting up at Logan. “You look tough.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I get that a lot.”

“Can you fight?” Edwin asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “Like—like really fight?”

“Edwin!” you scolded, but Logan just gave a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “A bit.”

“Whoa!” Edwin’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed. Phillip, more cautious, stayed quiet but kept his eyes on Logan like he was trying to figure him out.

“Alright, enough of that,” you said, gently ushering the boys away. “Go play before I make you help with dinner.”

Edwin groaned but dragged Phillip along, the two of them running back toward the trees.

You glanced at Logan, shaking your head. “You’ve got yourself some new fans, it seems.”

Logan huffed softly. “Kids are alright.”

There was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “You really do keep moving, don’t you?”

Logan looked at you, his expression serious. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. There was something in his eyes that told you he’d seen more than most—more than you could probably imagine.

“Well,” you said softly, “if you ever get tired of running, you know where to find me.”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

You saw Logan more often than not. Truth be told, you enjoyed his presence. He was different than the other men you had met, not as harsh, didn’t look down on you, or see you as an object.

One day, while walking around the market with a small basket, filled with a few apples and some bread, you looked at a carriage, rolling along the brick road with a horse in front.

“I never learned how to ride a horse,” you said, glancing at the carriage as it rolled along the cobblestone street. The words came out before you even knew why you said them, maybe just filling the space between you and Logan.

Logan, walking beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. The faintest trace of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”

You shrugged, shifting the basket in your hand. “Never had a reason to, I suppose. And it’s not exactly something you pick up living in the city.”

He made a low noise in his throat that could have been agreement. For a moment, the two of you walked in companionable silence, the sounds of the market buzzing around you—vendors calling out, the clip-clop of hooves, the soft rustle of autumn leaves underfoot.

“Wouldn’t take much to learn,” Logan said finally, his voice easy. “Reckon you’d be good at it.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “How would you know?”

Logan gave a lazy shrug. “Just a guess.”

There was something in his tone, though—something soft and amused that made your cheeks warm. You glanced away, pretending to be very interested in a stall selling ribbons, though your attention kept drifting back to Logan.

“You know how to ride, then?” you asked after a moment, keeping your tone casual.

He nodded. “Yeah. Picked it up when I was a kid.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Here and there,” he answered vaguely, though not unkindly. You got the sense that there was a lot more to the story—things he wasn’t ready to share. And maybe things you weren’t quite ready to ask about. Not yet, anyway.

“Would you teach me?” you asked on impulse, surprising even yourself.

Logan glanced over, one brow raised, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure,” he said simply.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

“When?” you pressed, feeling strangely excited by the idea.

Logan thought for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the road ahead. “Next Sunday,” he decided. “There’s a place just outside the city. I know a guy who’s got a couple of good horses.”

You felt a flicker of doubt—after all, you had responsibilities, and it wasn’t as though you could just abandon the children for the day. But Logan must have noticed your hesitation because he gave you a reassuring look.

“Bring the kids,” he offered. “They can run wild while you learn.”

That made you laugh softly. “You really think I can keep up with them and learn to ride a horse?”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle the boys if they get out of hand.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Logan said with a grin that made your stomach do an odd little flip.

You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, a vendor called out, advertising fresh apples, and you were drawn toward the stall. Logan followed at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

You picked a couple of apples, inspecting them before adding them to your basket. As you handed a coin to the vendor, you glanced at Logan again.

“Next Sunday, then?” you asked, as if you still needed confirmation.

Logan gave a small nod. “Next Sunday.”

Something about the way he said it—calm and certain—made you believe it would actually happen. And for the first time in a long while, you found yourself looking forward to something.

---

The boys were already running rampant in the large field, their shouts of laughter echoing across the open space. You could see Edwin trying to race Phillip again, their legs kicking up dirt as they charged back and forth. Ada, ever the quiet one, sat nearby on a stack of hay, her doll in her lap, watching them with a little smile on her face.

You stood near the horses, feeling a flutter of nervous energy in your stomach. Logan was beside you, calm as always, holding the reins of a chestnut mare with an ease that made it all look far simpler than you knew it was. He glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching yours, and you could see the trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, nodding toward the horse.

You swallowed, staring up at the mare. “Sure. How hard can it be?”

Logan gave a quiet laugh, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”

He held the reins steady, motioning for you to come closer. You did, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, and you jumped back a little, making Logan chuckle again.

“She’s not gonna bite,” he said, his voice low and amused.

“I know that,” you muttered, embarrassed but trying not to show it. “I just wasn’t ready.”

Logan gave a small shrug, stepping around to stand beside you. “C’mon. Foot in the stirrup. I’ll help you up.”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. Grabbing hold of the saddle, you placed your foot in the stirrup just like he’d told you, and then you felt Logan’s hand on your waist, firm and steady. With one swift movement, he lifted you up onto the horse, and suddenly you were sitting much higher than you’d expected.

You gripped the reins tightly, your heart racing a little.

“There,” Logan said, standing back with his arms crossed. He looked up at you, giving a small nod of approval. “Not bad.”

You glanced down at him, a bit breathless. “I’m on the horse, but that doesn’t mean I can ride it.”

Logan smirked. “One step at a time, darlin’.”

He moved around to grab the reins, keeping his voice low and calm as he spoke to the mare, guiding her gently in a slow circle around the field. You held on, trying to keep yourself steady in the saddle. It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, but every time the horse took a step, you felt your stomach flip a little.

Logan kept walking beside you, close enough that you could hear him, though his voice was quiet. “You’re doin’ fine.”

“I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing over at the boys to make sure they weren’t watching. Of course, they were, but they seemed more interested in their own games than in you wobbling around on a horse.

“You look fine,” Logan said, and there was something in his tone that made you glance at him sharply.

His eyes flickered up toward yours for just a moment, and you felt that familiar warmth in your cheeks again. You looked away quickly, trying to focus on staying upright.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Logan chuckled. “No. If you looked ridiculous, I’d tell you.”

The confidence in his voice made you smile despite yourself. You loosened your grip on the reins just a little, letting yourself relax. The horse moved steadily beneath you, her pace slow and even, and after a few moments, you realized it wasn’t so bad after all.

“You ready to try it on your own?” Logan asked, his voice easy.

You blinked. “You think I’m ready?”

“Yeah.” He handed the reins over to you, stepping back a little. “Just keep her steady. She’s not gonna take off on you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly as you urged the horse forward. She responded, moving into a gentle walk, and you felt a little thrill of pride. Logan walked beside you for a few more steps, watching, but then he stopped, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you guide the horse around the field on your own.

“You’re a natural,” he called out, a grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more confident now. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

As you circled back around toward him, you slowed the horse, bringing her to a stop in front of Logan. He looked up at you, his eyes warm and approving.

“Told ya,” he said. “Not so hard, is it?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not as hard as I thought.”

Logan reached up, taking the reins from your hands. “C’mon. Let’s get you down.”

This part felt a little trickier, but Logan was there, steadying you as you swung your leg over the saddle and slid down. His hands were firm on your waist again, and for just a moment, you were standing close enough to catch the scent of leather and something else—something distinctly Logan.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him.

Logan’s eyes held yours for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he gave a small nod, stepping back.

“Anytime,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could say anything else, the boys came running over, breathless and wild from their playing. Edwin looked up at the horse, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Can I ride next?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

You glanced at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “You said you’d handle them if they got out of hand, remember?”

Logan sighed, giving you a wry smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

He looked at Edwin, then nodded toward the horse. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As Logan helped Edwin onto the horse, you stepped back, watching with a small smile. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the field, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. You glanced at Ada, who was still sitting on the haystack, her doll in her arms, watching the scene with quiet interest.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let yourself enjoy moments like this.

As Logan guided Edwin around the field, you found yourself watching him more than the horse. There was something about the way he moved—strong, sure, like he belonged here, like he was more comfortable in this quiet, open space than anywhere else.

And as he turned, catching your eye for just a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d found something here worth staying for.

---

“You ever think about gettin’ outta the city?” Logan asked, his voice low. “Findin’ somewhere quieter?”

You glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. “I’ve thought about it. But… I’ve got responsibilities.”

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes distant as he stared out at the horizon. “Yeah. Responsibilities.”

The way he said it made you wonder if he was thinking about something—or someone—far away. You’d learned quickly that Logan wasn’t one to talk much about his past, and though you were curious, you didn’t push.

You turned a jar of honey over in your hand, Mr. Thomas had asked you to buy them another jar while you were out. “If I didn’t have responsibilities, I’d like to live out in a cabin, away from everything else. Sometimes things here are noisy. I’d just like to… I don’t know, exist without worryin’ about anything.”

Logan, standing beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, gave a small grunt of agreement. "Sounds nice."

You glanced at him, curious. "You ever think about it? Leaving the city behind, finding a quiet spot somewhere?"

Logan paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "Yeah. Sometimes."

The simplicity of his answer hung in the air between you, and for a second, you wondered if he'd actually let himself think about settling down. It seemed unlikely, given how much he kept moving, but there was something in the way he said it, something almost wistful.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who stays in one place for too long," you teased, shifting the basket in your hand as you handed the vendor a coin for the honey.

Logan shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Guess not."

You both fell into a comfortable silence as you continued walking through the market. The streets bustled with people, but somehow, with Logan by your side, it all felt a little less overwhelming. You didn't have to fill the quiet with pointless chatter. He wasn’t like the others in the city—constantly rushing, looking for something to gain. He just… existed, like you wanted to.

As you passed by a small stall selling flowers, you slowed down, your eyes catching on a bouquet of wildflowers that reminded you of something you'd see out in the countryside. Logan noticed, his eyes following your gaze.

"You like those?" he asked, nodding toward the flowers.

You smiled softly. "Yeah. They remind me of… I don’t know, freedom, I guess."

Logan gave a small chuckle. "Freedom, huh?"

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little silly. "I know it sounds strange. It’s just… being stuck in the city all the time, I don’t get to see much of the world outside these streets."

He didn’t laugh or brush it off like most people would have. Instead, Logan looked at you for a moment, his expression serious.

"Maybe one day," he said quietly, "you’ll get that cabin. Find some peace."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat, but before you could respond, a commotion erupted a few stalls down. Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, laughing and out of breath, their hands full of something they clearly weren’t supposed to have.

"Y/N!" Edwin shouted, holding up a small sack of apples. "Look what we got!"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And how exactly did you 'get' those?"

Phillip, ever the quieter one, shifted nervously on his feet. "We didn’t steal them! Mr. Turner gave them to us after we helped him with his cart."

You glanced over to where Mr. Turner, a kind old man who often sold apples at the market, was smiling and waving in your direction.

"Alright," you said, sighing with relief. "But you’d better not be causing any trouble."

Logan chuckled under his breath, watching the boys with amusement. "They’re just having fun."

"Yeah, until someone gets hurt," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile at their excitement.

Edwin, noticing Logan for the first time, grinned. "Hey, Logan! You ever been in a real fight?"

Logan smirked, glancing at you before turning back to the boys. "A couple."

Edwin’s eyes lit up. "Tell us about one!"

"Edwin," you warned, shaking your head. "Logan doesn’t have time to tell you all his stories."

But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He crouched down to the boys’ level, his expression serious as he spoke in that low, gravelly voice of his.

"Alright, but just one. There was this guy… big, tough-looking fella, thought he could take me down. We were out in the middle of nowhere, no one around for miles. He comes at me with this huge stick, thinking that’ll be enough."

Edwin and Phillip leaned in, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

"So, what happened?" Edwin asked, barely able to contain himself.

Logan’s smirk deepened. "Let’s just say, he learned real quick not to mess with me."

The boys erupted into laughter, completely captivated by the idea of Logan taking down some big, burly guy.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. "You’re gonna give them ideas, you know."

Logan stood, shrugging casually. "Kids need a little excitement."

"Not too much," you muttered, though you were grateful for the way he interacted with them. Most men in the city didn’t have the patience for children, especially not boys as wild as Edwin and Phillip.

As the boys ran off again, Logan glanced over at you, his expression softening just a bit.

"They look up to you," he said quietly.

You looked down, shrugging. "They’re good kids. Just need someone to look after them."

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching the boys as they disappeared into the crowd. Then, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, he turned back to you.

"You ever think about having your own?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You hadn’t really thought about it—not seriously, anyway. Your life was too full of other people’s children, other people’s problems.

"I don’t know," you said slowly, glancing up at him. "Maybe someday. If I ever get that cabin, I might think about it."

Logan nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He just walked beside you, the two of you falling back into that easy, comfortable silence.

It wasn’t until later, as you lay in bed that night, that you found yourself thinking about his question again. The idea of a quiet life, away from the noise and chaos of the city, didn’t seem so impossible anymore—not when you imagined Logan there with you.

---

One night, after you had put the boys to sleep and were in Ada’s room to read a story to her, she asked you a question. “Why aren’t you like mama and papa?”

You raised your head from the book you were reading to her, “what do you mean?”

Her lips formed a small pout, “mama has papa, but you don’t have anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard by Ada’s question. Her innocent curiosity made your heart ache, but you kept your voice steady.

“Well, sweetie,” you started, trying to find the right words, “sometimes, people are just on their own for a little while. It doesn’t mean they won’t find someone. Maybe they just haven’t yet.”

Ada considered this, her small brow furrowed in thought. “But you’re so nice. Why doesn’t anyone love you?”

The simplicity of the question stung more than it should have. You chuckled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that simple, Ada. But thank you for saying that.”

She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer, her tiny face still scrunched up in confusion. “Don’t you get lonely?”

You hesitated, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. The truth was, sometimes you did. Even though you were surrounded by people—taking care of the children, managing the house—you couldn’t deny that feeling creeping in every now and then.

“I have you, don’t I?” you finally said, smiling down at her. “And Edwin and Phillip. You three keep me pretty busy.”

Ada giggled softly at that, settling into her blankets. “I guess. But I think you should find someone, like mama did.”

You gave her a light kiss on the forehead, smoothing down her hair. “Maybe one day, kiddo.”

Ada yawned, her eyes drooping as sleep crept up on her. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ada,” you whispered, watching her drift off. You stayed there for a moment longer, thinking about her words, before quietly slipping out of the room.

The house was silent as you made your way down the hall, but your mind was anything but. Her innocent question stirred something inside of you, a longing that you hadn’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It wasn’t like you to dwell on what you didn’t have, but maybe… maybe Ada was right. Maybe there was something missing.

But it wasn’t something you could focus on right now. You had responsibilities. This family depended on you, and that was enough for now. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

As you reached your room and closed the door behind you, you caught sight of the bouquet of wildflowers Logan had quietly bought earlier in the day. You hadn’t noticed him purchase them at the market, but when you returned to the house, they were there on the doorstep, a small note attached that simply read, Thought you’d like these.

You smiled to yourself, gently picking up the flowers and placing them in a vase by the window. You hadn’t thought much about having someone of your own, but as you looked at the flowers, you couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like.

And, for the first time in a long while, the idea didn’t seem so far away.

---

The next few days passed quietly, with Logan visiting you at the market more frequently, though neither of you mentioned the wildflowers. There was an unspoken understanding between you—neither of you rushed things, but the connection was undeniably growing.

One afternoon, as you sat outside with Ada on your lap, reading her a story, Logan appeared at the gate. The children spotted him first, of course, and Edwin ran over, grinning ear to ear.

“Logan! You’re back!” he shouted, tugging at Logan’s coat. “Did you bring us any stories?”

Logan gave a soft grunt, glancing over at you with a smirk. “I might have one or two left.”

You shook your head, amused. “They’ll never leave you alone if you keep telling them stories, you know.”

Logan crouched down, ruffling Edwin’s hair. “I don’t mind,” he said, his gaze softening as he glanced at Ada in your lap. “How’re you doin’, kid?”

Ada looked up from the book and smiled shyly, giving him a small wave. “Hi, Logan.”

He smiled, the sight of the children always easing something in him, though he didn’t let it show too much.

As the kids ran off to play, Logan took a seat beside you on the bench. The two of you sat in silence for a while, watching the children chase each other across the yard.

“They’re good kids,” Logan said finally, breaking the quiet.

“They are,” you agreed. “They’ve got a lot of love to give, and not always enough people around to give it to.”

Logan turned his head slightly, his eyes studying you. “That include you?”

You looked down, fidgeting with your skirt. “Maybe. I spend so much time looking after everyone else, sometimes I forget there’s more to life than just… this.”

Logan didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly. Then, his voice low, he asked, “You ever think about finding something more?”

You turned to him, surprised by the question. “I don’t know if I’ve let myself think that far ahead,” you admitted, your heart beating a little faster under his gaze.

Logan looked away, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was holding something back. “Maybe you should.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a pull—a possibility of something beyond the life you’d built here. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to dream about until now.

But before either of you could say more, the children’s laughter echoed through the yard, and the moment passed. Still, the feeling stayed with you long after Logan left that evening.

---

The sky had taken on that soft orange hue of evening, the kind that made the whole world feel suspended between day and night. You and Logan walked side by side along the Hudson River, the sound of water gently lapping against the shore mixing with the distant hum of the city. It had become your routine over the past few weeks, these evening walks—quiet, almost intimate, even though neither of you said much.

Today, though, something felt different. Logan had been quieter than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the fading sunlight. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

Logan nodded, though his expression didn’t quite match the motion. “Yeah, just… thinkin’.”

“About?”

He stopped walking, turning to face the river. You followed his gaze, watching the way the sun’s reflection danced on the surface of the water. After a long moment, he spoke.

“I’ve never really… had this before,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Y’know, just… bein’ with someone like this. Feels kinda strange.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. “Strange in a good way?”

Logan let out a short, almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah. In a good way.”

The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. You could feel the warmth of his presence, his arm just barely touching yours, and it sent a small thrill through you. You hadn’t been sure at first if what you felt for Logan was mutual—he was quiet, reserved, hard to read—but moments like this, when the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, made it clear. There was something unspoken between you, something neither of you had dared to put into words.

After a while, you turned to face him, studying the way his brow was furrowed, like he was deep in thought.

“Logan,” you said softly.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with something unsaid.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers slipping into his. Logan stiffened at the touch, his eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer, his fingers curling around yours, holding on a little tighter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something more vulnerable show through. He hesitated, like he was trying to find the right words, but then decided words weren’t necessary.

Instead, he took a small step forward, his free hand coming up to gently cup the side of your face. His touch was warm, rough, but there was a surprising tenderness in the way his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his eyes flicking between yours as if asking for permission.

When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But the second your lips met his, something inside you seemed to melt, and you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. Logan responded in kind, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulled you closer, the space between you disappearing entirely.

For a moment, it was just the two of you—the sound of the river fading away, the world narrowing down to the warmth of Logan’s lips against yours, the feel of his hand cradling your face like you were something precious.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, your foreheads resting against each other as you stood there, wrapped in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Didn’t think I’d be kissin’ you tonight.”

You laughed softly, still a little breathless. “Neither did I.”

He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as he held you against him. The two of you stood there in the fading light, wrapped up in each other, the world beyond the river momentarily forgotten.

---

Logan thought back to your conversation about living in a cabin more than he cared to admit. The thought of it seemed nice, peaceful, and dare he say it perfect.

After a few weeks of being together, Logan had made a decision and scrounged up any money he could before buying a modest ring from a jeweler. He wasn’t going to propose yet but carrying the ring in his pocket felt right.

He had been coming over to the Thomases’ sprawling estate more often, whether it was walking with you from the market to the large house or even just stopping by of his own will. At first, it had been an occasional thing—a quiet visit here, a quick walk there—but lately, Logan found himself looking for excuses just to be around. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made him feel something unfamiliar, something good.

One late afternoon, Logan leaned against the garden gate, watching as you knelt by a row of flowers, tending to them with your usual care. He couldn’t help but admire the sight—your sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, a small smile on your lips as you worked. It made something in his chest tighten. He fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling its weight. He had no plan to use it anytime soon, but carrying it felt right, like a promise to himself.

You glanced up, catching his eye, and smiled, wiping your hands on your apron as you stood. "Back again, Logan?"

"Guess so," he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thought you might need a hand."

"Well, I could always use one," you teased, stepping closer to him. "But you don’t strike me as the gardening type."

Logan chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, pulling you a little closer. "Not much of a gardener, no. But I can stand here and look good while you do all the work."

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t let go of his hand. The easy banter between you had become natural, and the affection between you had grown, unspoken but undeniable. After a moment, you tugged him toward a bench under a nearby tree.

“Sit with me for a minute,” you said softly. “I’ve been out here all day.”

He followed, sitting beside you as the evening breeze rustled the leaves above. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun began to set. Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the warm light catching the curve of your face.

“You ever think this is enough?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but clear.

You looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

Logan hesitated, his fingers still laced with yours. “Just… this. Bein’ together. Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

You smiled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think it is enough,” you said after a moment. “I like this, Logan. I like us.”

His heart beat a little faster at your words, and without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt natural, like something he’d been wanting to do for a while. You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes, your lips curving into a gentle smile.

“You keep that up, and I’m never gonna let you go,” you teased, though there was something softer, almost serious, in your tone.

Logan smirked, pulling you closer until your legs brushed against his. “Don’t see a reason to.”

Your fingers traced absent patterns on the back of his hand, your touch light and thoughtful. “You know, I used to wonder if I’d ever feel this way about someone,” you admitted softly, your eyes focused on your hands. “If I’d ever meet someone who made me feel… like this.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching you, feeling the warmth of your words settle deep inside him. He’d never thought he’d find someone who made him feel like this either—like he didn’t have to keep moving, like maybe he’d found something worth staying for. He wanted to tell you that, to say what he was feeling, but the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he squeezed your hand, hoping you’d understand what he couldn’t say yet.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you, the pull, was undeniable. Logan leaned in, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, tender, like both of you were taking your time, savoring the moment. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and for a second, the world outside the garden didn’t exist.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whispered, your breath warm against his lips.

Logan’s hand tightened on yours. “Maybe we will,” he murmured back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You smiled, your eyes soft as you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet. When you pulled back this time, you didn’t say anything, just settled into his side, your head resting against his chest as the two of you watched the sky shift into shades of pink and orange.

The world outside may have been complicated, full of responsibilities and noise, but here, with Logan beside you, it felt simple. Peaceful. Like this was all that mattered.

---

One late afternoon, you were sitting on the porch with Ada and the boys, telling them stories while they played at your feet. Logan leaned against the fence, watching you from a distance, his heart swelling at the sight of you surrounded by the children, laughing and carefree.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ serious,” your voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. You stood up, walking over to him, a teasing smile on your face.

Logan shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thinkin’ about how you handle those kids like it’s nothin’.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Trust me, it’s something. They’re a handful.”

Logan smiled, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re good at it. I like watchin’ you with them.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment, and you glanced down, trying to hide the small smile playing at your lips. “Well, you’re not so bad with them yourself. Edwin won’t stop talking about that story you told him.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid’s got a wild imagination.”

You leaned in closer, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Maybe he gets that from you.”

He smirked, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Think so?”

“I know so,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his neck.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, standing in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Logan’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he leaned down and kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

When he pulled back, your eyes were half-closed, your expression soft and content. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What are we doing?”

He looked at you, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your cheek. “Doin’ what feels right.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah. It does feel right.”

The sound of the children’s laughter broke the quiet moment between you, and you both turned to see Ada running toward you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. “Y/N! Y/N!” she shouted, her face flushed with excitement. “Come play with us!”

You laughed, pulling away from Logan just enough to crouch down and catch Ada in your arms. “Alright, alright! I’m coming.”

As you stood, you glanced back at Logan, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. He gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a smile, and you turned back to the children, running off with them into the yard.

Logan watched you for a while longer, his hand slipping into his pocket where the small ring rested. It wasn’t time yet, but someday, maybe he’d ask. Someday, when the moment was right.

For now, this was enough.

And for the first time in his life, that was all Logan wanted.

---

“Mrs. Thomas is sick. She wanted me to pick up some things for her before the doctor comes to check her out,” you explained, adding a sprig of thyme to your basket and handing the vendor a coin.

Logan stood beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching you with a casual ease that had become second nature to him. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t heavy—just curious.

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Probably just a cold. She’s been coughing a bit, but Mr. Thomas thinks she’ll be fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked slightly, his eyes following the movement of your hand as it tucked the hair behind your ear. “You sure you should be around her if she’s sick?”

You smiled at his concern, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “It’s part of the job, Logan. Besides, I’ve been with her every day. If I was going to get sick, it would’ve happened by now.”

He frowned, not entirely convinced, but let it drop. You were stubborn like that—always brushing things off when they concerned you.

As you moved from stall to stall, picking out fresh herbs, bread, and tea, Logan trailed beside you, a silent presence at your side. It was comfortable—natural, even. You could feel him close, his arm brushing yours now and then, and though neither of you said much, it was the kind of quiet that felt good.

When you handed the grocer a coin for a small loaf of bread, Logan’s voice broke the easy silence. “You want me to walk you back?”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to sneak more time with me?”

Logan grinned, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets. “Maybe.”

Your laugh was soft and warm, and Logan swore it was one of his favorite sounds.

“You don’t have to, but I won’t say no if you want to,” you teased, shifting the basket on your hip. “The Thomases live all the way across town, though.”

Logan rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Don’t mind.”

With that settled, the two of you set off toward the Thomases’ estate, falling into step beside each other. The streets bustled with the usual afternoon crowds—vendors hawking their goods, carts rattling down cobbled roads, children darting through the streets. Yet somehow, it felt like the two of you existed in your own little world, insulated from the noise of the city.

“You been working much?” you asked after a moment, glancing sideways at him.

Logan nodded. “Yeah. Couple of odd jobs here and there.”

“Same ones?”

“Mostly.” He paused, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Not much call for a guy like me who’s no good with flowers.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “Well, I’m sure someone will take pity on you eventually.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours gently. “You already did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Lucky you.”

The walk was long, but neither of you minded. You pointed out things along the way—shops you liked, shortcuts you’d found, little bits of the city you’d come to know well in your time working for the Thomases. Logan listened, his attention fixed on you, and though he didn’t say much, you could tell he was soaking up every word.

When the two of you reached the tall iron gates of the Thomases' estate, you hesitated, lingering just a bit longer with Logan at the edge of the garden.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over his for the briefest second.

“Anytime,” he murmured, catching your hand before you could pull it away. He gave it a squeeze, his eyes lingering on yours. “You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine, Logan. Just worried about Mrs. Thomas, I guess.”

He studied you for a beat longer, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

You gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. I will.”

Neither of you moved at first, as if caught in a moment you weren’t quite ready to let go of. Logan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you—right there at the gate, with the late afternoon sun warming your skin and the scent of lavender drifting from the garden.

But instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to leave you breathless.

“See you soon,” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest. “See you soon,” you whispered back.

Logan stepped away, his hands reluctantly slipping from yours, and you watched as he made his way back down the path. He didn’t look back, but somehow, you knew that he felt the same pull you did—the one that always seemed to draw you closer, no matter how far apart you were.

With a soft sigh, you turned and pushed open the gate, your basket swinging gently at your side as you made your way toward the house. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn.

You didn’t know it yet, but the weight of that moment—of Logan’s hand in yours, of the way his kiss had felt against your skin—would stay with you. It would become one of those memories you’d carry in the quiet hours, long after everything had changed.

But for now, it was just another afternoon. And that was enough.

You slipped inside the Thomases’ estate, greeted by the familiar smell of baked bread and lavender from the garden. The children’s laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the unease you felt about Mrs. Thomas.

As you moved through the grand hallway, the weight of Logan’s lingering kiss on your temple stayed with you, soft and comforting. His presence, though absent now, always seemed to cling to the air around you like the warmth of a hearth after a long day.

“Y/N!” Edwin’s voice called from the top of the stairs. You looked up to find him peering down at you, his unruly curls falling into his eyes. “Can we go to the park after tea? Phillip says he can run faster than me, but I bet I’ll beat him this time.”

You smiled up at him, though your thoughts were still on Mrs. Thomas. “We’ll see about that, Edwin. But let’s check in on your mother first, alright?”

He nodded, though his face fell a little, understanding the importance of that moment.

Making your way to Mrs. Thomas’s room, you found the air heavier, a staleness clinging to it that made you pause at the door. You knocked softly before entering, the creak of the door barely disturbing the quiet. Mrs. Thomas lay in bed, propped up by pillows, her face pale and drawn. Her once vibrant eyes were duller now, and the small cough you had heard earlier seemed more persistent, rattling in her chest.

“Mrs. Thomas,” you said gently, approaching her bedside with the basket of fresh supplies. “I’ve brought some thyme and tea. The doctor will be here later this week.”

Mrs. Thomas offered a faint smile, though it barely touched her lips. “Thank you, dear. You’re always so thoughtful,” she said, her voice raspy. She shifted slightly, wincing at the effort it took. “I’m sure it’s just a little cold.”

You forced a smile, though something inside you tugged with worry. “Of course. Just a little cold.”

After a few more moments, you excused yourself, promising to return later. The house felt stifling, the sense of something being wrong making your chest tighten. Logan had been right to be concerned. But you brushed it aside, focusing on the children.

A few hours later, after Edwin had indeed beaten Phillip in a race through the park, and Ada had insisted on collecting wildflowers for her mother, the three children were settled with tea. You were cleaning up the kitchen when a familiar knock came at the back door.

Opening it, you found Logan leaning against the frame, that easy smile already softening the tension in your shoulders.

“Thought you might like some company,” he said, stepping inside and pulling you into a gentle embrace. The warmth of his arms around you instantly melted away the weight of the afternoon, and for a moment, you simply leaned into him, breathing him in.

“Good timing,” you murmured into his chest. “The kids are winding down for the night. Edwin’s convinced he’s going to be the fastest man in the world.”

Logan chuckled, his chest vibrating against your cheek. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to challenge him one day.”

You smiled, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “He’d love that.”

There was a beat of quiet as Logan’s hand came up to brush a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering just under your jaw. His gaze softened, searching yours for something. It was moments like this—small, tender—that reminded you just how much you’d come to care for him in these past few weeks.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Just… worried about Mrs. Thomas. I don’t know, Logan, she seems worse than she’s letting on.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands slipping down to rest on your waist. “She’s tough, right? She’ll pull through.”

You nodded again, though the doubt lingered. “I hope so.”

Logan leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the weight of his presence anchoring you. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” you whispered, your hands resting on his chest.

He pulled back just enough to catch your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. It was familiar, the way his mouth moved against yours—steady, comforting, with that undercurrent of longing that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface between you two. When you finally parted, his thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.

“I hate leaving you here,” he murmured, the frustration clear in his voice. “Especially with her sick.”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, Logan. Go home, get some rest.”

He gave a small grunt, clearly not thrilled with the idea of leaving, but he knew better than to argue when you got like this—determined and stubborn.

With a sigh, he leaned in once more, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Alright. But I’m checking in tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest grew at his protectiveness.

Logan gave you one last smile before turning to head back out into the night, his coat swaying as he disappeared into the shadows. You watched him go, the familiar tug in your chest pulling at you again, but this time it wasn’t just affection. It was worry—a gnawing sense of unease that had been creeping in since that afternoon in the market.

You stood there at the back door for a moment longer, staring into the empty street, wondering if Logan could feel it too—the quiet, unspoken fear that something was about to change.

---

The next few days passed quietly, the routine of the Thomases’ household carrying on as usual—though the coughs from Mrs. Thomas’s room seemed to grow more frequent, more strained. You tried not to think too much of it, telling yourself it was only a cold, that the doctor would sort it out when he came to visit. But there was a part of you, small but insistent, that couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your thoughts.

The children kept you busy, of course. Edwin was endlessly energetic, challenging Phillip to races and daring Ada to climb the low trees in the garden, much to your chagrin. Ada, sweet and delicate, clung to your side like a shadow, her small hand often finding yours as she babbled on about her imaginary tea parties and grand adventures. In their presence, it was easy to forget the worry in the back of your mind—at least for a little while.

But then, in the quiet moments—like when you helped Mrs. Thomas to her bed after one of her coughing fits, or when the house seemed far too still after the children had fallen asleep—your thoughts would drift back to Logan. To the way he had kissed your forehead that day at the back door, how his hand had lingered in yours just a second longer than usual, as if he’d sensed it too. That something was wrong.

You found yourself waiting for him. Every evening, as the sun dipped low over the city and the shadows lengthened in the streets, you listened for that familiar knock at the back door. And every evening, without fail, he would come—never too late, never too early, always arriving when you needed him most.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting at the small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea cooling beside you, when the soft knock came. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, your heart lifting in that familiar way as you crossed the room and opened the door.

Logan stood there, his dark hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, his expression soft but watchful. He gave you that crooked smile that always seemed to make everything feel lighter, as if the world wasn’t such a heavy place when he was around.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

You shrugged, the smile still playing on your lips. “Where else would I be?”

He chuckled, moving to lean against the counter, his eyes flicking briefly to the teapot on the table. “You drinking alone?”

“For now,” you teased, pouring him a cup. “But I suppose I can share.”

Logan took the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours in that familiar way, sending a small, warm spark through your skin. He didn’t move to sit, though. Instead, he stayed close, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read something in your face.

“What?” you asked softly, the weight of his stare making your heart flutter.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice lower, more serious than before. “You look tired.”

You gave a small, weary laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Logan. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Mrs. Thomas?” he guessed, sipping his tea.

You nodded, glancing at the floor. “She’s getting worse. I’m trying not to worry, but… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he set his cup down, moving to stand beside you. His hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “If you need me to do anything—get more medicine, fetch the doctor sooner—you just say the word.”

You met his gaze, your chest tightening at the concern etched into his face. He always made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit how scared you were. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it gently.

“I know,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again, the sounds of the city muted by the walls of the house. You could hear the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, the distant hum of life outside, but here, in this small space, it felt like it was just the two of you. Just the two of you, and the warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

Logan shifted slightly, turning to face you more fully, his other hand coming to rest at your waist. He tugged you closer, his expression softening as he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in that tender way that always made your heart skip. But this time, he didn’t stop there. He tilted your chin up gently, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“C’mere,” he whispered, and you didn’t need any more coaxing.

Your arms slid up around his neck, pulling him in as his lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was soft at first, tender, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a sense of urgency you hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the weight of the unspoken worry hanging between you, or maybe it was just that every time you kissed him, it felt like it could be the last. Either way, you melted into him, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands tightened around your waist as if he didn’t want to let you go.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling with his, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a long, slow sigh.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You hadn’t meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone with your worries, of facing the uncertainty of Mrs. Thomas’s illness by yourself, suddenly felt unbearable.

Logan’s eyes opened, his gaze soft but searching as he studied your face. “You sure?”

You nodded, your hands still resting at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. With a soft, reassuring smile, he nodded and pressed another kiss to your temple. “Alright. I’m here.”

---

The doctor had come by some days later bringing by news, Mrs. Thomas had tuberculosis. He gave her at least another month to live.

Mr. Thomas had instructed you to not let the kids near her as often, to make sure they don’t get sick. He didn’t seem to care much about Logan spending the night with you, or letting the kids be around him.

Logan had been spending more nights with you, by your request. It wasn’t something you talked about, just a quiet understanding between the two of you. The nights felt warmer with him beside you, the weight of the world a little lighter when you could lean against him. He never made a big deal out of it either. It was just...natural.

Tonight was no different. You sat by the fire in the small parlor, the children long since asleep upstairs. The flicker of the flames cast shadows across the room, and you caught yourself glancing toward the door, waiting for that familiar knock.

When it came, it was soft, almost hesitant. But you smiled, already rising to your feet to let him in. Logan stepped inside, brushing off the chill of the night as he shook the snow from his coat.

“Snow’s picking up out there,” he muttered, shrugging off the heavy coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d get here before it got too bad.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched him. “I’m glad you did.”

He crossed the room, and without another word, his arms wrapped around you. You melted into his chest, resting your head against him as the fire crackled in the hearth. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand running down your back.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You sighed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s… everything with Mrs. Thomas, the kids… I’m trying to keep it together.”

Logan frowned, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t,” he repeated, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here.”

That simple statement hit you harder than you expected. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as if he needed it as much as you did. It was slow and tender, and you found yourself pulling him closer, trying to forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment.

When you finally pulled back, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You should sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted.”

“Will you stay?” you asked, your voice small.

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

---

The nights blurred together. Logan was there more often than not, sometimes waiting for you when you finished putting the children to bed, other times arriving late after a day spent working. You hadn’t asked where he went during the day, and he hadn’t volunteered the information. It didn’t matter. When he was with you, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

The children, especially Ada, had continued asking why she couldn’t see her mother as often. It had broke your heart to tell her and the boys that their mom was sick, not going any further than that.

“They’ll understand one day,” Logan had said, trying to comfort you as you sat by the fire one evening. His arm was around your shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

You nodded, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn’t lift.

“I just want to help,” you murmured. “But I can’t.”

Logan was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low. “You’re doing more than you think, Y/N. Just being here for the kids, for her... it matters.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. There was something in the way he looked at you, something deeper than the usual concern. It was a look that made your heart skip, that made you realize just how much he had become a part of your life in such a short time.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before brushing his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing that connection, needing him.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Logan’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his touch soothing.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, as if the words alone could make everything right.

And for a moment, they did.

---

You could tell that after a month and a half, Mrs. Thomas didn’t have much time left. Maybe a week at the most. She was so young, barely 30 years old, and already having to face the inevitable. Her coughing had become more violent, her body thinner with each passing day, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was fading right before your eyes.

It had been a long day. The kids were more restless than usual, likely sensing the shift in the household. You’d spent most of the afternoon calming Edwin and Ada while trying to keep Phillip out of trouble. Ada, in particular, had been clingy, holding onto your skirt as you moved about the house, asking you why her mother wasn’t coming out of her room anymore.

You gave her the same answer as always. “Your mama’s just resting, sweetheart.”

But even she seemed to sense something was off.

By the time the sun had started to set, you felt the exhaustion in your bones. You barely touched your dinner, pushing food around your plate before giving up entirely. It wasn’t just the physical tiredness, though. It was something deeper. A strange ache in your chest, one you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the weight of everything—Mrs. Thomas’s worsening condition, the children, Logan...

You hadn’t seen him tonight, and that small part of you that had grown used to his presence felt the void acutely. He had a way of grounding you, of making everything seem less overwhelming, if only for a little while. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were beginning to rely on him more and more.

As you climbed the stairs to check on the children, your steps felt heavier than usual. Fatigue, you told yourself. Just fatigue.

When you entered Mrs. Thomas’s room to help her settle for the night, she gave you a weak smile. “Thank you, Y/N... for everything.”

You smiled back, brushing her hair away from her face as you helped her lie down. “Don’t mention it. You just rest.”

Her breathing was shallow, the sound rattling in her chest. You tried not to let it show on your face, but inside, that gnawing worry had grown into a full-fledged fear. You knew the end was coming soon. You just hoped the children wouldn’t have to watch her fade.

---

Later that night, after the house had fallen quiet and the children were asleep, you sat by the small fire in the kitchen. You stared at the flickering flames, trying to let the warmth chase away the chill in your bones, but it wasn’t working.

You weren’t surprised when you heard the soft knock at the back door. Logan’s timing had always been impeccable, showing up when you needed him most, even if you hadn’t called for him. You rose from your seat and opened the door, letting him in with a small, tired smile.

“Cold out there,” he muttered, brushing the snow from his shoulders before stepping inside. He took one look at your face, and his brows furrowed. “You look exhausted, Y/N.”

You waved him off, shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a long day. Mrs. Thomas is...”

He didn’t need you to finish. He’d been coming by enough to know how bad things had gotten.

Logan crossed the small space between you and placed a hand on your arm. “You should be resting too. When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. “What is that again?”

“Y/N,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern. “You can’t keep running yourself ragged. You’re no good to the kids if you get sick.”

His words hit a little too close to home. That lingering ache in your chest hadn’t gone away, and now, with him standing so close, it seemed to press harder, making it difficult to breathe. You ignored it, trying to focus on his warm hand still resting on your arm, grounding you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, leaning against him just slightly. “I just... I need you here. That’s all.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he slipped his arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth enveloped you. It felt like everything else faded away when you were in his arms—like the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy.

“I’m here,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed like that for a moment, just holding onto him, letting his presence soothe the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. His hands ran up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, and you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.

But that ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it seemed to settle deeper, a dull, persistent throb that you couldn’t quite shake.

“I don’t know how much longer she has,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Maybe a week. And the kids... I don’t know how to explain it to them.”

Logan sighed, his breath warm against your hair. “You’ll find the right words when the time comes. You always do.”

You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see the same worry you felt reflected in his gaze. But there was something else too—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat.

Before you could say anything, Logan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—just gentle, like he was trying to tell you without words that he was there, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

You kissed him back, your fingers curling into his shirt as you pulled him closer. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten. But when you finally pulled back, the ache in your chest flared again, sharper this time, making you wince slightly.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “Just... tired, I guess.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it either. Instead, he kissed your forehead softly, his hands still holding you close. “You need to sleep. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

You nodded, letting him lead you to your small bedroom. As you lay down, Logan settled beside you, his arm draped around your waist as he pulled you close. You nestled against him, the warmth of his body soothing, but even as you drifted off to sleep, that strange ache lingered, a quiet reminder that something wasn’t right.

---

Over the next few days, you tried to ignore the fatigue that seemed to cling to you like a heavy blanket. You told yourself it was just the stress, the worry about Mrs. Thomas and the kids. But the truth was, deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Mr. Thomas had been around the house more often, spending almost every moment with his wife before she passed. It would only be a matter of days now. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she was barely conscious most of the time, her labored breathing a constant reminder of the inevitable.

You moved quietly through the house, keeping the children occupied as best you could. Edwin and Phillip were rambunctious as always, but Ada had grown more subdued. She didn’t ask about her mother as often, as if sensing the unspoken truth everyone was trying to shield her from. You noticed how she clung to your side even more than usual, her small hands gripping your skirts, her wide eyes watching you with a kind of quiet understanding that broke your heart.

It was late afternoon, and the house was eerily quiet. The children were playing in the parlor, their laughter muffled behind the closed doors. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when a wave of exhaustion hit you. Your legs felt heavy, your chest tight. You hadn’t been sleeping well, the stress of Mrs. Thomas’s condition weighing on you, but this was different. Your appetite had been lacking for days, though you’d convinced yourself it was just nerves.

You leaned against the counter, taking a slow, deep breath to steady yourself. It would pass. You just needed rest.

Logan wasn’t due to visit tonight. He had mentioned something about work keeping him late, and you didn’t want to ask him to come by, though the ache in your chest—the one you tried to ignore—longed for his presence.

Shaking off the lingering fatigue, you made your way upstairs to check on Mrs. Thomas. As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard her soft, raspy breathing. You hesitated outside the door, your hand resting on the doorknob for a moment, before slowly opening it and stepping inside.

Mr. Thomas sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand gently. He glanced up at you, his face pale and drawn, the exhaustion of weeks of worry evident in his eyes. You gave him a small, comforting smile, though you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and emotion. "For everything."

You nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to check on Mrs. Thomas. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She didn’t stir when you adjusted the blankets around her. The room was stifling, the air heavy with the scent of sickness, and you fought the urge to cough, your throat suddenly dry.

“She’s peaceful,” you murmured softly, glancing at Mr. Thomas.

He nodded but didn’t say anything. His gaze was fixed on his wife, his hand never leaving hers.

You stayed for a moment longer, but the fatigue creeping up your spine forced you to excuse yourself. As you descended the stairs, your legs felt weaker than before, and a dull ache had settled in your chest. You rubbed absently at your throat, trying to shake off the discomfort. It was nothing, you told yourself. Just tired.

The evening stretched on, the children finally quieting down for bed. You tucked them in, lingering for a moment by Ada’s bedside. She reached for your hand, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

“Will Mama be better soon?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “She’s resting, sweetheart,” you said softly. “Just keep being brave, alright?”

Ada nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep, though the worry didn’t leave her small face.

Once they were all asleep, you returned downstairs, your body feeling heavier with each step. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. You sat by the fireplace, staring into the dying flames, and let the silence of the house settle over you.

And then there was a soft knock at the back door.

Your heart lifted despite the exhaustion weighing you down. You rose slowly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Logan standing there, snowflakes dusting his hair and coat. He gave you a crooked smile, his eyes scanning your face with concern.

“You look tired,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Really tired.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the weariness in your voice betrayed you. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I finished earlier than I thought,” he said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d check on you.”

Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. You melted into him, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. For a moment, the ache in your chest seemed to ease, the fatigue lifting just a little.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Logan pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he studied your face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I’m here.”

His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss, and you felt the tension in your body begin to unravel. The warmth of his mouth, the familiar strength of his hands holding you close—it was all you needed in that moment. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“You need to rest,” he murmured. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I will,” you promised, though you didn’t want to leave his arms just yet. You leaned into him, letting his presence chase away the exhaustion for a little longer.

---

The funeral was only 6 days later, 4 days after Mrs. Thomas’ passing. She was buried at the Prospect Cemetery at a small affair with rich people you had only heard of in passing.

The funeral was a somber affair. Mrs. Thomas was laid to rest under a sky that threatened snow, and you stood a little ways back, holding Ada’s hand tightly. She had been unusually quiet since her mother’s passing, and even Edwin and Phillip had sensed the weight of the occasion, their usual energy tempered by the somber mood.

You glanced around at the crowd gathered—a sea of dark, expensive fabrics, murmured condolences, and familiar faces. Most of the people you recognized only by name or through brief encounters at the Thomas house. They didn’t seem to belong to the world you inhabited, their whispered conversations and distant gazes a reminder of the divide between their lives and yours.

Mr. Thomas stood near the front, his face a mask of stoicism as he accepted words of sympathy. His children had not left your side, and you knew why. They found more comfort in you than in the strangers who seemed to only appear during tragedies. You didn’t blame them.

As the ceremony came to a close, Ada tugged at your hand. "Can we go home now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of rustling leaves and shifting boots in the cold.

You nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You caught Mr. Thomas’s eye as he stepped away from the others. He gave you a weary nod, and you knew it was time to leave. You guided the children back to the carriage, helping them inside before following. The ride home was silent, save for the occasional sniffle from Ada and the creaking of the carriage wheels on the cobbled streets.

---

Back at the house, the quiet felt heavier than before. You could feel the weight of grief settling over everything, and it seemed to seep into your bones, making the fatigue that had been gnawing at you for days feel unbearable. Once the children were settled, you retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself.

But the moment you sat down, the ache in your chest flared up again, sharper this time. You tried to breathe through it, but the tightness only seemed to get worse. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you pressed a hand to your throat, willing it to pass. It felt like something more than just exhaustion now. Something was wrong, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

The back door creaked open, and you startled, your hand flying to your chest as Logan stepped in. His eyes immediately found yours, narrowing in concern.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but urgent as he crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as you tried to stand. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

But Logan wasn’t buying it. His hand caught yours, and he gently pulled you to him, his other hand resting on your waist. “You’ve been tired for days,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “And you look worse now than you did a week ago.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, leaning into his warmth without thinking. “Just... everything with Mrs. Thomas. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just held you there, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “You need to rest. You’re running yourself into the ground, and I don’t want—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you cut him off, shaking your head as you buried your face in his chest. “I just... I just want to stay like this for a while. Can we do that?”

Logan’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We can stay like this as long as you need,” he whispered.

The warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, calmed the rapid beating of your heart. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away, but it dulled the edges for a little while. You stayed like that, your bodies swaying slightly, as if rocking back and forth would somehow soothe the turmoil inside you both.

After a long stretch of silence, Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft but serious. “You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself,” he murmured. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t sure how much of it was for him and how much was for yourself. You could see the worry etched in his features, and it made your heart ache in a different way. “I just... I don’t want to leave the kids right now. They need me.”

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “They need you alive and healthy, not running yourself ragged.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of stepping away—of not being there for them when they needed you most—made your stomach turn.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I’m all they have right now.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently, his lips lingering against yours in a way that felt both comforting and urgent, as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’m here. Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. It was moments like this, in the quiet after the storm, that made everything feel bearable, even when the exhaustion seemed impossible to shake. You didn’t want to think about what came next—the inevitable questions from the children, the grief that would continue to hang over the house like a dark cloud.

For now, you just wanted to be here, with Logan, in this fleeting moment of peace.

---

Over the next few days, that small cough persisted, annoying but easy to brush off at first. You told yourself it was just the cold weather, or maybe the exhaustion still clinging to you. But it stuck around, and soon it wasn’t just a cough. Your chest felt heavier, and there were moments where you had to stop to catch your breath.

You didn’t say anything to Logan the first few nights he visited, not wanting to worry him. It wasn’t like you were coughing up blood or anything, and you figured it would pass, just like the fatigue had started to. But when he saw you rubbing your chest again, his eyes narrowed with concern.

“You’ve been coughing a lot,” Logan said one evening, his arm draped casually over your shoulder as you leaned into him by the fire. The warmth of the flames helped ease the tightness in your chest, but even then, it felt harder to breathe than it had before.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, tucking your legs under you and snuggling closer to him, hoping to avoid the conversation. “It’s just the cold. Everyone’s getting sick this time of year.”

Logan tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Y/N, don’t pull that. I know you, and you’re coughing more than you should be. This isn’t just a cold.”

You sighed, not wanting to argue, but the exhaustion weighed on you, and fighting him off seemed too tiring. “Okay, maybe it’s not just a cold,” you admitted, glancing at him. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m just run down.”

Logan’s fingers gently traced up your arm, his touch familiar and grounding. He looked at you with that steady gaze of his, the one that made you feel safe. “You need to rest. Real rest, not just five minutes of sleep here and there between looking after the kids.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile, reaching up to touch his face. “I know. But they need me right now, especially Ada. She’s not taking this well, and I can’t just leave her.”

Logan leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re no good to them if you collapse from exhaustion.”

The way he said it—so serious, so protective—it made your chest ache in a different way. You knew he was right, but the thought of taking a step back when the kids were still hurting felt impossible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, but your voice wavered just enough that Logan picked up on it.

He kissed you softly, slow and gentle, like he was trying to pour all of his concern into that one kiss. When he pulled back, his hand lingered on the side of your face. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself, Y/N,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

But the next morning, as you moved through the house and got the kids ready for the day, the cough came back with a vengeance. It left you winded, gripping the counter to steady yourself as your breath caught in your throat. Ada was tugging at your skirt, asking for something, but the ringing in your ears made it hard to focus.

“Y/N?” her small voice called, but everything sounded distant.

You forced yourself to smile, pushing through the wave of dizziness. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you said, though it was more for you than her. The ache in your chest was sharper now, and for the first time, a flicker of real fear crossed your mind.

That evening, when Logan came by, you didn’t have the energy to hide how bad you felt. The second he walked through the door, he saw it in your face.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed to your side. “What the hell happened? You look worse.”

You tried to brush it off, but the cough came again, harsher this time, and Logan’s eyes darkened with worry. His hands were on you, steadying you as you leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding you again.

“You’re not fine,” he said, his tone more serious now. “I should’ve done something sooner.”

“Logan, don’t—”

“I’m taking you to a doctor,” he interrupted, his jaw set. “No arguing.”

You wanted to protest, but the truth was, you didn’t have the strength to fight him. You were too tired, too worn down, and part of you was scared. So you nodded, letting him pull you into his arms as if holding you close would make everything better.

“I’m here,” Logan whispered against your hair, his voice soft and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re not going through this alone.”

---

The next morning, Logan arrived earlier than usual. He wasn’t taking any chances, especially after the night before. You’d barely slept, your coughing keeping you awake for most of it, and when you did manage to drift off, it was only in short, restless intervals.

Logan helped you into the carriage he’d hired, his hands lingering on your arms longer than necessary, his brow furrowed with worry. He hadn’t said much since arriving, just a quiet “Mornin’” before ushering you outside. His concern was written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it behind a mask of calm.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes as the carriage bumped along the cobbled streets. Each breath felt heavier, the tightness in your chest worsening by the day. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew this was more than just a cold. The cough had settled deep, rattling in your lungs, and even though you tried to convince yourself it was nothing serious, the thought that it could be something more was gnawing at you.

Logan sat beside you, his knee pressed against yours as he kept a protective hand on your leg. Every so often, you’d feel his gaze on you, watching, as if checking to make sure you were still holding on. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

When the carriage finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw the modest sign hanging above the doctor's office. Logan didn’t waste any time helping you down, his arm tight around your waist as you made your way inside.

The waiting room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Logan barely let go of you the entire time, his arm never leaving your waist, and when the doctor finally called you in, Logan made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Inside the small exam room, the doctor—a middle-aged man with silver hair and a kind face—greeted you both with a nod. His expression shifted when he looked at you, though, his eyes softening in a way that made your stomach churn with nerves.

“How long have you had the cough, miss?” the doctor asked as you sat down, Logan standing right behind you.

“A few days,” you said, your voice raspy and weak. “Maybe a little longer.”

The doctor frowned slightly, moving closer to examine you. “And the fatigue? Any weight loss?”

You nodded. “Yes... I’ve been really tired, and I haven’t had much of an appetite.”

Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. The doctor continued his examination, listening to your chest with a stethoscope, his brow furrowing as he moved from side to side.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back, letting out a slow breath. He met your eyes, and you knew immediately that it wasn’t good.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began, his voice gentle. “But given your symptoms and the sound of your lungs, I believe you may have contracted tuberculosis.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. You felt Logan tense behind you, his grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly.

Tuberculosis.

The sickness that had taken Mrs. Thomas. The same one that had been lingering in the house for weeks.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You’d heard the stories—the way it ravaged families, the way it spread so easily. You’d seen it firsthand with Mrs. Thomas, watching her waste away before your eyes.

“How... how bad is it?” Logan’s voice was rough, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

The doctor glanced at him, his expression serious. “It’s hard to say right now. Tuberculosis can vary greatly in severity. We’ll need to monitor her closely. Rest, proper care, and keeping her away from others as much as possible will be essential.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat felt tight. “What... what do we do now?”

The doctor sighed. “We’ll start with treatment to help ease the symptoms—medicinal herbs, rest, and a strict diet. It’s crucial that you avoid any further exertion. You’ll need to isolate yourself to prevent it from spreading.”

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. The thought of being confined, of having to stay away from the children—it made your chest tighten even more. How were you supposed to care for them when you couldn’t even take care of yourself?

Logan crouched down in front of you, his eyes searching yours as he held your hands in his. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said softly. “You’ll rest, and I’ll help with the kids. You’re not doing this alone.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want Logan to see how scared you really were.

“I don’t want to leave them,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They need me.”

“I know,” Logan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand. “But they need you healthy, Y/N. And I need you healthy.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the sight of his worry. He was trying so hard to be strong for you, to keep it together, but you could see the fear in his eyes—the same fear you felt deep in your bones.

“We’ll get through this,” he said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Not without a fight.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands as tightly as you could. Logan stayed close, his presence a steady, comforting force as the weight of the diagnosis settled over you both.

---

Weeks passed, and the house became quieter. The children were kept at a distance, the once lively home now feeling more like a tomb as you spent your days in bed, trying to gather what little strength you had left. Logan had taken over your duties, ensuring the children were cared for while also staying close to you.

Your body grew weaker with each passing day, the illness creeping deeper into your lungs. The once mild cough had turned into something far more painful, leaving you breathless and exhausted after every fit. You knew, deep down, that the end was approaching. You could feel it in the way your energy dwindled, the way even opening your eyes took effort.

Logan, on the other hand, refused to give up. He never spoke of what was coming, never let on that he saw the same inevitable truth. Instead, he clung to hope, pushing you to eat, to drink, to rest. His presence was a constant, grounding you even in your weakest moments.

Sometimes you even talked about the future, the one you knew you would never have, and the one Logan hoped you would, with him.

Your coughing fit had died down for now, leaving you in bed with your head resting against Logan’s shoulder. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, and the warmth of his body gave you a sense of comfort, even when the pain in your chest didn’t. You took in a shaky breath and spoke softly.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” you murmured, your voice still weak. “Maybe two.”

Logan shifted slightly, his chin resting on top of your head. “Yeah? What kind?”

You shrugged, smiling a little. “Doesn’t really matter. I just like the idea of having something waiting for me at home, you know? Something happy to see me, no matter what kind of day I’ve had.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d be a good dog mom.”

You looked up at him, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You think?”

“Definitely. You’ve already got all the practice with the kids.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “Except maybe the dog would be less trouble.”

You laughed, but it turned into a cough, and you quickly brought a hand to your mouth. Logan tensed beside you, waiting until the coughing subsided before speaking again.

“You’re gonna get better, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice firm, but the edge of worry was clear. “We’ll get you that dog. Or two.”

You didn’t respond right away. You wanted to believe him—really, you did—but each day you felt weaker, and it was getting harder to ignore the reality of your situation. But you also didn’t want to drag him down with your fears, so you leaned into him instead, letting the moment linger.

You put your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, “how many kids would you want?”

Logan looked at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kids, huh?” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something tender in the way he looked at you, like he was imagining it for real.

“Yeah,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes searching his face. “I know it’s kind of silly to think about right now, but... I like the idea. You?”

He took a breath, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never really thought much about it until you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Until me?”

Logan chuckled softly. “Yeah. Before you, I wasn’t really thinkin’ about things like... a future, you know? I didn’t even know if I’d stay in the city long. But now... now I think about things I never used to.” He paused, glancing down at your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. “Like kids, and... us.”

Your heart fluttered at that, the weight of his words settling in. He’d never said anything like that before—nothing about the future beyond today or tomorrow. It wasn’t like either of you knew what was coming, especially now, but hearing him say that he thought about you in that way made everything feel more real. More possible.

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “So, how many then? Two? Three?”

Logan laughed quietly. “Two sounds good. Just enough to keep us on our toes, but not so many we lose our minds.”

You giggled, a sound that quickly turned into a cough, and Logan’s smile faded a little, worry creeping back into his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just held you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from everything bad in the world.

Once the cough subsided, you leaned your head back against his chest. “I think you’d be a good dad, Logan.”

His hand stilled against your arm. “You think?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’re good with the kids now, even if you don’t realize it. They like you, trust you. You’d protect them... care for them.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you could feel the weight of his thoughts. “I’d try,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence—it was enough to make you forget, for just a little while, how weak you felt. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of him, of this moment, even though you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like?” you asked quietly. “If we didn’t have to worry about... this.” You gestured vaguely, meaning the illness, the uncertainty, all of it.

“All the time,” Logan murmured. “But we’ve still got time, Y/N. I’m not giving up on you.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “You really think we’ll make it through this?”

Logan’s gaze was unwavering. “I know we will.”

His confidence, his belief in you, in this, made your heart ache in the best way. You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto that hope, even though the fear lingered in the back of your mind.

“You don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Logan said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “It’s okay to lean on me.”

You looked at him, your chest tight for a different reason now. “I know.”

And you did. Logan was always there, steady and unshakable, even when you felt like you were falling apart. You didn’t have to do this alone, even if part of you still felt like you should.

Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. “I’m with you, Y/N,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes again, savoring the warmth of his kiss, the feeling of his arms around you. For now, that was enough.

But even as you rested against him, part of you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your time was running out.

---

Logan hated the fact that everything you said was in past tense. How you would’ve liked to learn how to bake bread in that cabin you wanted.

How you would’ve liked to learn how to crochet.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You had been talking again, your voice soft and tired, about all the things you wished you had more time to do. It was starting to drive him crazy—the way you spoke in past tense, like you were already halfway gone.

“Would’ve liked to learn how to crochet,” he repeated softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I always thought it’d be nice to make something with my hands. You know, like a blanket or something... for the cabin.”

Logan’s chest tightened. He hated this—hated that you were talking about all these little dreams like they were out of reach. He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “You’ll still have time for all that.”

You met his gaze, your eyes soft but filled with something else—something that made his heart ache. “Logan...”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t get to talk like that. We’re gonna get you through this.”

You let out a soft sigh, your hand coming up to touch his cheek. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Logan said quickly, though the way he gripped your hand a little tighter gave him away. He wasn’t ready to admit it—to you, to himself—that the thought of losing you scared him more than anything he’d ever faced.

You smiled faintly, shifting on the bed so you could lean into him. “I know you, Logan. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Logan felt his throat tighten as you pressed closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as he could. Your body felt so fragile against his, like you could break if he held you too tight. But he needed to feel you, to remind himself that you were still here.

“Don’t,” Logan said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t talk like that.” He looked away for a second, trying to regain control of the storm raging inside him. He didn’t want to hear the finality in your voice, didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that you might slip away from him.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you touched his cheek. “Logan, you know as well as I do...”

“No,” he repeated, cutting you off again, his voice gruff but shaky. His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against his face. “I’m not losing you. I don’t care what the doctor says. We’ll fight this. We’ll get through it.”

There was a long silence between you, the air heavy with the unspoken truth. You didn’t have the heart to argue with him, but you knew. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your body was failing you little by little every day. But Logan’s refusal to accept that reality made you love him even more, even if it hurt.

You gave him a sad smile, your eyes locking with his. “I love you, Logan.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The weight of those words—words you’d both danced around but never truly said—hit him like a punch to the gut. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice breaking just a little.

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over you. It wasn’t fair, any of this. You’d only just begun to imagine a life with him, and now that future was slipping through your fingers.

Logan held you tighter, his arms wrapped around you as if he could protect you from everything, even death. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, before pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t passionate or desperate—just soft, filled with all the love he hadn’t yet had the chance to show you.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your skin. “Always.”

And for a moment, despite the pain, despite everything, you believed him. Because even if the future was uncertain, even if you didn’t have much time left, you had this. You had him. And for now, that was enough.

---

Nothing had worked, and nothing was working.

You had already accepted your fate, but Logan couldn’t—no matter how many times you tried to explain. He kept his focus on you, his stubborn hope unwavering, even though you both knew time was running out.

“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N. You’ll see,” he said softly, sitting beside you on the bed. He brushed a hand through your hair, his touch gentle, but the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.

You looked up at him, your chest tight—not from the sickness, but from the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment. “Logan... we need to talk about this.”

He shook his head immediately, his jaw clenched. “No, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about anything like that. You’re gonna get better, and we’ll figure everything out.” His voice cracked just a little at the end, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.

You reached for his hand, your fingers trembling as they closed around his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to spend what little time we have left lying to ourselves.”

Logan looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “But I can’t... I can’t think about losing you.”

“You don’t have to think about it,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But we need to be honest with each other. I’m not getting better, Logan. We both know that.”

His whole body tensed beside you, and he turned his head away as if looking anywhere but at you would somehow make your words less real. “I can’t... I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and leaned closer, pressing your lips softly to his jaw. “I love you, Logan. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

His breath hitched, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, holding you as if he could protect you from the inevitable, his arms tightening around you.

After a while, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you too. More than anything. That’s why I’m not giving up.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your heart breaking for him. “I know you’re trying to protect me... but I don’t want you to carry this alone. I need you to be here with me, in this moment, not fighting something we can’t change.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a second, the wall he’d built around himself seemed to crack. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to just... be.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You can let go.”

His eyes softened, and before you could say anything else, Logan leaned in and kissed you—soft, but with an intensity that made your heart ache. It was a kiss that said everything he couldn’t put into words: the fear, the love, the desperation to hold onto whatever time you had left.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, your hand still resting on his cheek. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet. Just stay with me. That’s all I want.”

Logan didn’t respond with words. Instead, he held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you as if he could keep you with him through sheer willpower alone. You could feel the tremble in his hands, the way his breath hitched every now and then like he was fighting back tears.

For a while, you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into nothingness. There was no cough, no sickness, no uncertainty—just the warmth of Logan’s body against yours and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand.

Eventually, you spoke, your voice barely audible. “I wish we had more time.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “Me too.”

You felt a lump in your throat, but you forced a small smile. “You know... if things were different, I think we’d have had a pretty good life together.”

Logan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “We still will. Somehow... someday.”

You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Maybe in another life.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way his body stiffened, like he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—even in another life.

“You don’t have to be alone, Logan,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with all the love you had left. “Promise me you won’t shut yourself off.”

He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and raw. “I can’t promise that.”

You smiled faintly, knowing that was the best you were going to get from him. “Just... don’t forget me.”

Logan leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long time. “I could never forget you.”

The room was quiet after that, the only sound the soft rustling of the blankets as Logan adjusted you in his arms, pulling you closer.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again, but this time it didn’t feel so overwhelming. With Logan’s warmth surrounding you, with his quiet strength holding you up, you felt at peace.

---

You had passed away in your sleep that night, in Logan’s arms. He had stayed up, something in his subconscious telling him to keep his eye on you.

And he did, he felt you take your last breath; one that didn’t seem as painful as when you were awake.

Logan held you close, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he realized what had just happened. His mind refused to process it, refused to accept that this was it. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with breaths that felt foreign in his own body. You weren’t moving anymore, not even the faintest stir.

For a long time, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair, willing his warmth into your body as if that could somehow bring you back.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice broken. He lifted his head slightly, his thumb brushing your cold cheek. "Please... wake up."

There was no answer.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat burning, his chest tightening. His hand trembled as it caressed your face, fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear like he’d done a hundred times before. But this time, there was no playful smile in return. No teasing comment about how messy your hair always was.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He let out a shaky breath, his other hand clutching the bedsheet, the weight of what had happened finally starting to crush him. He knew this moment was coming—he’d known it for weeks, maybe even months—but now that it was here, it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how it had come to this, how someone as full of life as you could just... stop.

“Y/N... don’t do this... please,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible as if saying it any louder would make it more true. His hand lingered on your cheek, hoping for even the smallest sign that you’d take another breath.

But nothing came.

He stayed like that for a long time, just holding you, feeling the weight of your stillness.

Logan had never felt so powerless in his life. For all the things he could do, for all the strength in his bones, none of it could save you. His healing couldn’t save you. The realization cut him deeper than any wound ever had.

At some point, he felt his chest tremble, felt the tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years, maybe ever—not like this—but he couldn’t stop it now. Not when he’d lost you.

“I... I love you,” he choked out, the words falling from his lips like a confession, like an apology for not saying it enough while you were still here to hear it. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice breaking again. “I love you so much...”

The room was silent, except for the sound of Logan’s ragged breathing and the ticking of the old clock in the corner, each second passing with an agonizing slowness. He wished he could turn it back, go back to when you were still here—laughing, talking, smiling. Anything but this.

But he couldn’t.

And the weight of that realization shattered him.

For the first time in his life, Logan had no fight left in him. Not for this. Not without you.

i'm not gonna lie, i definitely started crying while writing those last few scenes, even though i knew how it was gonna end

just a little note for everyone (i'll probably add this at the end of every chapter just cause it helped me when writing) in this chapter, logan is 22 years old and reader is around the same age.

tags: @seasonofthenerd @golden-ebony @planetxella @tighrenicotine @wittyjasontodd @cherrypieyourface @tumharisakhi @person-005 @zaggprincess2

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 months ago

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Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

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megamindsupremacy · 1 month ago

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Y'all know those "Justice League Meets The Batfam" fics where the Batfam has been mostly hidden from the wider superhero world so nobody knows who they are? So, I really love those fics BUT I have a concept I would sell my soul to see.

It starts out as a "Justice League wants to recruit that Mystery New Vigilante Nightwing! But oooo, Batman is being Weird about it! Lmao, screw what Batman thinks, you're coming with us to Blüdhaven to help recruit this new guy." And Bruce is really really reluctant, he's like "this isn't a good idea, you don't want to contact Nightwing, etc etc". And then when they land in Blüdhaven and find Nightwing, he recognizes Batman immediately.

And he's furious.

He immediately goes off on Batman, yelling at him, telling him that he said to stay out of his city, what is he doing there??? And Batman, instead of fighting back like the Leaguers would expect, is just taking it silently. He tries to speak up once or twice and Nightwing just shuts him down. Nightwing is telling Batman he's being clingy, he's not giving him any fucking space, he's not a kid anymore, jesus fucking christ can't you just leave me alone??

And eventually Batman loses his patience and starts arguing back, saying Nightwing was too young to be a solo vigilante, he kept getting himself injured, he could be killed, he needed Batman's help, he should give up on Blüdhaven and just come back to Gotham, Nightwing, you're being unreasonable.

This is around when the other Leaguers realize, oh fuck. Nightwing is Batman's kid. And he's in his teenage angst phase. And Batman is not handling it well. Uh. Um. Should we. We should go. Quietly. Let's Go Now.

#mads posts #batman #nightwing #bruce wayne #dick grayson #justice league #jlu #jla #dcu #justice league meets the batfam #from the drafts

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lightseoul · 3 months ago

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cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), some more pining, cussing (bkg-typical), mentions of food, we're finally meeting the bakugous!, angst (if you look closely)

words. 4.8k (see why i had to split it...)

a/n. we have one more chapter to go, y'all! i'd love to hear your thoughts about the series so far, as well as how you think it's gonna end <3

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

It doesn’t elude you that the air entering your nostrils and lungs through the shaky inhale you take is nothing short of crisp.

It’s early evening in the suburbs where Bakugou’s parents live just in the peripheries of Musutafu. The sunset that graced you through the man’s car windows on the way over was now nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by the sight of the waning gibbous with a sprinkle of stars dotting the night sky.

Something you rarely see in the city, you think to yourself.

Your head craned towards the infinite ceiling, you continue to admire the view, or at least try to do so—the act seemingly becoming more and more impossible by the second, what with your nerves shot and your stomach churning with anticipatory anxiety.

Bakugou must have noticed your wobbly breathing, because the man side-eyes you for a beat before finally speaking. “What are you, nervous?”

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sight of your boss in a dark brown sweater with a white collar peeking out at the top in an effort to ground yourself, although you find you’re not feeling any calmer.

You hesitate for a moment, before heaving another jittery, somewhat resigned, sigh.

No point in hiding the truth now.

You shrug, “Yeah…”

“Don’t be,” he promptly replies, catching you off guard. His voice is serious and deceivingly firm when he finishes it off.

“They’re gonna like you.”

You don’t get the chance to think about how to respond, let alone react instinctively because the front door opens as if on cue, and out comes a relatively tall woman with ash blonde hair, followed by a slightly taller brown-haired man.

You’ve barely gotten a word in when you get scooped into the arms of the woman you now identify as Bakugou Mitsuki, and when she pulls away and keeps you at arm's length—beaming, no less, in what you hope is happiness—it takes everything in you not to gawk at how stunning the woman is.

“…You’re overwhelming her, honey,” you hear the man, who you assume is Bakugou Masaru, say worriedly at your right side.

“Oh, right,” Mitsuki hurriedly releases her hold of you and retracts her hands, flashing you a bright albeit apologetic smile right after. “Forgive me, it’s just that I never thought this day would come!”

At that, she shoots Bakugou, who’s standing beside your left, a pointed look before turning back to grin at you, “I can’t believe Katsuki has finally brought a girl home!”

You don’t have to look at the man beside you to know he’s sporting a scowl. “Watch it, old hag,” he growls.

“You watch it, child. Mind how you talk to your mother in front of your girl.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you watch the exchange, inadvertently catching the two blondes’ attention, their gazes drifting toward you at the sound. After a brief second, and to your relief, Mitsuki starts laughing along but Bakugou only looks away in what you think is irritation.

“Well, this girl is grateful for the invite, Mitsuki-san,” you start, mustering your most thankful smile. “But I hope I’m not imposing on your family…”

Mitsuki is quick to respond with a wave of a hand, “Not at all! You’re our guest of honor. Please, make yourself at home!”

Masaru nods in agreement, extending his right hand for you to shake, which you happily do. His smile is gentle—a stark contrast to Bakugou’s default expressions, you note—when he finally invites the both of you in. As you do—eager to escape the cold—you glance at Bakugou behind you, who’s apparently already been looking at you, although he averts his gaze when your eyes make contact.

Again with that solemn expression.

That unsettling expression drops down to the bottom of your list of priorities, however, when you enter the threshold of their home. You’re immediately hit with a glorious combination of fragrances emanating from what you think is the kitchen at the far side of the room.

“Everything smells great, Mitsuki-san,” you offer, hoping the sincerity can be heard from your tone.

You think it must have because the woman instantly lights up at the comment, “Why, thank you! Every day’s not Thanksgiving, after all.”

You nod, following them along into the living room, taking a seat on the corduroy couch opposite Mitsuki upon Masaru’s wordless invitation. “It’s so nice how you guys go all out to celebrate the holiday.”

You note how Bakugou, who’s planted on the armrest beside Mitsuki, frowns at the compliment.

“What?” you ask him before you can stop yourself, curious.

“They don’t really celebrate it,” he grunts, before tossing his mother a borderline disgusted look. “The old hag is just using it as an excuse to invite you over.”

That quip grants him a smack in the head from the said “hag”. Bakugou doesn’t yelp or cry in pain, although he does let out a slight hiss. You, again, can’t help the smile that creeps on your face as you watch them.

Mitsuki is facing Bakugou as she tuts in what you think is a warning, before turning to regard you again, a grin now having replaced the reprimanding expression that had just been on her face a second ago.

It grows even wider when she says: “What do you say we leave the rest of the cooking up to the boys and we go through Katsuki’s photo albums?”

“S-sure!” you quickly respond, the entirety of the suggestion not registering for a beat until it does, your head whipping to look at the man as you blurt out: “Bakugou, you can cook?”

At that, Mitsuki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes darting between the both of you. “Wait, are you saying he’s never cooked for you before?” Mitsuki asks, incredulous.

She then turns to her son, who now has his arms crossed in front of his broad chest like a petulant child, “Young man, what have you been doing?”

“God, relax,” Bakugou groans as he stands up from where he was seated, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “We’ve just been busy with work. No time for that shit.”

“Busy with work, my ass,” she calls out to him, before once again turning to face you. “And honey, there’s no need to be all formal around us. Go ahead and call Katsuki by his first name—there’s really nothing to be shy about.”

Before you can think against it, your eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before you school your face into what you think is an appropriate enough expression. “R-right, sorry.”

You chance a glance at the man, who’s now hacking away at the green onions like a madman albeit quite expertly, what you think is red creeping up his face in nothing else but scornful exasperation.

“So,” Mitsuki starts, and you turn back to see her wiggling her eyebrows at you, “about the photo albums?”

Just as Mitsuki suggested, you busied yourself with photo albums filled to the brim with close documentation of Bakugou growing up while the two men finished up in the kitchen. It didn’t come as a surprise that Bakugou was a cute kid, a signature boyish grin decorating his face in the few pictures where he isn’t scowling or glaring at the camera. You greedily took in the seemingly mundane details of Bakugou’s childhood as Mitsuki narrated the backstory of each photograph, smiling and even laughing along when she cracked a joke about how her son must have been born as the proverbial grump based on how early he learned how to glower.

Bakugou didn’t say anything the entire time you pore over the albums, probably used to his mom mouthing about her only child to friends and family who are willing to listen. Before you know it, dinner is eventually served, and the dishes that Bakugou and Masaru would bring from the island countertops to their hardwood dining table looked nothing short of scrumptious. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that they tasted exactly how they looked.

“Everything tastes incredible, but the miso ramen is glorious, Mitsuki-san,” you piped up in the middle of dinner.

The woman only tossed you a pleased, somewhat knowing look. “You’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, dear.”

You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because the man of the hour’s parents laugh at your expression. You stole a glance at Bakugou, who only slurped at his bowl in silence, face schooled into a rather neutral countenance.

A steady conversation gradually enveloped the four of you as you went ham on dinner, and you now find your shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier leaving your body. You discuss current events, which then leads to Masaru asking Bakugou about how the agency is fairing in light of the recent spikes in crimes. The topic then drifts to you, like what’s your family like and what your parents do for a living; it shifts afterward to how work is going for them in the fashion industry, to the couple's retirement plans, with Mitsuki waxing poetic about how they really need to be there for each other when they do retire because Bakugou doesn’t visit them enough. To that, the man only scowls, mumbling something about how he does, in fact, visit them enough, and that the “old hag’s” definition of enough is stupidly skewed.

“But enough about us!” Mitsuki completely disregards Bakugou’s retort, shifting in her seat to address you, “I’ve actually been dying to ask you this question since you arrived. I know our Katsuki isn’t the easiest—”

“Hah?”

“—guy to be around, and so I’m really glad he was able to find someone as lovely as you. So,” Mitsuki tosses you a playful look, “what do you like about Katsuki?”

You barely stop yourself from choking on the maki roll lodged in your throat, quickly swallowing it rather painfully as you scramble for the proper way to react and respond. From the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything to shut down his mother or even shift the topic of the conversation.

“Uh—” you start lamely, “What do I like about… him?”

At that, Mitsuki laughs good-naturedly. “Surely there has to be something, right? Please, indulge this old lady!”

You chuckle along with her, albeit rather awkwardly, before clearing your throat.

The only way to make it out of this conversation alive and relatively unscathed is by lacing your answers with the truth.

And so you do.

“Ba—” you start, catching yourself in the nick of time, “K-Katsuki—” you pause again, hating the way you uttered his name so tentatively like it’s something obviously foreign, “—is the most dedicated person I know.”

Mitsuki only nods in encouragement, as if urging you to go on.

And right now, you find that you’re nothing if not a people-pleaser.

“He’s admirable—there’s a reason why he’s risen to the top this quickly and stayed there,” you nod, pleased at what you think is certainty bleeding into your tone. “I don’t have any problems at all leading the HR department, what with him being the best example of what an outstanding work ethic looks like.”

The room falls into a lull, and as the seconds tick by with no one saying anything, you’re starting to think you said the wrong thing when Mitsuki finally speaks up.

“That—that’s great to hear, dear, really.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before holding your gaze again, and you brace yourself for what she’s about to say next.

“…But what about outside of work?”

There it is.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uh—” you parrot again, mentally slapping yourself for stuttering when you can just keep your mouth shut while you think of an acceptable reply like a normal, sane person.

You glance at Bakugou, who’s now looking at you in what you think is anticipation.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself flush.

Yet you’re unable to break away from his gaze when the words finally come to you.

“…He cares,” you manage to miraculously get out while Bakugou’s crimson eyes bore a hole into you. “…Deeply. And, he makes sure it shows in his actions.”

You watch as Bakugou studies you for a few more seconds as if he’s searching for something—you don’t know what—hidden amidst your features, eventually averting his gaze back to his plate.

You follow suit, looking down at your half-finished ebi tempura, suddenly feeling too self-conscious and oddly vulnerable.

It’s Mitsuki’s soft voice that causes you to look up again.

“That’s… everything I wanted to hear,” Mitsuki almost whispers, and you think if you squint hard enough you can see tears pooling in her eyes.

You shoot her a tight-lipped smile, sensing an unusual sense of uneasiness blooming in your gut.

Thankfully, and to your relief, Mitsuki doesn’t ask any more equally humiliating questions after that, the conversation having been steered to more shallow and light-hearted topics, primarily by Masaru. Without you noticing, dinner time reaches its conclusion and it’s now time to clean up.

You stand up from your chair and start gathering leftovers to stack the plates right after when Mitsuki reaches across the table and pries them off your grip. You look at her in confusion, but she only shakes her head.

“We’ll handle the cleaning, dear.”

Behind her, Masaru nods in agreement, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but Bakugou beats you to it.

“No use arguing with the old hag. Just give it up.”

At that, you sag in disappointment—you really wanted to pay them back, even if it’s just through helping out with cleaning—but obey nevertheless, putting down the cutlery you were just about to gather into a bunch.

Now with nothing to do with your hands, you stand at the edge of the table awkwardly, watching the couple swiftly clearing out the area. Masaru seems to notice your discomfort because he speaks up.

“Hey, Katsuki,” he starts, “why don’t you show her around your bedroom?”

Almost immediately, Mitsuki beams at her husband, evidently enthralled by the proposition. You fight the strong urge to furrow your eyebrows in worry. “That’s a good idea, honey. I bet she’d love to see your childhood knickknacks, Katsuki!”

You steal a glimpse of Bakugou—or his back, really—who’s now seated on the couch with a leg propped on it.

He’s not saying anything.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You gulp despite yourself, shifting to face Mitsuki with a grimace-smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to make him uncomfo—”

“Come on.”

You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn to look at Bakugou, who apparently isn’t giving you a chance to argue, already walking up the stairs to the second floor. You look back at his parents, who only gesture you to go on.

Well.

You guess you’re going, then.

You trail behind Bakugou in silence, your footsteps echoing through the stairway as you go up, one step at a time. Once you land on top of the staircase, you follow him as he turns to the right, down to the door at the end of the hallway, which you now identify as his bedroom.

He pauses a few feet away from the entryway, reaching forward for the knob and turning to face you right after, an indiscernible expression etched on his face.

“Don’t fuckin’—nose around,” he grumbles, voice gruff, “or some shit.” Despite his half-hearted warning, he opens the door, leaning back against it so you can squeeze in and enter.

Typical of the King of Consistency, Bakugou’s childhood bedroom is as impeccable as every other personal space of his that you’ve got the honor of visiting. The gray walls are pristine and are only disrupted by posters of pro-heroes, mostly of All Might, but also like that of Best Jeanist and Endeavor. Piles and piles of books line the shelves at the room's corners, speckled and lightly decorated with figurines and what you think are older gaming consoles. You study the rest of the arrangements, and before you can think against it, you find yourself smiling as you survey the room, feeling a paradoxical sense of comfort blanket you.

“…What’re you fucking smiling about, dumbass?”

At the call out, the expression on your face immediately falls. You glance back at the man who’s now leaning against the doorframe, arms once again crossed in front of his chest.

“N-nothing,” you immediately retort. “It’s just that your room is so clean and well-kept.” You pause, hesitating to say the next thing, but ultimately decide to go for it. “It’s very… you.”

You don’t know what you expected him to say or do in response—an eye roll, or a lazy scoff, or a challenge, daring you to expound on what the fuck you mean “it’s very him”, maybe?

But again, Bakugou doesn’t say anything; he simply grunts.

Against your will, you feel a wave of disappointment course through you.

“…Your parents seem like such great people,” you muse, finding yourself wanting to salvage the conversation as you continue to take in the endearing details of your boss’s childhood bedroom.

Bakugou grunts again, only this time you think it’s in agreement. “They’re alright,” he grinds out, “can get a bit overbearing at times, though.”

You hum in reply, sensing a seed of happiness blossoming within you at the thought of him opening up. “I get that. But I can clearly see they love you very much.”

The man hums back, sounding deep in thought.

Your fingers absentmindedly trail the backrest of his desk chair. “Your mom said you don’t really visit as much. Is that true or was she just pulling your leg?”

At that, Bakugou heaves such a heavy sigh, that it catches your full attention. “I haven’t been here since around early this year.”

You gawk, “Seriously?”

He shoots you a glare, although there’s not much bite to it. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it is at work.”

You nod, “…You do put in an alarming number of hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he immediately retorts, although the question seems more rhetorical.

Despite that, you steel yourself to answer back this time. “I think you actually do. I know of so many heroes who treat their jobs like the typical 9 to 5. Believe me, I hear things at work, too.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

His voice is so uncharacteristically small, it catches you off guard.

In return, you try to make your voice as gentle as possible. “I’m saying I meant what I said earlier during dinner. It’s admirable—the work that you do. I think that’s what really sets you apart from all the others, putting aside your flashy ass quirk.”

You take a gamble and toss a smirk Bakugou’s way.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was at a loss for words.

Well, there is a first for everything.

Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed over the bold move you just pulled, you take advantage of the silence, walking a few steps towards the other wall. You carefully brush your hand against what looks like a vintage-looking All Might poster above the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you liked All Might this much.”

His reply is almost instantaneous: “He’s only the best hero to exist ever.”

You, again, fail to restrain the smile that breaches your face. It’s adorable how defensive he’s become in a split second, having transformed into the diehard fanboy that he apparently is.

“Is he the kind of hero you aspire to eventually become?” you ask, curiosity bubbling in your head.

He shifts on his feet, taking a few steps in your direction. “Yeah,” he pauses, before continuing, “the kind that always wins.”

“Oh, now I know where that line from before came from.”

As if immediately knowing what you're talking about, Bakugou flushes in what you think is anger, but the more you stare at him, it becomes clearer that it’s more akin to embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

You snort, “So the philosophy you gleaned from All Might—that applies to all aspects of your life? Including being your underling’s fake trophy boyfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you as you watch Bakugou stew in what you think is shame, squirming from where he’s standing as if he’s itching to jump and strangle your frame. The man, once again, glares at you, but if anything, you can tell he’s more frustrated with himself than with you.

Still, you find yourself feeling bad. “Sorry,” you start, fighting the urge to chuckle, “I was just kidding.”

“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”

At that, you pout, the words tumbling off your mouth before you can rein them in. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t—” Bakugo splutters, “fucking—stop calling me sir, dumbass. And,” he frowns, “stop calling yourself as my underling. That shit sounds fucking demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, flashing him a grateful smile. He doesn’t return it, opting to roll his eyes and look away instead, but the corners of his lips are twitching like he’s fighting them from curling upwards.

An abrupt thought crosses your mind at that very sight of him.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt it out.

“I’m glad.”

Bakugou meets your gaze, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re glad what?”

You shrug, fighting down the self-consciousness. “I’m glad to see you seem more relaxed and comfortable. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed you’ve been extra scowly lately—if that is even a word.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. The other workers at the agency have noticed, too.”

“Who the fu—”

“I’m not dropping any names,” you interject, “but some have approached me asking if we were, you know, okay?”

You peer at the man, who’s now refusing to look at you. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask. “Are we? Okay?”

Bakugou, again, conveniently decides to be mute.

“Did I do something wrong to slight you, or something? Or have I crossed a line during that get-together with your friends that one time? Because if I have, I want you to know that I really didn’t mean t—”

“I thought you didn’t want to come over,” he cuts you off.

You freeze. “What?”

He finally meets your gaze, a frown now seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Here. To my parents’. And you’ve been acting all weird around me, stuttering and stuff.”

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bakugou huffs, “Am I making you uncomfortable, or some shit?”

You can only gape at the man who looks so pained, as if this conversation is physically hurting him, which, it probably is, knowing him. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He seems to notice this, because his frown grows even deeper. “What, am I?”

“No!” you exclaim, thankful to finally have your voice back. You vigorously shake your head, “No, please don’t think that. I—just—I just have a lot on my mind lately, that’s why. Explains why I’m all jumpy and stammering and all over the place.”

To your relief, Bakugou doesn’t prod any further, although you can sense a bit of suspicion emanating from the man despite your answer. He stares at you for another beat before shaking his head in resignation, opting to check his watch instead.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go downstairs and tell them we’re leaving.”

And just like that, Bakugou turns his back towards you and exits the bedroom.

Right after you followed Bakugou down to the living room where Mitsuki and Masaru were enjoying a glass of red wine, you informed the couple that you were leaving. The brunette immediately got to work, packing viands into Tupperware for you to take home despite your silent protests. Mitsuki, on the other hand, tried to convince you to stay for another hour or so, but Bakugou wasn’t hearing any of it. After finally accepting that she was getting nowhere with her case, Mitsuki called on her husband to see you out by the front porch.

With a bag of aromatic dishes in one hand, you stand in front of their doorway, not knowing what to say for the nth time in one night. You chance a glance towards Bakugou’s direction, the man having entered his car already, starting up the engine in preparation for the drive back home.

But you apparently don’t have to say anything because it’s Mitsuki who fills the air.

Her smile is so gentle and motherly that you can’t help the painful throb your heart makes at the sight. It’s quickly followed by the now-familiar feeling of uneasiness that has been revisiting you again and again since the evening started.

Still, you manage to smile back. At the sight of it, Mitsuki’s expression grows even brighter.

And her voice is low when she finally speaks.

“Don’t tell Katsuki this, but I’m glad you’re the one he’s decided to finally come meet us.” She reaches out to rub your shoulder, her smile not faltering, “I can see why.”

Thankfully, Mitsuki scoops you into another hug, sparing you the embarrassment and burden of having to react and respond with some intelligible reply to such a groundbreaking statement one can receive from any guy’s mother, no less.

At the couple’s request, you promise to visit again soon, and before you get to break character and admit to your mountain of lies in a crying heap, you beeline to the car and hop into the passenger seat.

Voice gruff, Bakugou nods at you. “Ready?”

You swallow thickly.

“Ready.”

The car ride home was silent. It felt long—longer than an hour, at least, your brain buzzing with unpleasant thoughts and stomach churning with anxious feelings the entire duration of it. You couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how much you tried. Eventually, you gave up trying to mid-way, opting to stew in whatever the fuck is going on with you instead.

You were so engrossed in your brooding that you didn’t notice Bakugou pulling into your apartment complex’s driveaway.

At the sound of his voice announcing your arrival, you sit up in your seat in alarm before promptly gathering your things, saying your usual quick goodbye and thank you, and stepping out of the car.

To your surprise, however, he puts the car in park and follows suit, stepping out of the vehicle himself.

You hesitate for a moment before starting the short trek toward the entrance, acutely aware of Bakugou trailing behind you.

When you get to the entryway, you finally turn to regard the man, whose eyes dart down to look directly at you, hands in his pockets.

In spite of yourself, you gulp. “Thank you… for today, Bakugou.”

He merely shakes his head, expression neutral. “I should be the one thanking you. You didn’t have to come with and suffer through all that with me, yet you did.”

“I didn’t suffer,” you’re quick to correct him because you didn’t. “I actually had a really nice time. Your parents were so kind to me, and I just—I…”

“What?”

You shake your head, unsure how to accurately phrase what you’re feeling. “I just feel bad, you know? You could be bringing home a girl that you actually like to meet your parents who they can fawn over instead of me, yet here you are presenting a decoy and fooling the people who raised you all because I—”

“Hey—”

“I roped you into pretending to be my boyfriend and now look at the mess we’ve made. And I know—”

“Stop it.”

His voice comes out so commanding that there’s nothing you can do but obey.

Bakugou frowns. “You didn’t ‘rope’ me into doing this, okay? I— We—” he hesitates, mouth opening and closing then opening and closing again before he finally just shakes his head in defeat. “I entered this arrangement willingly. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

At that, you huff in irritation, but you know better than to argue with your notoriously stubborn boss. Nevertheless, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the gratitude that blooms in your chest at Bakugou’s reassurance.

“Now get in there,” he gestures to the apartment, “It’s getting way too fucking cold.”

As if on cue, you involuntarily shudder, which grants you a wordless ‘See?’ from the man. With a final nod, you reluctantly follow his orders and enter through the doorway, although you don’t immediately go to the elevator hall. Instead, you stand by the windows, finding yourself wanting to make sure Bakugou doesn’t get jumped on his way back to the car.

And as you watch Bakugou’s receding backside, the guilt that you’ve been tirelessly suppressing the entire night finally breaks free, threatening to swallow you whole.

This can’t go on.

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe

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#WOOOOOOH #tensions are high indeed #let's gooooo one more chapter left y'all!!!#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

i love you

Summary: Spencer falls in love with a famous singer, Spencer also has a hard time controlling his jealousy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x pop star! fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: insecurity, cheating accusations, arguing, lack of trust, regrets, being famous, paparazzi, bestie Billie Eilish

Word count: 13k

a/n: helloooo hehe sorry about the angst again butttt i have ideas for a happier story line if y'all want a part 2 !!!!

update! part two is here!!!

main masterlist

February, 2006

In the heart of New York City, where towering skyscrapers meet the pulse of creativity, you find yourself stepping into the sleek, modern office of a prestigious publishing house. Today’s interview isn’t just any ordinary sit-down; it’s being conducted by the chief editor themselves—a rare honor reserved for only the most influential figures. As one of the world’s most celebrated pop stars, the stakes are high, and they’ve rolled out the red carpet for you, eager to delve into the stories behind your meteoric rise and iconic career.

You had barely wrapped up your latest thought, answering a question about the creative process behind your new album, when a soft knock interrupted the flow of your interview. The chief editor, who had been so focused on your words, paused, a small frown creasing their brow as the door cracked open.

The person who had greeted you and your team at the front desk earlier poked their head into the room, eyes wide with apology and urgency. “Hi! I’m so sorry, but we have two agents here from the FBI. They say they are working on a case that could involve some of our publications. What should I tell them?”

The editor’s eyes flicked back to you, concern knitting their features together. “Y/N, I am so so sorry. Do you mind if I step out for one second?”

You offered them a reassuring smile, waving a hand dismissively. “No! Not at all! Take care of whatever you need.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the editor breathed, clearly relieved as they stood and followed the receptionist out of the room, leaving you alone for the moment.

After a few minutes, they returned, apologizing profusely for the interruption, but you could see the tension still etched on their face, the slight edge of distraction in their voice. The rest of the interview passed without incident, but once it wrapped up, you couldn’t shake the curiosity bubbling inside you.

As you gathered your things, you politely declined their offer to show you to the bathroom. "Thank you, but I think I can manage," you said with a smile, wanting to stretch your legs a bit and maybe take a peek at the source of the earlier interruption.

After wandering down the corridor for a minute or two, it became clear that you had no idea where you were going. The building was far larger than you anticipated, with identical doors lining each hallway. You turned a corner, hoping you were heading in the right direction when you noticed a room with an open door.

Inside, two men stood by a large table filled with neatly organized files and documents. Their presence was commanding, unmistakably official, and more than a little bit attractive. One was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, his expression serious as he sifted through a stack of papers. The other, slightly younger, had sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses, his movements precise as he carefully handled what appeared to be an older document.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude on whatever important work they were doing, but your need to find the bathroom was becoming more pressing by the second.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the doorway and cleared your throat softly. “Hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know where the bathroom is?”

Both men looked up, their attention snapping to you as if they had been pulled out of deep concentration. Aaron Hotchner blinked in surprise, his composed demeanor faltering just slightly before he offered a polite, practiced smile. “No bother at all. I don’t believe I know where the bathroom is. Reid?”

Spencer Reid barely looked up from his work, his attention already drifting back to the papers in front of him. “Out the door to the left, down the hall, last door on the right,” he mumbled, his voice soft and almost distracted.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Oh, he was pretty—and not immediately bowled over by your presence? You liked a challenge. “Oh! Thank you!” you chirped, your tone a bit more enthusiastic than you intended, but it wasn’t every day you met someone who didn’t immediately fall into the rhythm of your world.

After finding the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the thought of that cute, nerdy man with the sharp intellect and distracted charm. You quickly texted your assistant, Dylan—who was also your brother—asking him to pick up two coffees and some pastries, and to meet you on the floor where you were currently stationed.

When the delivery arrived, you approached the room where the men were working once again. You knocked lightly on the doorframe to announce your presence. “Hi! Thanks again for helping me out earlier. I thought maybe you two could use a little pick-me-up,” you said, holding out the goods with a bright smile.

Aaron looked at the offering with a hint of suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your motives. “Wow. That’s very kind of you, thank you,” he said, his voice polite but guarded.

You quickly picked up on the hesitation and offered an explanation. “Sorry, I know it’s a little odd to get gifts from strangers. I just like paying it forward. You helped me, so I do something kind for you, and maybe you’ll do something kind for someone else later.”

Aaron’s expression softened at your explanation, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes. “I like that. Thank you again,” he said, this time with more sincerity.

Meanwhile, Spencer still hadn’t fully reacted, offering only a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgment. You handed the coffee and pastry to Aaron before turning your attention to Spencer, who was already drifting back into his work. “Here,” you said, holding out the coffee to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing up briefly. “Any sugar?”

“Uh, no, just black. I’m sure there’s some in the break room…?” you offered, tilting your head slightly in question.

He nodded again, his attention already starting to slip back to the papers in front of him. “Alright… I’ll just put this here,” you said, placing his pastry on top of what appeared to be his satchel, casually slipping a note underneath the paper bag. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself—maybe he’d notice, or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, you’d planted a seed of curiosity in that brilliant mind of his, and that was enough for now.

—

Spencer's eyes lingered on the note, the neat, playful handwriting contrasting sharply with the serious documents scattered across his desk. He blinked a few times, trying to piece together the brief interaction he had with you earlier, but the details were frustratingly fuzzy. He’d been so engrossed in his work that he barely registered your presence, let alone your face. The only thing he could recall was the faint scent of coffee and the sound of your cheerful voice, but nothing more.

Across the room, Hotch was watching the scene unfold with a faint smile, his amusement barely concealed. He hadn’t known who you were either, but he found the situation oddly endearing. Spencer, brilliant and socially awkward as he was, seemed utterly baffled by the note in his hand. Hotch couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head at his younger colleague’s bewilderment.

“Staring at it won’t help,” Hotch advised, his tone light. “Maybe you should call?”

“I don’t know her,” Spencer replied, his brow furrowing as he continued to scrutinize the note as if it held some hidden meaning he was missing.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a knowing look. “You could get to know her,” he suggested, the amusement in his voice evident. “She obviously went out of her way to reach out to you. It’s not every day someone leaves their number like that.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing through all the possible outcomes of making that call. On one hand, he was intensely curious about you—who you were, why you’d left the note, and what you’d seen in him that made you interested. On the other hand, the idea of reaching out to someone he didn’t know, especially in such a personal way, was daunting.

But Hotch had a point. He always did.

Spencer glanced down at the note again, reading the words over and over as if they would change with each pass.

Give me a call when you’re not so busy? Promise I’m more interesting than some old prints <3 Xxx xxx xxxx.

There was a lightness to your words, a promise of something different, something outside the usual routine that consumed him. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk to find out what that was. Taking a deep breath, Spencer carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, the decision made, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

Hotch’s smile widened just a fraction as he watched Spencer’s resolve take shape. “Good choice,” he said simply, returning his attention to his own work, leaving Spencer to contemplate when—and how—he’d make that call.

—

March, 2006

Life as a pop star was nothing short of chaotic, especially when you were barely 24 and on the brink of releasing yet another album. Your days were a whirlwind of recording studios, press conferences, interviews, and the constant need to stay relevant on social media. It was a lot to handle, but having your brother, Dylan, by your side made it all feel a little more manageable. He was your rock, keeping things running smoothly even when the demands of fame threatened to overwhelm you.

Currently, you found yourself back in LA, swept up in a relentless schedule that Dylan had meticulously organized. The days blurred together—back-to-back interviews, recording sessions that stretched into the early hours of the morning, and brief moments snatched away for obligatory social media posts. In the midst of all this, the memory of the mystery man you’d given your number to in New York had faded into the background. It was easier not to dwell on it, to keep your expectations low. After all, not everyone was going to reciprocate your interest, and you’d learned early on in life not to take things personally.

Weeks passed, and your mind was consumed by the demands of your career. The mystery man became just that—a mystery you tucked away, almost forgotten amidst the chaos. That is, until one quiet evening in your LA apartment, when you were finally able to unwind, your phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

You stared at the screen, your instincts urging you not to answer. In your line of work, you never knew when or if your number might get leaked, and you weren’t about to take any chances. But as soon as the call ended, curiosity got the better of you. Who could it have been? You needed to know.

With a quick text, you reached out to your tech-savvy friend, Kade. Their enthusiasm for solving puzzles like this made them the perfect person to track down the owner of that mysterious number. Within minutes, Kade had the information—and a picture too. When the image popped up on your screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was him. The mystery man from New York. The one you’d thought might never call.

Without a second thought, you hit the call button, your nerves tingling with anticipation as you listened to the line ring. Finally, after weeks of wondering, you were about to hear his voice again.

—

Spencer stared at his phone, the dial tone echoing in his ear before it abruptly ended, signaling that the call had gone unanswered. He felt a pang of disappointment, a weight settling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d taken the leap, albeit a few weeks late, and now it seemed like it might have been for nothing. Maybe you’d forgotten him, moved on with your life.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he placed the phone back on the table. It had taken him so long to muster the courage to call you, to push past his own reservations and insecurities. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that it was just a phone call, just a moment in time that didn’t have to mean anything.

But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, like he’d let something slip through his fingers before it even had a chance to begin. Spencer was no stranger to disappointment, but this time, it felt different. It felt like an opportunity he might never get back.

Spencer sat there, lost in his thoughts, the weight of his insecurities pressing down on him. His mind wandered through all the reasons why you might not have answered—maybe you really had forgotten him, maybe you had better things to do, or maybe he was just one of a hundred people you’d encountered that day. The more he thought about it, the more his doubts began to take root, spreading through him like a slow, creeping fog.

Then, breaking through the haze of his thoughts, his phone began to ring on the table in front of him. The sudden sound jolted him from his reverie, and for a moment, he just stared at the screen, as if unsure whether it was real. The number flashing across the screen was the same unknown one he’d dialed just moments ago.

His heart raced, a mix of hope and disbelief surging through him. Could it be you? Had you actually called him back? He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the phone, almost afraid to answer. But the ringing continued, insistent and almost impatient, pulling him back into the present.

With a deep breath, he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said, his voice a little shaky, betraying the nervousness he felt.

“Hi! Is this Spencer?” Your voice came through the line, bright and unmistakably warm, instantly cutting through the tension that had been building within him.

For a moment, Spencer was too stunned to respond, his mind scrambling to catch up with the fact that you were actually on the other end of the line. “Yes, it’s Spencer,” he finally managed to say, his voice steadier now, though his heart was still pounding.

“I’m so sorry I missed your call earlier!” you continued, your tone light and genuine. “I didn’t recognize the number when I saw it. But I’m really glad you called. I’ve been hoping to hear from you!”

Spencer’s doubts began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of relief and excitement. You hadn’t forgotten him, after all. You were as curious about him as he was about you. “No, no, it’s fine,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“Of course I remember you! How could I forget the cute, smart guy who helped me find the bathroom?” you teased lightly, your laughter filling the space between you and putting Spencer at ease.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with you, the tension in his chest finally easing. “Well, I’m glad I could help,” he said, the smile now fully blossoming on his face. “So… what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d be free sometime soon? I’d love to actually get to know you better, maybe over coffee or something? I should be back in New York in a few weeks!” Your invitation was casual, but the sincerity in your voice was something Spencer couldn’t ignore.

“I would like that,” Spencer began, hesitating slightly before continuing. “Um, I actually live in Virginia…”

“Oh! That’s no problem, I can come to Virginia,” you replied without missing a beat, your tone so effortlessly confident and reassuring that it caught Spencer off guard.

He blinked, momentarily confused. What kind of life did you lead that allowed you such flexibility, such willingness to drop everything for a spontaneous trip? “Are you sure? It’s a three-hour train ride,” he said, the logical part of his brain struggling to grasp the ease with which you offered.

“No problem! I’m in Los Angeles right now, but I should have a bit of freedom in, say, two weeks? Would that work for you?” Your words were filled with a casualness that suggested this kind of thing was just another day in your life.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Spencer responded, still wrapping his mind around the idea that you were so eager to see him, despite the distance and the logistics involved.

“Amazing! Are weekends better for you?” you asked, the excitement in your voice making it clear how much you were looking forward to this.

“Yes, weekends are good,” Spencer confirmed, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him.

“Okay, Spencer,” you said, and he could practically hear the smile in your voice. “How about you pick a time and a café in Virginia for Saturday two weeks from now, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Uh, sure, I can do that,” Spencer replied, a bit overwhelmed but in the best way possible. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Great! I can’t wait,” you said, your enthusiasm palpable even over the phone. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As you ended the call with a cheerful goodbye, Spencer found himself staring at his phone again, but this time, the feeling of defeat was replaced with something entirely different—a sense of anticipation, of possibility. He had two weeks to figure out the perfect place to meet, and the thought of seeing you again made his heart race in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

—

Two weeks flew by, and soon you were landing in New York, excitement and nerves swirling inside you. Instead of flying to Virginia, you chose the train, savoring the slower pace after the constant rush of airports in your career.

As the train glided smoothly along, a calm settled over you, the rhythmic sound of the tracks providing a rare moment of peace. You were anxious about meeting someone new, but also excited—Spencer seemed down-to-earth and refreshingly different from the usual whirlwind of fame. And he was undeniably attractive, with a quiet, intelligent charm that had caught your attention.

Though your security detail accompanied you, the ride was peaceful. Most passengers didn’t mind having a pop star in their car; a few asked for autographs and pictures, which you happily provided. For the most part, you were left alone to chat with your security and enjoy the journey.

—

Arriving at the café was agonizing for Spencer. His nerves had been on edge the entire day, and he’d debated countless times whether he should even show up. The closer he got, the more his anxiety spiked. What if you didn’t show up? What if you were a soon-to-be unsub? His mind raced through every worst-case scenario, each one more unsettling than the last.

As he approached the café, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. What if you just wanted to hurt him? What if you had forgotten about him entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at him, making each step feel heavier than the last. It took every ounce of his willpower to push through the doubt and walk through the door, hoping—desperately—that this wasn’t all a mistake.

But to his surprise, when Spencer finally entered the café, he saw you already there, seated at a small table near the window. You were early, a black coffee in front of you, with a canister full of sugar beside it, waiting to be poured. The sight of you, so relaxed and genuinely present, eased some of his lingering fears.

You had arrived first, intentionally choosing a slightly hidden booth and quietly informing the staff of your presence to avoid any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t about having a big head, but rather wanting to keep the date as normal as possible, just in case someone recognized you and caused a scene.

“Spencer! Hi!” you greeted him warmly, your smile lighting up the room as you waved him over.

“Hello,” he responded, raising a hand in a shy wave as he walked toward you, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness.

“It’s so good to see you!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm evident. “Can I hug you?”

“Um,” Spencer hesitated for a split second, caught off guard by your openness. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yes, sure.”

You stood up and gently wrapped your arms around him, your embrace warm and welcoming. Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders start to melt away, the simple act reminding him that maybe, just maybe, this could turn out better than he’d feared as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“So, I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and got you a coffee,” you said, gesturing to the cup in front of him. “I wasn’t sure how sweet you like it, so I just asked for a whole thing of sugar.”

Spencer couldn’t believe how thoughtful you were, the small gesture meaning more to him than you might realize. “Oh, thank you so much,” he replied, his voice soft with gratitude. “That’s perfect.”

He felt a warmth in his chest, a sense of comfort in knowing that you had already taken the time to consider his preferences. It was a simple act, but to Spencer, it spoke volumes about the kind of person you were.

Spencer took a seat across from you, feeling the warmth from your earlier hug still lingering. You watched as he carefully added just the right amount of sugar to his coffee, stirring it with a quiet focus that made you smile.

"So," you began, breaking the silence with a gentle tone, "how have you been? I hope your day wasn't too stressful."

Spencer looked up, meeting your eyes with a small, appreciative smile. "It’s been… a bit nerve-wracking, to be honest. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m really glad I came."

You leaned in slightly, your expression softening. "I’m glad you did too. I’ve been looking forward to this."

He felt a flutter in his chest at your words, the sincerity in your voice easing some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at him. “I’ve been looking forward to it too, though I was worried I might say something awkward.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about that. I like awkward—it’s honest. Besides, I’m probably just as nervous as you are.”

Spencer looked at you with surprise. “Really? You seem so confident.”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I guess I’ve had a lot of practice pretending to be. But trust me, I get nervous too, especially when I’m meeting someone new.”

There was a pause as your words sank in, making Spencer feel a bit more at ease. “Well, if it helps, you’re doing a great job of making me feel comfortable.”

Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Good, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. I just want us to enjoy this, no pressure, just two people getting to know each other.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the last of his nerves start to fade away. “That sounds nice. I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

You raised your coffee cup in a mock toast, your grin contagious. “Here’s to a good start, then.”

Spencer clinked his cup against yours, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “To a good start.”

After you both took a sip of your coffee, the conversation started to flow more naturally. Eventually, Spencer asked, “What do you do for work?”

It was at that moment you realized that Spencer genuinely didn’t know who you were—he wasn’t just pretending for your sake. “Oh! Um, I sing,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

“You sing? That’s so great! What kind of music?” Spencer’s enthusiasm was genuine, and it warmed your heart.

“Mostly pop, but I’ve been called indie pop before too,” you explained, trying not to let your nerves show.

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t listen to much pop, but I would love to come to one of your shows sometime. Where do you perform?”

You laughed nervously, not sure how to break it to him. “Ha ha, well, a little bit of everywhere? I could invite you next time I perform close by!”

“That would be great,” Spencer said with a dopey smile, clearly pleased with the idea.

“So, what do you do, Spencer?” you asked, eager to shift the focus.

“I work for the FBI,” he replied, almost bashfully.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That is so much cooler!”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Spencer said, blushing slightly at the compliment.

“Do you take down bad guys?” you asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

Spencer chuckled softly. “Yeah, something like that. I’m a profiler, so I help catch criminals by understanding how they think.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow, that’s amazing! You’re like a real-life Sherlock Holmes.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your words, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I think that’s the best compliment I have ever gotten,” he said, clearly touched by the comparison.

You smiled back, pleased to see how much the compliment meant to him. “Well, it’s true. It sounds like you have a pretty incredible job.”

Spencer’s smile softened, a hint of shyness returning. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, but it’s rewarding.”

You could see the passion he had for his work, and it only made you more curious to learn about the man behind the profiler. “I have a feeling you’re really good at what you do,” you added, feeling more drawn to him with each passing moment.

As the conversation continued, you felt a growing connection with Spencer, charmed by his sincerity and humility. It was refreshing to talk to someone who saw you as just a person, rather than the pop star you usually were.

—

The date was, in a word, phenomenal. You and Spencer clicked in a way that felt effortless, the conversation flowing naturally, and the time slipping by unnoticed. By the end of it, you both agreed to meet again the next time you were close by. Spencer left the café feeling lighter, with a genuine smile on his face. From what he gathered, you traveled often for work but mostly lived in New York, which suited him just fine. The idea of seeing you again was something he looked forward to.

Monday morning came around, and as Spencer walked into the office, he barely had time to settle in before Derek Morgan sauntered over, a teasing grin on his face. “So, pretty boy,” Derek started, leaning against Spencer’s desk, “heard from Hotch you had a hot date this weekend.”

Spencer felt a blush creep up his neck, trying to play it cool as he adjusted his tie. “It wasn’t… I mean, yeah, I had a date,” he admitted, though he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “And? How’d it go? Are we gonna see wedding bells soon, or what?”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “It went well, really well. We’re planning to meet again soon.”

Derek gave him a playful nudge. “Look at you, Pretty Boy, out here dating like a pro. So, what’s she like?”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing back to the date. “She’s… incredible. Smart, funny, down-to-earth. I really enjoyed spending time with her.”

Derek nodded approvingly. “Sounds like a keeper. Just make sure you bring her around sometime so the rest of us can vet her properly.”

Spencer laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself thinking back to the date, the smile still lingering on his face. He had no idea what the future held, but for now, he was more than happy with the way things were unfolding.

—

May, 2006

Even though your schedule was packed, you managed to carve out moments in your day to text Spencer. It became a little ritual—finding those brief pauses between studio sessions, interviews, or flights to send him a quick message. Sometimes it was a simple Good morning! or Hope your day’s going well! Other times, you’d share something funny or interesting that happened, enjoying the way his replies always seemed to brighten your day.

Spencer, in turn, did his best to keep up with the texts, even when his work took him deep into intense cases. He found himself looking forward to your messages, the small glimpses into your life offering a welcome distraction from the often grim realities of his job.

A month after your first date, the stars finally aligned again, and you both found yourselves free at the same time. Spencer had been looking forward to seeing you, but as luck would have it, the BAU team had already planned a bar night for that weekend. There was no way he could bow out without raising suspicions, so instead, he decided to invite you along.

He texted you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Hey, I know we’ve been planning to meet up again, and I was wondering if you’d like to come out with me and my team this weekend? We’re having a bar night, and I’d really like for you to meet everyone.

That sounds like so much fun! I’d love to meet your team. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

Spencer smiled as he read your reply, feeling a sense of relief and excitement all at once. It wasn’t what he’d originally planned, but he realized that introducing you to his team felt like a natural next step. Plus, he was curious to see how you’d fit in with the people who had become like family to him.

As the weekend approached, Spencer found himself growing more and more eager to see you again. This time, he wasn’t just looking forward to spending time with you—he was excited to see how you’d interact with the people who meant so much to him.

—

You decided to meet Spencer at his apartment before heading to the bar, a decision that filled you with both excitement and nerves. The idea of seeing him again, of spending time with him in a more casual, intimate setting, was thrilling, but it also made your heart race with anticipation. You stood outside his door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before finally mustering the courage to knock.

Meanwhile, your security team was stationed discreetly at the base of the building, sitting in their cars to avoid drawing attention. You didn’t want to alarm Spencer with an obvious security presence, especially since he didn’t know the full extent of your fame. They had already done a thorough sweep of the bar, learning all the exits and identifying the best spots to keep watch over you without intruding on your evening.

As you waited for Spencer to answer the door, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was a big step—meeting his team, blending your two worlds, and trying to keep the balance between your public life and the private connection you were building with him. But as the door opened and you saw Spencer’s familiar, warm smile, those nerves began to ease.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice soft and welcoming.

“Hey,” you replied, returning his smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Being here with him, seeing that look in his eyes, reminded you why you were doing this. The rest of the world could wait; tonight was about the two of you.

Spencer stepped aside to let you in, his apartment cozy and inviting. “You look great,” he said, his tone slightly shy as he took in your appearance.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm. “You do too.”

There was a brief pause, the two of you just standing there, enjoying the moment. Then, Spencer gestured towards the door. “Ready to go? The team’s probably already at the bar.”

“Yeah, let’s do this,” you said, feeling a surge of confidence as you linked your arm with his.

—

As you and Spencer arrived at the bar, your nerves returned with full force. You had been feeling confident earlier, but now, faced with meeting his entire team, the reality of blending your world with his hit you hard. Spencer seemed to sense your hesitation, offering you a reassuring smile as he led you inside.

“Hey, guys, this is Y/N,” Spencer said, introducing you to his team with a hint of pride in his voice. “Y/N, this is my team.”

Before anyone else could say a word, Penelope Garcia practically barreled through the group, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh. My. God. Y/N Y/L? I love your music! How did you two meet?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, though it made you a little self-conscious. “Um, we met at a publishing house in New York,” you said, trying to keep things casual.

Spencer looked adorably confused as he turned to Penelope. “How do you know Y/N’s music?”

Penelope’s face lit up even more. “I’ve been a fan for years!”

You felt a warm blush creeping up your neck. “Thank you so much,” you said kindly, appreciating her support. But you were also eager to shift the focus away from your celebrity status. “But, uh, let’s not focus on me. I want to get to know all of you.”

The team exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity and amusement playing on their faces. It was clear that they were intrigued by the dynamic between you and Spencer, but they respected your wish to keep the conversation light and inclusive.

“Fair enough,” Derek said with a grin, extending his hand to you. “I’m Derek. It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand, relieved that the introductions were moving forward. “Nice to meet you too, Derek.”

As each member of the team introduced themselves, you felt the initial wave of nerves begin to subside. They were a friendly, welcoming group, and their easy going nature made it easier for you to relax. Spencer stayed close by your side, his presence comforting as you navigated this new and somewhat intimidating social landscape.

Unfortunately, as pleasant as the evening had been, things took a sharp turn when it was time for you and Spencer to leave the bar. The moment you stepped outside, you were met with the overwhelming sight of a large crowd waiting by the entrance, their faces eager, some shouting your name. The flashes of cameras lit up the night as paparazzi swarmed, snapping photos in a chaotic frenzy.

“Y/N, come with us,” your head security guard, Emerson, called out firmly, their voice carrying over the noise. They were already moving to shield you from the crowd, their team efficiently surrounding both you and Spencer.

Spencer was beyond confused, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The crowd, the screaming, the relentless camera flashes—it was all a world he had never experienced before. One moment, the two of you were having a quiet night out with his team, and the next, you were being hustled into a black SUV by your security detail.

As the vehicle sped away, leaving the chaos behind, Spencer finally found his voice. “Y/N, what the hell was that?” he asked, his tone filled with concern and bewilderment.

You let out a sigh, knowing this was something you’d have to explain sooner or later. “I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you began, turning to him with an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Someone must have recognized me and tipped off the paparazzi.”

Spencer frowned, still trying to piece everything together. “Recognized you? But why would…?” He trailed off, the reality slowly dawning on him. “Wait… Are you famous?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and apprehension. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. That’s why there was a crowd outside—they wanted pictures and autographs, that sort of thing.”

Spencer sat back in his seat, processing what you had just told him. “I had no idea,” he said softly, a hint of shock still in his voice.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal between us. I just wanted you to get to know me for who I am, not because of my career.”

He looked at you, his expression a mix of understanding and concern. “Y/N, I don’t care about any of that. I just… I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I understand,” you said, reaching out to gently take his hand. “I should have been more upfront with you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his gaze softening. “It’s okay. I just need a little time to process everything.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. “Of course. We can talk more about it when you’re ready. I don’t want this to change anything between us.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, the initial shock beginning to fade. “It won’t,” he assured you. “I still want to get to know you, the real you. We’ll figure this out together.”

His words brought you a sense of relief, and as the car continued to drive away from the chaotic scene, you felt a renewed sense of hope for what lay ahead.

—

The security team swiftly brought you and Spencer to a hotel with a private parking garage, ensuring that you wouldn’t be followed or harassed any further. It was a relief to be away from the chaos, but you couldn’t help feeling bad for dragging Spencer into your world so abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said softly as you both exited the car. “Do you mind hanging out here for a bit until everything dies down? Or I can have Emerson take you home.”

“No, no, I want to stay with you,” he quickly replied, his sincerity evident.

You smiled, grateful for his support. “Okay.”

The two of you were guided up to the room where you’d be staying for the weekend. Your security team stood guard outside, some doing security sweeps to ensure the area was safe. Inside the room, the atmosphere was much calmer, but you could sense Spencer’s curiosity lingering.

“Alright, so tell me about it. How famous are you?” Spencer asked, his tone light but clearly curious.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you hated that question. Measuring your fame felt strange and impersonal. You valued your fans and appreciated the love they showed you, but fame was such a nebulous concept. “Uhhh…”

Spencer quickly backtracked, noticing your discomfort. “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured him. “I, uh, guess I have quite the fan base.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to your reluctance. “Would it bother you if I looked you up when I get home?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness. “That’s fine, Spencer. Just… don’t judge me too harshly.”

He looked at you with that soft, earnest expression that always seemed to put you at ease. “I would never.”

“I know, I know,” you said, letting out a small sigh. “It’s just—there’s a lot of nasty rumors, and bad things people say about me. Just, keep an open mind?”

Spencer’s gaze was steady as he reached out to take your hand. “Y/N, I like you. I don’t care what some idiot says about you on the internet, okay?”

His words were like a balm to your nerves, and you felt a warmth spread through you. “Okay. I like you too,” you admitted, feeling a surge of affection for the man sitting beside you.

Spencer’s eyes softened even further, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and full of hope.

“Please,” you whispered, your heart racing.

Spencer leaned in, his hand gently cradling your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, perfect moment. It was a kiss that spoke of understanding, of acceptance, and of something that had the potential to grow into something truly special.

And so began the beautiful relationship between you and Spencer. Every chance you got was spent together, each moment building the foundation for something truly special.

—

June, 2006

As you and Spencer strolled hand in hand through the grand halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the world around you seemed to blur into the background. The marble floors echoed softly with your footsteps, and the air was filled with the quiet hum of visitors lost in their own reverence for the art surrounding them. But for you, the real masterpiece was right beside you, his voice animated as he guided you through the exhibits.

“And here,” Spencer said, his eyes lighting up as he gestured toward a stunning Greek statue, “we have a marble sculpture of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. What’s fascinating is that this particular piece is from the Hellenistic period, where artists began to explore more dynamic poses and emotions in their work.”

You looked up at the statue, trying to see it through Spencer’s eyes. “It’s incredible,” you murmured, squeezing his hand lightly. “You make it all sound so alive, like we’re stepping back in time.”

Spencer smiled, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “I’ve always loved how art can connect us to the past. It’s like a conversation across centuries, where every brushstroke or chisel mark tells a story.”

You could hear the passion in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. “You know, I’ve been here before, but it’s never felt this… magical,” you admitted, looking up at him.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he gazed back at you. “It’s not just the art,” he said quietly. “It’s who you’re experiencing it with.”

You felt a warm blush rise to your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your heart. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you said with a smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just a guy who likes art history,” he replied modestly.

“And I’m just a girl who’s falling for that guy who likes art history,” you teased, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder as you continued your walk.

Spencer’s smile grew as he squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Then I’d say we’re both pretty lucky.”

—

August, 2006

The weekend in Los Angeles felt like a breath of fresh air, a pause from the relentless pace of your lives. The sun was warm against your skin as you and Spencer strolled along the beach, the Pacific Ocean stretching out endlessly before you. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the easy conversation that flowed between you.

“I never imagined LA would be so…relaxed,” Spencer remarked, his gaze drifting out over the water. “I always thought of it as this fast-paced, high-energy place.”

You smiled, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “It can be, but there’s a whole other side to it too. It’s not all about Hollywood and traffic. Sometimes, it’s just about finding those quiet corners where you can breathe.”

Spencer nodded, looking thoughtful. “I can see why you like it here. It’s like the city has this dual nature—busy and vibrant, but also peaceful when you know where to look.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your hand slipping into his. “I wanted to show you that part of my life, the part that isn’t all about work and appearances. Just… the real me.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “I like the real you. I mean, I liked you before, but getting to see this side of you…it makes me feel closer to you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to just…be with you, without any distractions.”

The two of you continued walking, the sand shifting beneath your feet as the conversation turned to lighter topics. You talked about everything from your favorite movies to childhood memories, finding joy in the simplicity of sharing these little pieces of your lives.

Later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, you found a cozy spot at one of your favorite hidden restaurants, tucked away from the bustling streets. The atmosphere was intimate, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in conversation without worrying about being recognized. The soft candlelight flickered between you, casting a warm glow over the table.

“This place is amazing,” Spencer said as he looked around, taking in the rustic charm of the restaurant. “It’s like a little secret.”

You grinned, pleased that he liked it. “It’s one of my favorites. The food is great, but it’s the atmosphere that keeps me coming back. It’s like a little escape from everything.”

As the evening wore on, you both savored the delicious food and each other’s company, the rest of the world fading into the background. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time, Spencer’s wit and intelligence making every moment more enjoyable.

By the time you made your way back to the beach for a final stroll under the stars, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The city’s vibrant energy had melted into the tranquility of the night, and it was just the two of you, walking hand in hand along the shore.

“I could get used to this,” Spencer said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“Me too,” you replied, leaning into him as you walked. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Spencer smiled, a serene look on his face as he glanced down at you. “We can always come back. Maybe this could be our little escape.”

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the thought. “I’d like that.”

—

September, 2006

Spencer stood in the audience, his heart swelling with pride as he watched you perform, captivated by the way you commanded the stage. The lights bathed you in a warm glow, and your powerful, confident presence mesmerized the entire crowd. To Spencer, it was like seeing a new side of you, one that was awe-inspiring yet deeply connected to the person he knew so well—the one who shared quiet moments and deep conversations with him.

As the final notes rang out and the audience erupted in applause, Spencer clapped with fervor, pride evident in his eyes. After the show, you headed backstage, your adrenaline still high, but the moment you saw Spencer waiting for you, all the excitement of the stage melted away. His eyes shone with admiration, and in that instant, nothing else mattered but you.

Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. “You were incredible,” he whispered in your ear, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace grounding you after the high of the performance. “Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m so glad you were here.”

Spencer’s gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of awe and love. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing you up there, it was… it was something else. I’m so proud of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you feel even closer to him. “It means everything to me that you’re proud,” you replied, your hand resting against his chest.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I am. More than you know.”

—

November, 2006

Visiting Diana Reid in Las Vegas was a deeply personal step for both you and Spencer, a gesture that spoke volumes about how much you meant to him. The significance of the visit wasn't lost on you, and as you arrived at the care facility where Diana lived, you could feel the weight of the moment settling in.

Spencer’s hand held yours tightly as he led you inside, nervousness and pride evident in his eyes. You knew how important his mother was to him, and the fact that he was introducing you to her was a clear sign of the depth of his feelings. As you walked through the halls, you felt the butterflies in your stomach, but the steady pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours reassured you.

When you finally reached Diana’s room, Spencer paused, taking a deep breath before gently knocking on the door. “Mom, it’s Spencer,” he called softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

The door opened, and there she was—Diana Reid, with a warm smile that instantly made you feel at ease. “Spencer, my sweet boy,” she greeted, her eyes lighting up as she saw him. Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity and kindness mingling in her expression. “And you must be Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his nerves clearly still present, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “Mom, this is Y/N. I wanted you to meet her.”

You stepped forward, offering a genuine smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Diana.”

Diana’s smile widened as she reached out to take your hand in hers. “The pleasure is mine, dear. Spencer speaks so highly of you.”

Diana welcomed you with warmth, her kindness evident in every word. It was clear how much Spencer loved her, reflected in the way he cared for her.

As the three of you chatted, you found it easy to connect with Diana—her sharp wit and stories filled the room with laughter. Spencer listened intently, his eyes often on his mother, revealing the deep bond they shared.

At one point, as Diana shared a funny childhood story about Spencer, you glanced at him and saw the soft, affectionate smile on his face. It made your heart swell with love for both him and the woman who raised him.

Throughout the visit, Spencer's hand never left yours, a silent sign of pride in introducing you to his mother. The connection you built with Diana added another layer to the bond you and Spencer were creating, one that grew stronger with each moment.

As the visit came to an end, Diana hugged you warmly, whispering in your ear, “Take care of him, won’t you?”

You hugged her back, your voice soft but sincere. “I will, Diana. I promise.”

When you and Spencer left the care facility, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Meeting Diana had been a significant step, one that solidified the love and trust you and Spencer shared. And as you walked together under the bright Las Vegas sky, you knew that your relationship had grown even stronger, rooted in the love and connections you were building together.

—

December, 2006

The final piece fell into place when Spencer met your family in New York. Both of you had been a little nervous, knowing how important this moment was, but those nerves quickly dissolved as your family welcomed him with open arms. They were eager to meet the man who had captured your heart, and Spencer, with his quiet charm and genuine kindness, fit in seamlessly.

You watched with a smile as he effortlessly engaged in conversation with your parents, his gentle demeanor putting them at ease. He listened intently to your father’s stories and shared thoughtful insights that sparked lively discussions. Your mother was instantly taken with his manners and the way he looked at you with such clear affection.

It was your brother, though, who really put Spencer to the test, teasing him playfully and cracking jokes that had the room roaring with laughter. Spencer, to your delight, not only kept up but even managed to throw in a few quips of his own, earning him a slap on the back and a hearty laugh from your brother.

As you observed them all interacting, a warm feeling settled over you. Seeing Spencer so naturally integrated into your family, like he had always been a part of it, made your heart swell with happiness. You knew then, without a doubt, that he had become an irreplaceable part of your life.

Later that evening, as you walked hand in hand through the quiet streets of your old neighborhood, you turned to him with a smile. “I think they love you,” you said softly, leaning into his side.

Spencer glanced down at you, his eyes full of warmth. “I was more nervous about meeting them than I was about joining the FBI,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “But your family is wonderful. I feel really lucky.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, your voice filled with emotion. “You mean so much to me, Spencer, and seeing you get along with my family… it just makes everything feel even more right.”

He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I feel the same way,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “This—us—feels right.”

—

June, 2007

It wasn’t until you and Spencer had been together for a year that the first crack in the armor began to form. A year ago, Spencer had kept his promise and looked you up online. But what he didn’t tell you was how much he hated what he found. The dating rumors, the fan crushes, the obsession from your fans—he saw it all, and it gnawed at him. The jealousy simmered beneath the surface, his insecurities festering as he watched the world fawn over you.

At first, Spencer’s comments seemed harmless enough—slight jabs and subtle jokes about the rumors and fan pages. You thought he was just teasing, playing along with the absurdity of it all. But over time, the tone changed. The jokes became sharper, more pointed, until you couldn’t ignore the underlying resentment.

The breaking point came when you and Billie Eilish, a close friend since the beginning of your career, collaborated on a song for her new album. The promo involved interviews, social media posts, and what Spencer hated the most—a chicken shop date. The chemistry between you and Billie was undeniable, something that couldn’t be faked. Watching the video, Spencer felt his stomach churn with jealousy, convinced there was something more between you two.

Unable to keep his feelings in check, Spencer picked a fight over it. The tension that had been building for months finally erupted, his words laced with bitterness. “You and Billie looked like more than just friends in that video,” he snapped, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

You stared at him, stunned. “Spencer, we’re just friends. You know that.”

He shook his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “It didn’t look like that to me. Everyone sees the way you two are together, and I can’t stand it.”

The pain in his voice cut deep, and you realized how much he had been holding back. “Spencer, there’s nothing between us but friendship. You have to believe me.”

But the damage was done. The fight opened up the insecurities Spencer had tried so hard to suppress, and the trust that had always been the foundation of your relationship began to waver. As the argument continued, it became clear that this wasn’t just about Billie—it was about everything Spencer had been silently battling for months. The dating rumors, the fans, the world’s obsession with you—it had all taken its toll, and now it was threatening to tear you apart.

—

August, 2007

You and Spencer were lost in a heated makeout session, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissolving as you straddled his lap on your couch in New York. It had been too long since you’d had a moment like this—no schedules, no distractions, just the two of you reconnecting in the way that always felt the most natural. Spencer’s hands roamed over your body, and you could feel the urgency in his touch, the desire to be close to you after so much time apart.

Just as things were beginning to escalate, your phone started ringing. You ignored it, too wrapped up in the moment to care who might be calling. After all, the most important person in your life was right here with you. But the ringing didn’t stop. It kept going, over and over, cutting through the haze of your desire and pulling you back to reality.

Spencer pulled back, clearly annoyed by the persistent interruption. His breath was ragged, his frustration evident as he grabbed your phone from the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression quickly shifted from irritation to something darker—anger mixed with jealousy.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice dripping with venom as he flipped the phone to show you the screen.

You looked at the image and felt your stomach drop. It was a picture of you and Billie, taken during a trip when the two of you had gone swimming under a waterfall, wearing little more than bathing suits. Spencer had once liked looking at that picture, a reminder of the carefree times you’d shared. But now, that same image seemed to fuel his insecurities, the sight of you and Billie together igniting a seething jealousy within him.

“Spencer…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Why is she calling you? Now, of all times?” he demanded, the hurt in his voice unmistakable.

“She’s just a friend, Spencer,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away slightly, the distance between you suddenly feeling like a chasm.

“Is she, though?” he shot back, his tone laced with bitterness. “Because it sure doesn’t feel that way. Not when she’s always there, in your life, interrupting us even now.”

You could see the pain behind his words, the way his jealousy had been festering for far too long. “Spencer, you’re the one I’m here with. You’re the one I love,” you tried to reassure him, but it was clear that the tension between you two wasn’t going to dissolve as easily as it had built up.

The moment that had been so full of passion just minutes ago now felt heavy with unresolved emotions. The weight of Spencer’s jealousy and your own guilt for not addressing it sooner pressed down on you both, leaving you to wonder how you could mend the growing rift between you.

—

October, 2007

The article was nothing more than a piece of sensationalized gossip, a tabloid’s attempt to stir the pot with baseless claims. It wasn’t even on your radar as you prepared for your upcoming tour of the Americas, your mind focused on rehearsals, logistics, and the excitement of performing for your fans. But Spencer had seen it. And instead of brushing it off as the ridiculous fabrication it was, he believed it.

His rational mind—the one you had always admired—had been overwhelmed by months of festering insecurities and jealousy. The TMZ article, with its blurry, barely discernible photo of two women who vaguely resembled you and Billie, was the final straw. In his mind, it was proof that his worst fears were true.

Spencer’s heart raced as he stared at the article, his eyes blurring with tears. The image, though unclear, fed into his paranoia. He could barely think straight, his emotions a chaotic storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal. He grabbed his phone, his hands trembling as he dialed your number. You were in Brazil, preparing for the first leg of your tour, oblivious to the storm brewing back home.

When you answered, you were met with a voice you hardly recognized—sharp, cold, and filled with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Spencer had never sworn at you before. In fact, you weren’t even sure you’d ever heard him use the word “fuck” at all. The venom in his tone made your stomach drop, a cold dread seeping into your veins.

“What happened, baby?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the unease was already gnawing at you.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” he snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. “You made out with Billie in public, and you got caught. I have photo evidence that you’re cheating on me now. I’ve known for months! Months! How could you lie to my face?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hear the pain and betrayal in his voice, but all you felt was a profound sense of disbelief and heartache. “Spencer, what are you talking about? That’s not true. I would never—”

“Stop lying!” he interrupted, his voice thick with tears. “I saw the picture! How could you do this to me? To us?”

Your heart broke at the sound of his despair, but the accusation, the deep mistrust, cut even deeper. “Spencer, I didn’t do anything. There isn’t a picture because I’m not cheating on you,” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions.

But Spencer was too far gone, his mind too clouded by jealousy and doubt. “I can’t believe anything you say anymore,” he whispered, his voice filled with resignation. “I thought we had something real, but now… I don’t even know who you are.”

The fight that followed was explosive, both of you hurling words that only deepened the wounds already festering between you. Every attempt you made to explain, to reassure him, was met with anger and disbelief. Spencer’s trust in you had been shattered, and no amount of reasoning could bring him back from the edge.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. The constant jealousy, the mistrust, the way he had let a baseless article destroy the bond you had worked so hard to build—it was too much. “I can’t do this, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I love you, but I can’t live like this. I can’t be in a relationship where I’m constantly accused and doubted. It’s tearing me apart.”

There was a long, painful silence on the other end of the line, and then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, Spencer said, “Maybe we both deserve better than this.”

Tears streamed down your face as you realized what had just happened. “Goodbye, Spencer,” you choked out, hanging up before he could say anything else.

As you stood there, staring at the phone in your hand, the enormity of what you had just done hit you like a tidal wave. You had ended things with the man you still loved deeply, because the relationship had become a minefield of jealousy and mistrust. It was the hardest decision you’d ever made, and the pain of it felt unbearable.

You were heartbroken, knowing that despite everything, your feelings for Spencer hadn’t changed. But the relationship had become toxic, and you couldn’t continue down that path. As you tried to pull yourself together, preparing to go on stage and perform as if your world hadn’t just crumbled, you couldn’t help but wonder if either of you would ever truly heal from this.

—

Spencer sat in the silence of his apartment, feeling like a shell of the person he once was. The shock of what had just happened left him numb, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all. You were gone, and it was his fault.

—

In the months that followed, Spencer couldn’t escape the crushing weight of what he had done. He replayed every argument, every moment of doubt, and came to a painful realization: he was the bad guy in this story.

He watched as your tour progressed, each new headline a reminder of what he had lost. The press coverage was relentless, but what struck him most was how your relationship with Billie remained the same—close, supportive, but nothing more. There was no secret romance, no hidden agenda. Just the friendship that had always been there, and that he had been too blinded by jealousy to see for what it was.

Then, the truth about the photo came out. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t even Billie. It was a completely different couple—Phoebe Bridgers and her girlfriend. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had destroyed everything over a lie, over a distorted perception fueled by his own insecurities.

Spencer spiraled into self-loathing, he knew he had been an asshole—an irrational, emotional, accusatory, jealous, ignorant asshole. And now, he had to live with the consequences of his actions, knowing that he had let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers.

—

June, 2008

“So, Y/N… you just finished the first leg of your tour, how does it feel?” the interviewer asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

You couldn’t help but smile, the emotions from the tour still fresh in your mind. “Oh, it feels amazing! The energy from the crowds, the love and support—it was incredible. I miss them all so much already. Honestly, I wish I could go back and say thank you again to every single person who showed up for me and made this possible. They’re the reason I get to do what I love, and I’m so grateful for that.”

“Isn’t she great?” the interviewer exclaimed, prompting cheers from the live audience. After the applause died down, the interviewer leaned in with a mischievous grin. “I have to know, if you’re comfortable, what happened to that sexy string bean you used to have on your arm?”

Spencer, who had been half-listening to your interview as usual, suddenly found himself on high alert. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your response.

You shifted slightly in your seat, a small, wistful smile on your face. “Oh… um, we separated. But I still care for him deeply and hope he’s doing well.”

The interviewer nodded sympathetically before pressing on, “Are you seeing anyone new?”

Spencer held his breath, not sure if he wanted to hear your answer.

You shook your head, your smile more focused now. “No, I’m not. Just focusing on the tour right now! It’s hard work!”

The interviewer grinned. “I bet it is! Keeping busy with something you love is the best way to go.”

Spencer released a breath he’d been holding, a mixture of relief and lingering regret washing over him. He hadn’t moved on either.

—

July, 2008

(we pretend this is our song for the sake of the plot <3)

You released a few new songs before the second leg of your tour started, wanting to keep things fresh and exciting for your fans. Among the tracks was a deep cut, a raw and emotional song about your love for Spencer. It was a piece of your heart, a reflection of the pain, regret, and lingering love that still existed despite everything that had happened.

Spencer, however, had stopped listening to your music after the breakup. Every song felt like a reminder of what he had lost, especially the love songs that once brought him joy. The melodies that used to connect you two now only deepened his regret, making him avoid your music altogether.

But when Garcia heard your new song, she knew immediately that Spencer needed to hear it. Without hesitation, she sent it directly to him, attaching a message that read: You need to listen to this. Trust me.

Spencer hesitated when he saw the message. He knew it would hurt, but something made him press play. As the song played, the lyrics washed over him, each word piercing through the wall he had tried to build around his emotions. It was as if you were speaking directly to him, baring your soul in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

As the song ended, Spencer sat in silence, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He realized that despite everything, the love you had shared was still there, buried beneath the pain and mistakes. The song was a painful reminder of the depth of your connection, and it left him wondering if there was any way to mend what had been broken.

But as much as he wanted to reach out, he knew that no apology or explanation could undo the hurt he had caused. Spencer felt lost, grappling with the knowledge that he had loved you—and still did—yet had let his own insecurities destroy the best thing in his life.

—

Spencer had endured just about everything in his time at the FBI—being hit, kicked, shot, drugged, kidnapped—but never, in all those years, had anyone flicked him on the forehead. Until now. Derek Morgan’s fingers connected with a sharp flick, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts.

“We all know, Reid. Garcia sent the song to all of us,” Derek said, his voice laced with both sympathy and frustration. “I don’t know what you did, but I’m sure a flick doesn’t cover it.”

Spencer shook his head, the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders. “It doesn’t,” he admitted, the truth settling like a stone in his stomach.

That night, Spencer decided he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Swallowing the last remnants of his pride, he picked up his phone and dialed your number. But when the automated message informed him that the line was no longer in service, his heart sank. You had changed your number. Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t let him stop. He dialed the next number he knew by heart.

“Hello?” came the familiar voice on the other end.

“Dylan?” Spencer’s voice trembled slightly, betraying his nerves.

“Who is this?” Dylan’s tone was cold, guarded.

“Spencer Reid. Please, don’t hang up.”

“What do you want, asshole?”

Spencer flinched at the anger in Dylan’s voice, but he knew he deserved it. “I deserve that.”

“Damn right, you piece of shit. I watched my sister cry for months over you. And she didn’t do anything wrong—it was all you.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So let me repeat myself, what do you want?”

“I want to talk to her,” Spencer said, desperation creeping into his tone.

“No fucking way.”

“Please, I need to apologize.”

“She’s moved on, she doesn’t want to hear from you,” Dylan shot back, his words cutting through Spencer like a knife.

“She moved on?” Spencer’s voice wavered, the reality of those words hitting him hard.

“Yeah, most people would by now.”

Spencer felt a painful twist in his chest, but he pressed on. “I still… I still want to apologize.”

Dylan’s voice was ice-cold. “If you actually cared about her, you’d let her go.”

“Dylan—” Spencer tried to plead, but the line went dead, the dial tone echoing in his ear.

Spencer stared at the phone in his hand, the finality of it all crashing down on him. He had lost you, not just because of his mistakes but because he hadn’t been able to see what was in front of him until it was too late.

—

“He called today.”

“What?” you asked, looking up in surprise.

“He called me.”

“Who?” But even as you asked, you felt a knot forming in your stomach, dreading the answer.

“Spencer.”

You froze. That name hadn’t been spoken around you in what felt like forever. Hearing it now sent a wave of emotions crashing over you, emotions you’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Jackass said he wanted to apologize to you,” Dylan replied, his tone laced with disdain.

“After all this time?” The disbelief in your voice was evident, and you could hardly process what you were hearing.

“Mhm,” Dylan confirmed, watching your reaction carefully.

“What did you tell him?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

“That you’d moved on, that he should too,” Dylan said, his voice firm and protective.

“Oh.” The single word hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and lingering feelings.

Dylan’s voice softened, sensing your turmoil. “Y/N… he’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Dylan. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Dylan said, his concern palpable even through the phone.

That night, as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but wish your number hadn’t been leaked. You knew Spencer would have called you directly if he could have. And if you had answered? You might have at least heard him out, given him the chance to say the things he had left unsaid for so long.

But now, as you stared up at the ceiling, the what-ifs swirled in your mind, keeping you awake long into the night. You had moved on, or at least you told yourself you had. But the unresolved feelings, the remnants of a love that once meant everything, were still there, lurking just beneath the surface. And as much as you wanted to push them away, tonight they were impossible to ignore.

—

Hey Kade – think you can find a number for me? And not tell Dylan…

For sure, just give me a name and a city

God bless Kade. They didn't ask any questions, just worked their magic. Within minutes, Kade had sent you Spencer's number. You stared at it for a long moment, the screen glowing in the dim light of your room. Your thumb hovered over the call button, knowing that if you didn’t do it now, you’d lose your nerve.

With a deep breath, you tapped the number and pressed the phone to your ear. The ringing felt endless, each second adding to your nerves. But then, the line clicked, and his familiar voice came through.

“Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer Reid’s ex-girlfriend,” you said, your tone shy yet teasing, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside you.

There was a brief pause, then his voice, softer now, almost incredulous. “Y/N?”

“The one and only,” you replied, your heart racing as you tried to steady your voice.

There was another pause, this one filled with emotions that neither of you knew how to express just yet.

“You called Dylan,” you said, your voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I know, your old number didn’t work,” Spencer replied, his tone tinged with regret.

“Someone leaked it…” you explained softly, the memory of that chaotic time flashing through your mind. But you quickly refocused, your heart pounding as you asked the question that had been weighing on you since you heard he’d tried to reach out. “Why were you calling, Spencer?”

“I love you,” he blurted out, the words raw and desperate.

“What?” The sudden confession caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to process what he had just said.

“Your song, i love you. Did you mean it? Do you still love me?” His voice cracked with vulnerability, and you could hear the pleading in his words, the desperation of a man who had realized too late what he had lost.

“Spencer…” You hesitated, the pain and love intertwined so tightly within you that it was hard to speak.

“I’m begging you, Y/N. Do you love me?” The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, and you could almost see him, his heart in his hands, waiting for your response.

“Of course I do,” you finally admitted, the truth spilling out before you could stop it.

“Are you in New York?” Spencer asked, his voice filled with hope.

“Yes,” you replied, your heart racing as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t expected.

“Can I come see you?” His question hung in the air, the possibility of seeing him again making your pulse quicken.

“Right now?” you asked, still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in your emotions.

“Right now, I can be there by 4 pm,” he responded, the determination in his voice unmistakable.

“Okay,” you said, the word slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

“Okay? Really?” Spencer’s voice was filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, a small smile forming on your lips. “You remember where I live?”

“By heart,” he replied, and you could hear the warmth in his voice.

“See you soon, Spence,” you said softly, the familiar nickname bringing a wave of nostalgia and comfort.

“See you soon,” he echoed, and with that, the call ended, leaving you with a whirlwind of emotions and the realization that in just a few hours, Spencer would be standing at your door.

—

Spencer spent the entire train ride to New York mentally rehearsing what he would say to you. He went over every possible scenario, trying to find the right words to express everything he felt—the regret, the love, the longing. But as the train pulled into the station and he made his way to your apartment, his mind went blank. By the time he was standing at your door, all his carefully planned words had vanished.

His hand, seemingly moving on its own, raised to knock. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and within moments, the door swung open.

When you appeared in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat. You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, if that was even possible.

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, filled with emotions.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

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jexnkookie · 6 months ago

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The Law of Attraction (Lawyer!Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 1]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism] Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: I have this listed as "part one", because I may want to continue it in the future! This is just an idea that I've had floating around in my head, and I really haven't been inspired to write more of my other story lately, so why not put this out? If you'd like more of this story, please let me know and I can possibly continue it, if it's something y'all are interested in!

(It got another part)

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

New York City is always bustling on a Monday morning. Crowds of people piling onto the sprawling connection of subway, buses and sidewalks on their way for another week of hard work. Jung Kook was among them, wearing a discounted, freshly pressed suit, and a fresh cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand. AirPods in his ear, he let the newest pop playlist cover up the sound of the crowded street on his way to his new office. There was a little, barely noticeable pep in his step, hinting at his excitement for his first day.

His office building was rather large, even by his own metrics. Coming from Seoul, Jung Kook was no stranger to towering buildings, but this fresh law office had something glistening about its structure. As he entered through the front rotating tour, scanning the pass in his lanyard to be let in, any seasoned attorney would quickly recognize the wide-eyed young man as an ambitious rookie.

“Jung Kook!” A voice called out from across the lobby. Jung Kook stopped walking and looked up, scanning the room to see Mr. Kim Namjoon, one of the best defense attorneys he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, greeting him with a dimpled smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim!” Jung Kook responded, quickly making his way over to greet him.

“Aish, Jung Kook. Call me Namjoon.” He smiled shyly. “We’ll be working together as partners, I won’t be just a mentor to you anymore. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“Right, of course.” Jung Kook grinned. “Thank you for bringing me here, I’m really excited.”

“That’s great to hear.” Namjoon’s voice was warm and sincere. “I wasn’t sure how’d willing you’d be to leave Korea, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, it um…” Jung Kook pauses, thinking to himself for a moment for the right words to say. “It was a move that was for the best.”

Namjoon kept a smile on his face, but furrowed his brows just briefly as he read into the younger man’s explanation. Not wanting to press too much, he motioned Jung Kook to follow him to the elevator. They walked together with comfortable conversation, questions about Jung Kook’s move to the city and his commute. As the elevator took them high above the rest of the city, Jung Kook’s finger absentmindedly tapped on the coffee cup he held, jitters taking over.

“We had a case come in that I think you’ll be perfect to help me with.” Namjoon said, leading Jung Kook to his new office overlooking the city. There was an unorganized set of case files already on the desk. “You can put your stuff here, please make this space your own. The case is centering a Korean family, actually, so I thought maybe the two of us could connect with them on that level. Wealthy family, they’ve been doing business in the States a long time. But the son of the founder just recently inherited the company, and he’s being accused of defrauding investors. I need you to look over the case, and tell me what you think.”

Jung Kook nodded as he took his seat at his desk, opening up the file to read the defendant’s name, Park Jimin. The name sounded oddly familiar to him, but he brushed it aside as he read the details of the case.

“…Coaxed into investments using fraudulent and misleading data and projections…” Jung Kook read out loud, under his breath, before looking up at Namjoon. “So, he allegedly massaged the numbers into looking bigger than they are, leading to an increase of investments.”

“Hm.” Namjoon hummed, leaning against the door frame. “Then when the actual numbers came in, and they were nowhere close to what he had projected, he didn’t have the money to pay out. Now it’s our problem.”

“Yeah, ok.” Jung Kook nodded. “I have some ideas but I’d like to ask him some questions.”

“Perfect. I’ll give you his contact info, but he should be flying into the city tomorrow. He wants to meet with us anyways, he just needed a little time.”

“For what?”

“He recently got engaged.” Namjoon responded nonchalantly, scrolling through the contacts in his iPhone. “She comes from a wealthy family from Busan, apparently. Their fathers knew each other, since they’re both from the city..”

“Oh, they’re both from my city, I knew his name sounded familiar.” Jung Kook acknowledged. “Since her family is wealthy, maybe I’ve heard of them, too. What’s her name?”

“Aish, I can’t remember…” Namjoon thought for a moment. “Mr. Park mentioned her, and now my mind is blanking.”

The two startled when Namjoon’s phone rang. Namjoon apologized before stepping out to take the client’s call, leaving Jung Kook with his case files to further review. The rest of the day passed for the new, young lawyer, buried in a mountain of papers and taking notes. Namjoon peeked into his office on occasion to bring him coffee, or chat, or ask him about the case. But it was a slow, calm first day.

As was the next day, and the day after that. Jung Kook got into a routine as the weeks passed, feeling a growing sense of familiarity with the way that he was able to bury himself in his work. It was a nice way to briefly consume himself and chase away the loneliness of the last two years of his life.

He slowly made friends at his new firm. Never the extrovert, he was shy at first and afraid to open up. But knowing Namjoon for several years gave him a foot in the door, and allowed him an entry way into conversations that he wouldn’t have had otherwise. They asked about his life back home, and never dug too deep when he gave vague answers. He appreciated that, and his colleagues grew to like the handsome young lawyer.

Finally, on a Friday, as the week was winding down and Jung Kook was thinking of possible weekend plans, Namjoon quickly walked into his office after a brief warning knock to his door.

“We have a surprise meeting with Mr. Park.” Namjoon explained. “He just flew in from Seoul with his fiancé, and called me to say they want to meet with us. They’ll be here in a few minutes, so grab your notes and meet me in the conference room.”

Jung Kook’s eyes widened and he responded with a quick “ok”, before gathering up his collection of papers into a manila folder, and walking to meet Namjoon, stopping momentarily only to grab another quick cup of coffee to make sure he was alert. Being his first client meeting since joining the firm, he wanted to make sure he was at his best.

Settling into the conference room, Jung Kook looked over his notes, and made sure to have a pen to write down anything he may need later. He could see a light reflection of himself in the wall of windows facing the rest of the office, which he used to make sure his hair and suit looked presentable. He was hoping that with the money he made off of this case, he could buy a new, nicer suit like the one he saw in a shop window that he passed by not long ago.

His thoughts of a modest suit however were quieted by the presence of what he knew immediately to be his client walking down the office halls, nearing the conference room. Dressed in a luxurious, designer black suit and Louboutin loafers, Park Jimin was striking at first glance. He hid his eyes behind black sunglasses despite being indoors, and his dyed blonde hair complimented his glowing complexion and lush, pink lips. He looked expensive, the textbook definition of an heir.

The woman by his side looked gorgeous, Jung Kook thought. She was also beautifully dressed, in a sharp, maroon pencil dress and heels, with sunglasses also covering her eyes. Her Chanel bag dangled off her shoulder, her head was down, and her hand was intertwined with Mr. Park’s as they walked.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Park.” Namjoon greeted with a bow as he opened the door for the couple. “How was the flight in?”

“It was excellent, thank you. Please, call me Jimin.” Jimin responded, taking off his sunglasses, before turning his attention to Jung Kook. “Hello, I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“Jeon Jung Kook. I’ve just recently been added to look over the case.” Jung Kook smiled, standing up from his chair to bow. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Park Jimin.” Jimin introduced himself. “And this is my fiancé, Y/N.”

Y/N. Jung Kook repeated in his head, his eyes widening. It’s not possible.

You took off your glasses before bowing to Namjoon, and raised to meet Jung Kook’s eyes. Your expression matched his own, recognizing the man instantly.

“Jung Kook?” You smiled warmly. “Jeon Jung Kook? Oh my God, what a small world!”

“You two know each other?” Namjoon asked with a raised brow. He looked over at the young lawyer, who was staring at you with large eyes and parted lips.

“Jung Kook is an old classmate of mine.” You explained to Namjoon and your fiancé. “We went to the same university ages ago, when we were still living in Busan.”

This was Jung Kook’s worst nightmare unfolding right before his eyes. Here you were. You. Just as warm, beautiful, and personable as ever. Just as clueless as ever. It was amazing how you could be such an angel, but put him through so much pain, and not even know it.

“How have you been?” You asked with an innocent, bright grin. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“I-I’ve… been good.” Jung Kook stuttered, causing the other men in the room to look at him with growing suspicion.

“Honey, I don’t know that you’ve ever mentioned a Jung Kook.” Jimin said in a sweet tone directed at you, while his eyes judgmentally looked Jung Kook up and down. Namjoon nervously watched the interaction, waiting to bud in at any opportune time.

“We just had a couple classes together.” You explained. “Jung Kook, wasn’t it um…”

“History.” He finished your sentence, quicker and more deadpan in his tone than what he meant to. “And our political science class.”

“That’s right!” You nodded. “I remember you were always so smart, I guess it makes perfect sense you practice law now.”

“We’re happy to have him on the team.” Namjoon interjected, walking over to Jung Kook’s side of the table. He noted how Jimin still seemed unsure of Jung Kook’s mannerisms, and wanted to press on with the meeting. “Let’s get started, I’m sure the two of you have plans for the evening.”

Everyone took their seat, and Jung Kook stared at the blank notepad in front of him. He could feel Jimin’s eyes on him, but pretended not to be bothered. He scribbled down the date on the paper, desperate to not meet the client’s gaze.

“So, we reviewed the case.” Namjoon began, seeing how Jimin’s death stare didn’t shake from Jung Kook as he spoke. “We think that we have an excellent shot at winning, and to be completely honest, we’re expecting the judge to throw the case out.”

“That’s great news!” You said excitedly. “Honey, you’ve been so worried about this.”

Jimin looked at you, his eyes softening and a soft smile appearing. He rested a hand on your thigh, and looked over towards Namjoon.

“That is great news. Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Jung Kook has been reviewing the case for several days now, and he put together a couple arguments that we’ll present to the court, and have this ordeal finished, so you can move on.”

“Y-Yeah, so um…” Jung Kook started, the weight of everyone’s stare feeling heavy and thick in the air. He was careful to avoid your eyes in particular, sure that his reaction would be less than professional. “First of all, the numbers allegedly presented to investors were never your numbers, Mr. Park, they were the numbers that your father had supposedly projected. The suit is filed against you, not the company, so we can argue that you cannot be held personably liable for any losses. A-Also, there’s no um… There’s no physical evidence of these exact projections being shown that the plaintiffs presented so um… We could argue insufficient evidence.”

If Jung Kook were brave, he’d look up from his notes to see the way you grinned at him with the same, beautiful smile he used to see walking across campus every day. If he were brave, he’d tell you how beautiful that smile, and the rest of you, have always been to him.

If he were brave, he would’ve told you that a long time ago. But Jung Kook has never been brave. Not then, and definitely not now. Not when his client is shooting daggers at him from across the table, and a sparkling 24k gold and diamond on your finger reminds him of the thing he’s always known; you’re too good for someone like him. You deserve more.

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan.” Jimin said calmly, eyeing the young lawyer up and down, before turning his attention to you. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I think Mr. Jeon has this whole thing figured out. What do you think, darling?”

“I agree.” You blushed at your fiancé’s uncharacteristic public affection. “He’s always been so smart.”

“It seems so.” Jimin responded. “In that case, I believe we can wrap up this check-in meeting. I’d like to take my love out to dinner tonight. It’s her first time in New York City.”

“Is it?” Namjoon’s voice was pleasant but quick as he spoke. “Well, let’s not keep you two waiting. Thank you for coming in, and we’ll be in touch. Please, Mr. Park, don’t be afraid to reach out to either of us if you need anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jimin said, getting up from his chair and helping you out of yours before bowing to the lawyers.

“Jung Kook, it was so nice to see you.” You said, waving at him while Jimin placed a hand on your back to lead you from the room. “Thank you for working on this for us.”

“O-Of course.” He bowed. “You two have a nice night.”

With that, Jimin led you away from the room and down the office, and Jung Kook watched as he took your hand in his and caressed your skin with his thumb. It amazed him how even after all this time, seeing you with another man makes his chest ache.

“So….” Namjoon’s irritable voice said, leaning against the table. “You want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“It’s nothing.” Jung Kook responded quietly, cleaning up his papers to avoid making eye contact. “Just an old classmate.”

“Nothing?” Namjoon asked with a scoff. “Our client just burned a hole through you with his glare the entire meeting, and you want to call that nothing?”

“I want to go home.” Jung Kook said with growing frustration. “I promise, it’s nothing. It’s just been a hard first few weeks, ok?”

Jung Kook was headed out the door quickly, when Namjoon grabbed his arm to make him stop for a moment.

“If something is going on with our client’s fiancé… if there’s a history there or whatever, you need to let me know so we can manage this. We can’t lose Jimin as a client, we’d both be out of a job. He brings in too much money.”

“What, does he get into this type of shit a lot or something?”

“What do you think?” Namjoon asks. “It’s part of the job, dealing with rich clients that have more money than sense. They didn’t teach you that in class? Or were you too busy ogling her?”

“It’s really nothing.” Jung Kook said, this time more calmly through gritted teeth. “I just need to go home.”

Namjoon sighed as Jung Kook left the room, and cursed his luck with the obvious situation under his breath.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #the law of attraction #lawyer!jungkook #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fic

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librababe99 · 5 months ago

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Moments Between Time: Part One

CW: angst, hurt, dystopian, Mutant!Reader, mental anguish, existential despair, suggestive emotional and physical intimacy

Word Count: 2436

A/N: Hey loves! So I' m back with the first part of this new series featuring DOFP! Logan---Definitely one of my favorite x-men films that I went to see in theaters a few years back. I really hope y'all enjoy it--As always comments and feedback are highly appreciated! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(Part Two)

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The world had become a graveyard of memories, littered with the remnants of a civilization that once thrived. The skies, once a brilliant blue, were now a perpetually overcast gray, the sun a distant and pale shadow of its former self. Buildings stood as crumbling sentinels, their facades scorched and broken by years of unrelenting warfare. The air was thick with ash and the scent of burning, a constant reminder of the lives that had been lost and the battles yet to be fought.

The war had waged for years, perhaps decades—time had lost its meaning in the endless cycle of violence and survival. The Sentinels, monstrous machines designed to hunt and exterminate mutants, had decimated the population. Humanity, too, had been nearly eradicated in the crossfire, caught between the relentless advance of the Sentinels and the desperate resistance of the mutants. Those who remained were either in hiding or dead. The world was a barren wasteland, devoid of hope and teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You stood on the precipice of what was once a thriving city, now reduced to ruins. The wind howled through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers, carrying with it the echoes of a world that no longer existed. Your heart was heavy with the weight of all you had seen, all you had lost. But you were still standing, still fighting. You had no other choice.

Your powers had been both a blessing and a curse in this war. The ability to manipulate time was a formidable weapon, allowing you to slow it, speed it up, or even rewind it in brief bursts. But every use took a toll, draining your energy, leaving you weaker with each passing day. It was a power that came with a price—a price you had paid over and over again, watching friends and allies fall only to rewind their deaths, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable.

And yet, despite everything, you had survived. You were one of the last remaining members of the X-Men, a shadow of the team that had once stood as a beacon of hope in a world that feared and hated them. But hope was a luxury none of you could afford anymore. Survival was all that mattered, and even that seemed like a losing battle.

Beside you, Logan Howlett—Wolverine—surveyed the desolate landscape with a grim expression. His once fierce eyes were hardened by the years of combat, yet there was a depth of sorrow in them that matched your own. His presence was a constant, a rock in the storm that raged around you both. You had fought together through countless battles, each one more desperate than the last, and had watched the world crumble piece by piece.

Logan’s wounds healed quickly, his regenerative abilities keeping him alive when others would have perished. But even he was not immune to the emotional toll of this endless war. The loss of friends, of family, of a future worth fighting for—it all weighed heavily on him, carving deep lines into his face, turning his hair to gray.

For years, you and Logan had been comrades in arms, partners on the battlefield. But there was more between you than just the bond forged in blood and fire. There was something unspoken, a connection that ran deeper than either of you dared to acknowledge. It was a thread that had woven itself through the fabric of your shared experiences, pulling you closer even as the world around you fell apart.

The quiet moments between skirmishes had become precious, stolen time where the chaos of the world seemed to fade, if only for a brief while. It was in those moments that you would catch Logan’s gaze, his eyes searching yours as if seeking solace in the only place it could be found. There were times when your hands would brush, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through your entire being, a reminder that you were still alive, still capable of feeling something other than pain and despair.

But there was no room for love in a world like this. No room for the vulnerability that came with it. To love was to risk losing everything, and neither of you could afford that. So, you kept your feelings buried deep, hidden beneath layers of resolve and determination. There were more pressing matters at hand—survival, resistance, the slim chance of victory.

As the days passed and the future grew increasingly bleak, a plan began to take shape among the remaining X-Men. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to change the course of history, to prevent the events that had led to this catastrophic timeline. The idea was to send someone back in time, to a point before the Sentinels were created, before the war had begun. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance you had left.

The choice of who to send was obvious. Logan was the only one who could survive the journey. His healing factor would protect him from the physical strain, and his mind was strong enough to endure the temporal displacement. But even with his abilities, the mission was fraught with danger. If it failed, if something went wrong, there would be no coming back.

Your role in the plan was just as crucial. Your powers would be used to anchor Logan’s consciousness in the past, to guide him and keep him connected to the present. It was a task that required immense concentration and would drain you of almost all your energy. You knew the risks, knew that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn’t survive the attempt. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was giving Logan a chance to succeed, to change the future, to save the world.

The night before the mission, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of what was to come pressed down on you, a heavy burden that you carried alone. You had always been strong, resilient, but the thought of what lay ahead filled you with a sense of dread that you couldn’t shake.

You sat alone in the darkness, the cold air seeping into your bones, your thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. The reality of the situation was sinking in—this could be the last night you ever spent in this world. The last night you would see Logan, hear his voice, feel his presence beside you.

The sound of footsteps drew you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Logan approaching. His face was set in a somber expression, the lines of worry etched deep into his features. He said nothing as he sat down beside you, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed to be said, no words that could capture the magnitude of what was about to happen. But the silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between you for years. The tension that had simmered beneath the surface, always there but never acknowledged, was now impossible to ignore.

Finally, it was Logan who broke the silence. His voice was rough, low, like gravel underfoot. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hell,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first light of dawn was just beginning to break.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. It is.”

He turned to look at you then, his gaze intense, searching. “You ready for this?”

You met his eyes, seeing the concern there, the fear that he was trying so hard to hide. You managed a small, sad smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Logan’s hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before he rested it on yours. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold that surrounded you, a lifeline in the darkness. You looked down at your joined hands, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This could be it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If things go wrong… I just… I don’t want you to—”

You shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish. “Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it. We can’t afford to think like that.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was too late. The reality of the situation hung between you like a shadow, impossible to ignore. Logan squeezed your hand, the pressure grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“You’re strong,” he said, his voice steady, reassuring. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, took your breath away. For a moment, you felt like the world had stopped, that there was nothing but the two of you in that cold, desolate night.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face in your hand, your thumb brushing lightly over the rough stubble on his cheek. “And you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You have to come back. You have to make it right.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the hardness in them giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vowed, his voice fierce, filled with a determination that sent a shiver down your spine. “I swear, I’ll make it right.”

The moment hung between you, heavy and charged, the tension that had been building for years finally coming to a head. It was as if all the barriers you had both put up, all the walls you had built around your hearts, were crumbling in the face of what was to come.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before the fear could take hold, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was fierce, desperate, a collision of pent-up emotions that neither of you could contain any longer. Logan responded immediately, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he could merge your bodies, your souls, into one.

There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense, as if you were both trying to pour everything you felt into this one moment. It was a kiss born of desperation, of the fear that this might be your last chance to feel something real, something good, before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Logan’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you into his lap as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the raw power in him, the barely-contained rage and pain that he carried with him every day, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take it all away, to make him feel something other than the constant ache of loss and regret.

The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, clinging to this one moment of passion and vulnerability. It was as if time itself had stopped, holding you in a suspended reality where nothing else mattered.

But time, as always, was cruel. The kiss slowed, the intensity gradually ebbing away, leaving behind a bittersweet longing that settled deep in your chest. You pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cold air.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

He opened his eyes, and the raw emotion you saw there nearly brought you to your knees. There was so much in his gaze—love, fear, desperation, hope. It was almost too much to bear.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you said, your voice barely audible, “I need you to know… I—”

But before you could finish, Logan captured your lips again, silencing you with a kiss that was somehow even more tender, more meaningful than the last. It was a kiss that spoke of promises unmade, of words left unsaid, of a future that might never come.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your face, his expression was one of fierce determination. “You don’t have to say it,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand on your skin. The dawn was fast approaching, the light slowly creeping over the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruined city.

The reality of what was to come settled over you both like a dark cloud, but in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You knew that this could be the last time you ever saw him, the last time you felt his touch, his kiss. But you also knew that if anyone could change the future, it was Logan.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the gloom, you pulled back, reluctantly breaking the embrace. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the same mixture of hope and fear reflected in them.

“It’s time,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart.

Logan nodded, his expression hardening as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. But before he could step away, you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something tender, something achingly vulnerable. He squeezed your hand in return, his grip strong and reassuring.

“I promise,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, Logan turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows as he prepared to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life.

And as you watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and hope, you whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods might still be listening, begging them to bring him back to you.

Because in this world of darkness and despair, Logan was your only light, your only hope.

And you weren’t ready to let that go.

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Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus

(If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series moving forward just comment below <3 )

#Moments Between Time #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #gender neutral reader #hugh jackman #gender neutral y/n #angst #hurt/angst #dystopian #marvel #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #days of future past #DOFP! Logan #mutant reader

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hwanchaesong · 7 months ago

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Folklore: A Trilogy (August)

Childhood friend!Jake X F!Reader

Synopsis: Ever since you left home to pursue the city life, you really did think that everything was over. Then you returned, and you still see him there. Will something rekindle and burn inside you once more?

word count: 24.6k

genre & warnings: fluff, angst, smut, childhood friends, kind of slowburn, summer love/fling au, this fic is taylor swift inspired (maybe you'll also see other song references but who knows), mentions of bullying & childhood trauma, cursing, drinking, party/festival, country side & small town settings, fights, jealousy, built up sexual tension, implied situationship, lies lies lies, sop (with bf!sunghoon), cheating (zont zo this, stay loyal!), oral m&f rec, fingering, nipple play, dry humping, overstimulation, creampie, kitchen sex, bedroom sex lmao, multiple unprotected (wrap before you tap!) sex scenes, appearance of other idols, & reminder!! the idols' characters here do not mirror real life! not proof read! etc etc mdni

a/n: this is the first part of the Folklore: Trilogy, which focuses on Jake aka our August. also the longest fic that i have ever written for now 🥲 and yes, i changed the 'aesthetic' moodboard bc i am obsessed with this kind of layouts lately 👺

ps. likes, comments, reblogs are all appreciated! let me know what you think y'all. thank you so much and enjoy! 🩷

🎧 playlist

You stretched your back, muscles cramping from seven hours of traveling, drawing in the conventional briny ocean breeze that passes through the air as you stepped onto the sandy sidewalk, opening the brown gates and the creaking metal alarmed the people inside the building of your arrival.

"Well, aren't you home earlier than expected?" your mother greets you, giving you a welcoming hug when you enter the house and you take notice of something delicious wafting around your nostrils.

"Yes, there wasn't much traffic on the way here," you returned her embrace after dropping your bags on the floor, "and I smell something good." you remarked, heading towards the kitchen to find your dad bustling in front of the stove and your little brother mixing something in a bowl.

"They're chefs now." your mother jokes, following you in the kitchen and making small talk when the men of the house told you two to sit back and relax, to let them do the work this time.

"Wow dad," you peeked over his shoulders and you almost drooled at the delicacy he's concocting, "your cooking skills have greatly improved."

"Me too!" the youngest of your family spoke, walking over to you and nudging you with his elbow, "Look, I made your favorite dessert."

You lovingly ruffled his hair and ignored his complaints, knowing that he secretly loves it, "You're doing great as well, Riki."

You assisted with setting the table, sitting down in your usual spot and helping yourself to a large portion of food, wolfing the grub with the utmost gratitude because seriously, dorm and university meals kind of suck.

While eating, your mother decided to bring up a topic that you dare say, plain horrendous and tedious, "Now that you're here, you should come with us to the town fiesta before your summer break ends."

You groaned, not liking the idea of spending your beloved summer around other people, only wanting to be a couch potato, to sleep, eat and play games all day long.

"Don't be like that!" your father chides, eating a spoonful of the tiramisu that Riki made before speaking, "Besides, your old friends will be there. Aren't you excited to see them?"

Old friends. Pft.

Can you even consider those people your friends when all they ever did during your elementary and highschool years was to approach you whenever they needed something?

You hated them, really, they are one of the many reasons why you were determined to depart from your hometown. You only come back here from time to time because of your family. The moment you set foot into the city, you've already cut those stupid, snarky bitches in your life.

"Come to think of it, Jake will be there." Riki added, then you paused.

Jake? The aussie boy whom you've spent most of your childhood with? The same Jake who gifted you the largest teddy bear that he won in a shooting range in a local carnival?

You cautiously peered at your brother, asking him a mindless question for good measure, "Jake with a government name of Sim Jaeyun?"

"Yep, good 'ol Jake. Do you know that I'm taller than him now?" he snickers, visualizing the older boy's rage if he hears that comment.

"He's still here?" you asked once more, because surely, you thought that he's gone by now. Back to Australia to pursue a career there, it's what he has informed you before going your separate ways for college.

"Of course, where else would he be?" Riki side-eyed you then realization flashed on his face, "I get it."

"You get what?"

"You missed him." he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly that it had you slapping his shoulder in an attempt to terminate his annoying ass down.

"I don't! I was asking because he told me that he w-"

"Excuses, excuses." he cuts you off, waving his hand around dismissively, "I'm so gonna tell him that you missed him so dearly."

"Really?" you crossed your arms over your chest, a challenging aura radiating off of you, "Go ahead then, guess I'll give the clothes I bought to Sunoo and Jungwon."

He whined, you gave him the cold-shoulder, he pulled your hair, you yelled at him and you nearly went nuts when he licked your spoon filled with the last tidbits of the chocolate goodness. (which he knows is your pet peeve.)

Before a fight breaks out, your parents ushered you both to your respective rooms, saying that they'll take care of the dishes. Rubbing their foreheads and saying something along the lines of 'sibling dynamics never change.'

While showering, you pondered over the invitation, maybe you should go. Check out what's new, totally not because of a certain someone... you think?

Jake was your closest companion back then, a kind person with a heart of gold. If anything, you'd call him your true friend. He made you laugh, shared his food with you, and did everything together; attached to the hip like you two were born from the same seed.

Not until he told you that he's moving back to Australia to attend a university that he's been dreaming of since he was young.

You remembered crying yourself to sleep that day, then you made the decision to study in the city because there is no way in hell you'll survive college life here without your one and only friend.

So it really was a surprise to you when Riki revealed that he's still here. Does that mean that moving out was nothing but a mistake on your part? Does that mean that you could've stayed here and lived a peaceful life instead of hustling in a swarming city?

You shook your head, 'Y/N, don't be silly.' If you didn't explore outside your small town, then you wouldn't have the chance to meet him.

A giddy smile crept up your lips at the thought of your boyfriend. One day, you'll bring him here and he'll definitely love the area, especially the lake when it's frozen so he could skate on it, then you'll be there beaming then-

You slapped your soapy cheeks with both hands, scolding yourself for daydreaming, 'Stop being a delulu! It's only been a few months since you started dating him!'

You quickly rinsed and dried your hair, changing into some of your comfortable childhood pajamas and letting yourself fall into dreamland.

---------------------------------------------------

"What the fu-" you must have resembled that one Morty meme when he woke up, because who on earth is making all the noise downstairs when it's... oh, it's 1 PM. Dang, you slept that long? Like a log even.

You went to the bathroom and freshened yourself up, and when you deemed yourself presentable enough, you headed down to check what the commotion was about.

You definitely heard Riki shouting, but there is someone else. A voice that is eerily familiar but is somehow foreign to your ears.

You steadily walked into the living room, ceasing when you detected a mop of long black hair sitting next to your brother's shorter one.

"Huh?" you unconsciously uttered, catching the attention of the boys who are currently playing Mario Kart.

"Y/N?"

The rotation of the earth seemed to slow down when you saw him again.

There he was, the old friend that saved you from a gloomy childhood.

"Jake?" you hesitantly called out, making him smile, nodding his head in your direction before standing up and lurching towards you for a bone crushing hug.

"Y/N!"

"Jake!"

You hugged each other for what felt like hours, disconnecting when Riki cleared his throat, standing up from his position on the couch and retreating in the kitchen, "Imma go and fetch us some snacks, call me when you're done being lovey-dovey."

You rolled your eyes at your sibling's sass, returning your attention to the sunny boy in front of you.

"How are you? You look great!" he beams, tightly holding your hand in his while he scans you from head to toe.

It kind of made you self conscious, wishing that you should've made an effort to dress better but hey! He's your sweet, lovely Jake, you’re assured that there's no ill intention behind his stare.

"I’m good, busy with college and all. How about you? You look fine as heck!" you answered him with all the sincerity that you could muster, especially at the last part of your statement.

He looks great, like really great. You’ll even say that he’s transformed into an actual disney prince.

You do hark back to him being one of the rare good looking bunch of kids , but boy, did you not expect puberty to hit him like a bullet train.

Given that Riki is taller than him (man did not lie), his visuals are insane. He retained his puppy-like eyes, prominent cheekbones that were the result of his baby fats disappearing, his tall nose and jawline that are now sharper than a knife, and his lips.. his godforsaken lips. It's fuller and thicker, and not to mention, his beige skin is glowing.

He's a totally different person from what you can remember, and the more you observe him, the more you discern how much of a man he became. Only did you realize that you were blanking out when his phone rang, and being the nosey person that you are, you couldn't help but peek at the caller.

'Yuna.'

Oh, so he has a girlfriend. Well, you should have expected that. A pretty boy like him would surely bag any girl that he wanted.

"Right, I'll be there in ten." he ended the call and turned to you with an apologetic smile, "Guess we'll continue this talk later."

"I don’t mind, no problem."

Perfect if you say so, it'll give you some extra time to relax and sink the newfound information in your brain, that your childhood friend grew up into a dashing, debonair man.

"Here, give me your number so we could easily communicate." he hands you his phone, allowing you to type and save your contact.

"You're leaving?" just then, Riki emerges from the kitchen, holding a tray of munchies and setting it on the coffee table.

"Yeah, sorry man, I need to do something."

Riki side-eyes his friend with a sarcastic hum. (you think that side-eyeing people is his new habit from the amount of times he did it within a short span of time.)

"Do something or do someone?" Riki haphazardly asked, making Jake glance at you nervously, an awkward chuckle erupting from him.

"It's not like that," he glances at the clock, clicking his tongue and bidding his goodbyes, "I gotta go now. Y/N, I'll text you later."

He waves at you both, bolting through the door and Riki lets out a sardonic laugh, "Look at that fuckboy, so ready to get his dick wet."

"Hey," you pinched Riki's cheek, earning yourself a pained drone from him, "watch it. Since when did you learn vulgar words like that."

He swats your hand away, "Since birth. Ouch! Stop it!" he protests when you start pinching him more, not appreciating his raw sass.

"But really, he's a fuckboy now?" you inquired, flopping on the couch and grabbing a cookie from the plate, chomping on it while you watch Riki pour some juice for you two.

"Why? Are you jealous?" he teased, doing that same taunting eyebrow wiggle that you hate so much.

"I will literally choke you." you threatened, making him raise his hands up in surrender.

"Simmer down." he sat next to you, exiting Mario Kart and opting to play some anime on Netflix, "I don't know if it's true or not, but word from others is that Jake's been screwing girls since last year."

"Is that so?" you nonchalantly replied, listening to your brother gossip but then you got lost in your own thoughts.

The rumors are bad, but you somehow can't bring yourself to believe it. In the short amount of time since you've left, maybe some things have really changed. You wouldn't know, you weren't here to witness it.

You shrugged and watched the anime playing on the tv, something about a reincarnated slime. This is a good distraction instead of waiting for Jake to text you.

---------------------------------------------------

You don't know what came over you when you heard your phone go off, the message notification sound making your heart skip a bit. You hurriedly got off your vanity and laid down on your bed, gripping the phone and opening the text.

'Hey Y/N! Jake here, this message is kinda late, so sorry, I got caught up with something.'

You smiled and saved his number, typing in a reply... which you didn't give much consideration to and now you are regretting your uninhibited decisions for sending that.

You (8:45 PM):

Got caught up by your girlfriend? Who was she again, Yuna?

Jake (8:46 PM):

You saw that?

Noo, it wasn't like that I swear. I helped her fix her brother’s computer. She is just a friend, nothing more, nothing less.

Again, you don't know what came over you as you rolled over your bed, staggering at the fact that he's explaining himself even though he’s not required to. And you guessed you took too long to reply when your phone buzzed, signaling that he's calling you.

You straightened your back, clicking the green button, "Hello," his voice sounded gruff over the speaker, "are you mad? Promise, she's not my girlfriend or anything. Please don't be mad."

Straight to the point, you see, and his chatterbox personality still comes out whenever he gets mousy about something.

"Jake, chill out." you giggled when you heard his relieved sigh from the other side, "I'm not mad at you, I just did something for a while." you lied, "Besides, why would I be angry if you got a girlfriend?"

There was a beat of silence before he spoke, "I mean, we did make a promise back then so.." he trails off, and the flashback about your salad days takes over.

"Promise me that I'll be the only girl in your life!" you cried, smacking little Jake on the head.

"Ack!" he yowled, his tiny hands flying to the stinging area of his skull.

You were being unreasonable, but the thought of losing Jake to that ugly girl in class 2-A made your younger self throw a tantrum. Wailing like a toddler while stomping around the empty playground.

"Y/N! I didn't do it on purpose! She touched me first!" Jake tried to explain, sprinting to you when you accidentally tripped on a rock, face planting on the dirt, "Are you okay?!"

You hurriedly sat up, not wanting to look weak despite your crying and looked at him, staring at his teary eyes, maybe you are being unfair to him.

You sniffled, wiping your tears away before mumbling, "Just promise me."

Jake sighs, dropping to his knees in front of you and holding his pinky finger out, linking it with yours forcefully but with care, "I promise you, in the name of all my ancestors, that you'll be the one and only girl in my life!" he exclaims, giving you a toothy smile that immediately soothes all your stupid concerns.

"Well, except for my mom and Layla... and maybe some relatives."

You bit your lower lip, heart rate speeding up, "You haven't forgotten about that? We're like, what? Eight?"

"I take my pinky promises seriously!" he declares, making you laugh heartily at his mindless yet captivating jest.

"So, wanna catch up? Let's hang out at the beach." he suddenly proposed, catching you off guard. You peeked at the clock, it's nearing 9 PM but oh well, you're old enough to do this, unlike before that you had to sneak out of the house just to meet up with him.

"Yeah sure. Just give me a few minutes." you agreed and he happily cheered, the call ended after that and you hurriedly stood from your bed; Fixing your hair in the mirror, making sure to spray a decent amount of perfume and tiptoeing out of your house, trudging the road for a seven to ten minutes stroll to the beach.

When you arrived, Jake was already there, fixing a blanket that you assumed he brought so the two of you can sit comfortably instead of getting sand on your buttocks.

"Hello, kind sir." you greeted him like a princess, bowing to him gracefully.

"Hello to you too, mademoiselle." he takes your hand as he mimics the bow that you did.

"You speak french now?" you razzed, resting on the blanket first and tapping the space beside you.

"I was trying to go along with whatever skit you're doing." he says, his tone sprinkled with some attitude but nonetheless still sat beside you.

The atmosphere was tranquil as you both stared at the clear night skies, letting the evening wind blow through your faces, bringing a sense of solace that you really missed.

Until your mouth itches and you break the congenial quietude, bringing up the topic that has been bothering you.

"Say Jake," you started, staring right ahead and disregarding his sparkling eyes that he directed at you when he heard your voice, "you told me that you're going back to Australia for college. It really was a surprise that you're still here. What happened?"

He averted his gaze when you went and returned his stare, "Nothing. Just.. something came up, so my parents told me to stay here instead."

You frowned, your guts telling you that he wasn't telling you the entire truth, but you ultimately decided to let it go for now. You don't want to make him uncomfortable by pushing him to open up to you, knowing that it's been a while since you two had hung out.

Heck, you think- no, you believe that he's closer to your brother now.

You let out a sigh, giving him a covert smile and patting his back, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Nah, it's fine." his mood shifted into a lighter one, seizing your hand on his shoulder and clasping it into his, "Aside from that, I'm glad that I didn't leave, because if I did," he squeezes your hand, his warmth seeping through your bones, "I wouldn't be able to see you again."

For the nth time that night, for whatever mysterious reason, you went and reciprocated his actions, squeezing his hand tighter, sitting next to him closer, and smiling blithely at him, "Welps, I'm here now." you whisper, and you swear you saw something twinkle in his irises.

"You are." he smiles back, releasing your hand and slinging an arm over your shoulders, "That is why we need to make the most of it, okay?"

You hummed, leaning on his side and snuggling under his hold.

You’ll later say that you missed him, that’s it. You missed your friend, the person who stuck by your side despite your annoying and messy ass.

There's nothing wrong with spending time with a person that you had regarded as your human diary, the person that you once held feelings for. That was all in the past, for now, you'll catapult your qualms away and enjoy the moment.

When it was getting colder, Jake offered to walk you home, laughing like some elementary schoolers while trudging to your house, talking about the dumbest shit you had done during your juvenile years.

It was nice, it was always nice being with him. A sense of warmth within you knowing that you're safe when you're with him.

The reminiscing went to a halt when you stood by your humble abode's gates, "Welps, I'll see you again soon." you stood awkwardly, like you wanted to say more, to do more, but you don't know what words or actions there are to say or do.

Finally, Jake took the initiative and stepped towards you, enveloping you in his arms and wishing you a good night before parting your own ways.

As you lay down on your mattress, drowsiness lulling you to sleep, you couldn't help but think about the light pressure on the crown of your head when Jake hugged you.

You chose to remain ignorant, along with the thunderous thumping of your heart in your chest.

---------------------------------------------------

"Oh my god! He's a hottie!" Sunoo exclaimed, gaping at the picture on your phone.

"Let me see!" Jungwon dropped the other side of the shirt that he's been vying for with Riki, making the younger stumble on the floor, the other dashing on Sunoo's spot on the couch.

Your brother groaned, rubbing his stinging buttocks that made contact with the cold wooden tiles, "That fucking hurt."

"Language, Riki." your scolding fell on deaf ears as he continued muttering curses under his breath, directing such vile words to his friends.

You, Riki, and his childhood friends’, Jungwon and Sunoo, are currently in the living room, busting out the souvenirs that you bought for them when the topic of your boyfriend was brought up. (courtesy by the pocketz.)

They were whining to you, begging you to show them a photo, to which you shyly presented your phone up, your lover's social media account opened and ready for them to rubberneck at. It was safe to say that they were awed by his visuals, except for your bratty younger brother.

"I'm much more handsome than him," he comments, draping his body all over the boy who's holding the gadget and looking at the image as well, "bet I'm taller than him too."

"Shut up. Is height your only way of hyping yourself?" Sunoo rolled his eyes, shoving Riki off of him and letting Jungwon grab the phone and have his turn of stalking your boyfriend's instagram account.

"Wow, Y/N, your man looks like he came out straight from a manhwa." Jungwon stated, "And no, sorry Riki, I love you but there is no way you're more handsome than this guy."

"Whatever." Riki gave it up, choosing to hide the shirt that he's keeping tabs on from the corner of the box that made Sunoo shriek, yelling that he already called dibs on the piece of fabric.

Jungwon returned your phone back to you, going over to his friends and joining the chaos.

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at your boyfriend's picture. He does look ethereal. Standing in a field, looking sideways to subtly flex his side profile, and to top it off, the mixture of bright orange-blue hues of the skies highlight his sharp, charming visuals even further.

Your dopey smile was difficult to fight off, suddenly missing him and wishing for him to appear out of nowhere so you could hug and kiss him.

"What's the commotion all about?"

A wild Jake appears, infiltrating your home with a grin and scanning the area before sauntering to the venue of the ruckus You quickly close your phone, tossing it on the table and giving the aussie a side hug when he flumps on the unoccupied space beside you.

"These boys are bickering over the clothes that I bought." you explained, answering his question as he scrutinized the three idiots who kept on fighting over a hoodie, ignoring his existence in the room. "Apparently, they love these kinds of styles."

"I bet they do. Look at them going crazy over a pink hoodie." Jake derides, kicking Jungwon on the butt and chastising them for not even sparing him a glance when he popped up in the room.

"Sorry, didn't see you there hyung." Jungwon nonchalantly says, the other two temporarily paused and muttered an uninterested 'hello' before going back to their serious business of sorting outfits.

"Wow, really these guys." Jake sighs in displeasure, a grimace on his face as he watches the youngsters, "How long have they been at it?"

"About.." you trailed off, peeking at the time, "two hours now. It's getting kinda boring."

Jake pondered for a while, after a minute or two he turned to you and fished out his car keys, dangling it in front of you with a smirk on his face and hazel orbs full of mischief, "Whaddya think of a ride around town?"

You blinked at his spontaneous behavior, shrugging and pretending to think about the suggestion even if you already had an answer, "Sure. I mean, there's nothing much to do here."

Jake cheered and made a dash towards his car, mumbling something about revving it up and you have to come quick. You shook your head endearingly at his excited demeanor, truly like a puppy.

You went to follow him but not before telling the boys who are, until now, arguing over the mundane things about your souvenirs, "Y'all, I'm going out for a while. Look out for the house while I'm gone, and don't destroy anything while mom and dad are not here too."

You stood there for a while, observing their squabble, then you chose to drop the formalities since they're too centered in their own world to even give you the time of their day.

"No, I'm telling you, this is my size!"

"You're too puny for this, c'mon man, be serious."

"I ain't the size of your dick."

"Wha-! Say that again you fuckhead!"

Truly a pandemonium, you purse your lips and rubbed your forehead, shooting your parents a text about your whereabouts and leaving the house altogether because some children just won't listen.

Something scintillated within you when you saw Jake patiently waiting outside, leaning on his car and playing with his phone.

You took your time to extensively admire him, finally seeing him in a holistic perspective.

Him, standing there with his leather jacket, clad in an all black outfit down to his shoes. His charcoal tresses flowing the same way as the wind and oh, how he glows under the glittering rays of the afternoon sunlight is blinding you.

He's flawless.

"Yoi!" you snapped out of it when he called for you, opening the passenger door and motioning for you to get on.

You hurriedly went in, suspiciously not making eye contact, making you miss the knowing look he sent you. Now, you tried to relax, sitting on the leather seat but my god... his scent is so strong inside, it invades all of your senses, making your hands clammy.

Jake went and sat in the driver's seat, laughing when he saw you struggle to put on the seatbelt. He bent over to your side to help you out, brushing against your hand in the process.

"Your hands are sweaty." he remarked, then raised an eyebrow, "Are you.." he peeked at you from under his long hair, batting his lashes at you, "Nervous?"

Well that did the trick. You were caught red-handed and you’re not quite sure on what to or not to do, stumbling over your words to try and explain yourself.

"Hey, hey, calm down."

You took a deep breath. He's close, too close as he's still hunched over to you. Faces mere centimeters from each other but you need to be brave, gazing into his mellow eyes and feeling yourself settle when his hands enveloped yours, "It's just me, okay?"

"Right." you giggled nervously, "But no, I wasn't nervous. I was only out of it. You know, 'cuz I'm tired." you tried to play it cool like you weren't losing your mind just a few seconds ago.

He, at long last, moved away from you, letting go of your hand and starting to drive away.

"Really now?" he asked, a sly smirk on his lips but it was wiped off and was replaced with a pout when you, shockingly, flipped him off. (he did not expect you to do that, earning you a whiny "Since when have you been so violent?" from him.)

In your defense, flipping someone off is not a sign of violence, but rather an off-handed way of showing affection.

---------------------------------------------------

The trip went smoothly, you weren't anxious like a shivering chihuahua anymore, allowing you to appreciate the beauty of your hometown.

There were a lot of recently developed things.

New buildings, new attractions, and you even saw a glimpse of the upcoming jubilee; the stalls and decorations are a total giveaway.

"Woah, I was gone for a bit and changes like these happened already." you remarked, surprised at the amount of transformation in your settlement.

"Like they say, change is inevitable." he replies and you couldn't agree more. "By the way, can we go somewhere as our last destination?"

The sun was starting to set, the time for you to go home was getting close because your parents made you promise to join them for supper. But it's okay, one more location with Jake won't hurt.

So you agreed, letting him drive while you close your lids, enjoying the salty breeze from the ocean and letting the current of air brush your hair and skin, relishing in the serenity that you barely experience in the city.

After a few minutes, the vehicle went to a halt, hearing Jake murmur a small 'We're here.' made you open your eyes, and you were greeted by the familiar view.

"Oh my god, Jake!" you grinned, running towards the small, dinky wooden house that stood in the middle of the wild grasses and flowers. A rush of happiness flowing in your veins at seeing your 'secret base.'

You gasped when you entered, Jake following closely behind, you couldn't believe what you were seeing.

"Yeah," he bashfully puts his hands inside the pockets of his ripped jeans, biting his lips whilst he inspects your expression, "I took care of our secret base all this time. Corny, I know, but I really wanted to keep this in good condition."

He rambles and you listen, walking around the expanse of the room and true to his words, the four corners of the house are basically spotless. Despite the rust forming around the edges of the metals and a portion of the wood being eaten by some kind of insect, everything is still the same.

"Are you kidding me Jake?" you spun on your heels and ran to him, pulling him into a bear hug and burying your face in his chest, "This is like, the best thing that ever happened to me ever since I came back here!" you exclaimed, staring up at him gleefully.

He lets out a relieved sigh, returning your amity with the same fervor, "I'm glad, I thought I was way overboard with this."

"Pft. No way!" cue you trying to do his Australian accent, breaking the hug and proceeding to jovially push him away, "But genuine question here, why did you go all the way and take the job of being the caretaker for this supposedly tree house." you jokingly quoted the word 'tree house' with your fingers, making Jake hoot in laughter at the hidden agenda of your sentence.

"We really did our best to make this a tree house, unfortunately, we were too dumb to figure out how to build a damn house. Good thing your father is a good carpenter." he chuckles, recalling the memory of how and why the miniature flat was built.

"No, but really, the thing was.. I, ah fuck-" he runs a hand through his silky strands of inky locks, his ears turning red and your heartstrings were pulled by his adorable mien.

What your younger brother told you suddenly echoed in your brain, "Jake's a fuckboy now."

Yeah, he might be, considering the amount of girls that kept on clinging to him while he toured you around the metropolis. You saw a glimpse of it, his flirty persona, but right now, you firmly believe that he's still the same Jake that you knew.

Jake Sim, the guy who befriended you when no one else was willing to because apparently, you were a freak during your girlhood. The same guy who always protected you, stopped you from making poor life decisions that you'd probably regret sooner or later.

The same guy who took you to prom during your senior year, the one who gaped like a fish when he saw you all dressed up, a large grin on his face while he complimented you throughout the night nonstop. The one who never left your side and danced with you during the said event, not glancing at any other women's direction and focusing on you and only you until he couldn't take it anymore and kissed you on your front door.

Jake Sim, your first friend, first kiss, and inescapably, first love.

"Tell me." you urged him, cupping his face and staring right through his worries, "You can always be honest with me."

Jake visibly gulped, his hands moving on its own and engulfing yours that are planted on his cheeks.

"I wanted to preserve the memories." he admits, his eyes softening at your astonishment, "This was the place where we started our family, with our daughter Layla."

You snickered, "Layla.. how is our daughter doing?" you asked, suddenly curious about the adorable dog's whereabouts.

"So now you remember her?" Jake rolled his eyes, but still answered you nonetheless, "She's doing fine actually, she missed you a lot."

"She did?"

"Yeah, she missed you." the volume of his voice dropped, almost purring, raspy and feathery, tickling your insides, "Even her father missed you, if we're going to be blunt here."

"And who is the father?" you inquired, not noticing that Jake guided your hands towards his shoulders, his own palms gliding down your hips and gradually tugging you close to his body.

"Me, I'm the father."

You were too engrossed at the melodrama-like scene that you're starring in, not having the ability to discern that your faces are inching towards each other every ticking second.

*ring ring*

Like a wake up call, thanks to your phone, the two of you jolted and immediately separated, breathing heavily and thinking 'What the hell just happened?'

You answered your phone, your mom is getting dramatic because it's late and she's hungry, telling you to go back home right at this instant.

"Let's go, I'll drive you back." Jake's voice was distant, seeing that he's already outside, waiting for you to exit the house.

The journey back to your residence was a complete 180 of the atmosphere from when you both left. It was taciturn and morose, so much that it made you want to walk back home instead.

When he parked right outside your gates and you were about to offer him goodnight and farewell, he promptly gripped your wrist, preventing you from escaping the auto, "I'm sorry, back there, I.. I didn't know what came over me."

"No, no, it's fine. It was an accident." you say, but then you heard him mutter something, but you couldn't quite hear it. So you asked him to repeat himself.

"I said," he took a deep breath, "I want our friendship to be just like before. If that's okay with you."

You smiled, flicking his forehead as a way of telling him that everything is okay, "I would love that, you doofus."

---------------------------------------------------

Jake watches you enter your home before going off on his own apartment but not before stopping in an vacant road and banging his head repeatedly on the steering wheel.

That was so shitty and uncool of him.

Almost kissing his friend— his friend that has a boyfriend.

He sighs, shutting his eyes and repeating a mantra in his brain, 'Don't do that ever again.'

He barely managed to save the night, a poor attempt at that, thankfully, you're nice enough to let things pass and accept his proposition of rekindling what's supposed to stay in the past.

This is fine. It's foolish of him to think that he's something more to you. So he'll accept the fact that you'll always see him as your friend.

Even if he wants to love you, even if loving you is a complete necessity for him. He'll bury all of those, hidden in his box of filtered feelings and emotions, because once he lets go of his restraints, he'll lose you.

Dear lord no, the mere thought of losing you makes his stomach churn in a not so nice way, evoking the bile to rise in his throat.

Again, he convinces himself that he doesn't need anything else but to have you in his life.

"Jake, keep your shit together." he opens a compartment, looking intently at a bracelet made out of shells tucked safely in a clear glass box.

Wanting you was, is, and will always be more than enough.

---------------------------------------------------

Undeniably, your parents nagged you for being late to the family dinner, but you paid no mind to them, opting to eat your food at the speed of light and locking yourself in the privacy of your room, throwing your body on the comforts of your bed.

Once inside, you felt like you could breathe again, all the substandard smoke inhaled from earlier finally out of your lungs. You were dizzy from everything that happened today, and you want nothing more but to combust at the mixed emotions that are brewing up.

You almost kissed Jake, for fucks sake. The thing was, you liked the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way h-

You gasped when your phone rang, guilt running through your whole system when the screen lit up with the words: 'Hoonie 🐧'

You took a deep breath, collecting yourself for a moment before grabbing your device and answering the video call with a giddy smile and shaky hands.

"There she is, my baby, the love of my life, my wife, m-"

"Hoonie!" you whined, cutting the voice off which made the person on the other line chuckle, his loving eyes glimmer when he saw you blush.

"What? Am I not allowed to shower my baby with love?"

You giggled, lying properly down the bed and lifting your arms up so your phone would be directly facing you, letting you admire the man that you proudly call yours.

"Of course you can. How's your practice over there?" you asked, wanting to know his life’s events.

"It's fun actually, I was really nervous at first but guess what, the coaches here in Canada are so nice and they taught me new techniques so I can improve further! And, the pancakes here are so fucking delicious." he's basically rapping, you think, but you still find yourself getting drowned by his voice, the way he excitedly tells you everything about his training camp in another country is endearing. Although, you frowned when he suddenly chips his rants off, a sad sigh escaping his lips.

"Why, what's wrong?" worry graced your expression, making him coo at how adorable you are.

"Nothing. I just wish you were here with me right now."

You watched him sit up from his own bed, leaning onto the wooden headboard and intently studying you, "I wish I could come home to you after practice, then we could cuddle and kiss.. and maybe eat some pancakes too."

You laughed at his unseriousness, really, he could say the most romantic words out there yet he'd still sprinkle it with his weird uncle humor. Well, that's one of the many reasons why you love him.

"You're crazy about those pancakes aren't you?" you watched him nod his head, his eyes crinkling as he probably feels pride swelling within him for making you laugh.

"I'm crazier about you though." he winked, a boyish grin on his lips and you couldn't help but kick your feet like a kindergarten student with a crush.

"Gosh! Now you're just making me miss you more!" you grumbled, lying sideways and hiding your maroon colored face in your pillows.

His melodic chuckles resound in your ears, and you peek at him when he softly, sweetly tells you that he misses you too, tons and lots.

"No but really, aside from dying on how much I want to hold you," you chuckle at his dramatic sentence, "one of the agendas here is because a little birdie told me that you don't want to go to your town fiesta."

You groaned, "I'm gonna tell mom that you called her a little birdie."

"Hey missy, no tattling allowed here." he clicked his tongue before continuing, "But no, it was Riki who told me. And, I think you should go because I heard that it's a special celebration in your town that only happens once a year. Besides, you can't let Riki run around there alone, what if he accidentally stabs himself with a spoon?"

This time, you groaned and whined, explaining to him the many reasons why you don't wanna go. It's hot, there's too many people, and Riki is old enough to handle himself. Really, like a child throwing a fit which made your boyfriend massage his temples, and as you were on your number five reason why you didn't wanna go, you halt when his voice dropped an octave on the other line.

"What if I give my princess a little something tonight if she decides to go?" he says, and something about his tone sends shivers down your spine, especially the way he called you 'princess.'

A pet name that he uses only for certain circumstances.

"What?" you asked dumbfounded, knowing the purpose behind his words but your brain is not fully processing the situation.

"You see, I can feel it when my princess is kind of frustrated.." something in his eyes darkened as he looked at you through the screen, one that shoots arrows down to your core, "because I am too, honestly haven't touched myself for days because it's never sufficient when it's not you."

You almost choked when he let out a deep moan, and you could see the muscles in his biceps moving and bulging. The sound of his sheets rustling is very much an obvious sign that he's starting to play with himself.

"Hoon- I.." you trailed off, rubbing your legs together to generate some relief, every second you hear a guttural groan from him the wetter you become.

Oh fuck, you two were just being lovey-dovey a while ago and now it's getting real nasty... and you're loving every single second of it.

"Yes princess?" he says huskily, looking at you with hooded eyes, waiting for you to speak up.

"Help me, please." you pathetically whimpered, snaking a hand down and inside your shorts and underwear, instantly feeling the sticky juices of your pussy.

"Sadly princess, I can only do that when you say yes to the proposal, yeah?" he replied, tone webbed with feigned sympathy as he smickered at your helplessness.

Your eyes slammed shut, legs twitching and your core in desperate need of release, "Fine!" you concede, taking a deep breath when you heard your boyfriend's triumphant chuckle over the line, "Can you please just-"

"Now, now," the man uttered, biting his lower lip to keep himself from tittering at your desperate demeanor, "listen to me well and do everything as I say, okay?"

You nodded your head as an affirmation, impatiently gathering your wetness that was pooling in your heat, lathering them all over your labia.

"That's my good princess, now can you touch your clit for me?" he instructs, his heavy breathing echoing in your brain as you do what he said. A light moan escaping your lips when your finger nudges your bundle of nerves.

"Circle them around, honey, write my name on that pussy." your lover on the other line shudders at the thought of spelling his name on your glistening part, he'll definitely do it himself the next time he sees you.

"Ah! H-hoonie, need more." you cried out, keeping your voice at minimum so the other occupants of the house won't hear what's going on inside your room. "Please, I need more." you continued whining, writing every syllable of his name on your clit, an unspoken proof of him owning you.

At this point, you're having a hard time maintaining the grip on your phone, forcing yourself to look into the camera, resigned pupils begging for your boyfriend to do something. And when he did say to plunge two fingers in, you immediately obeyed, curling it into your g-spot, imagining it was his deft digits that are pleasuring you, it had you writhing around your sheets, but it's not sufficient. Not adequate to send you to the edge.

You fucking need him. You need Park Sunghoon himself.

"I-I can't Sunghoon, this is not enough I-"

"No baby, you can and you will." he rasped, and you can barely hear him stroking himself rather harshly, surely he's also imagining your soft, small hands on his cock as he works himself into his orgasm. "Let go princess, cum all over your fingers and I'll make sure that a grand prize awaits you."

You gasped, reaching euphoria with his encouragement, along with his insanely attractive groans while releasing his load into his hand. You moaned his name wantonly until you're panting and the only thing that you could think of is him, and the said award that you'll get when you see him after the summer break.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, exhaustion seeping in and you don't wanna move anymore. You'll clean yourself up tomorrow, opting to listen to the praises that your boyfriend is giving you, finally sleeping with a satisfied smile when you hear the words that will forever make the zoo in your stomach crazy.

"I love you, my Y/N."

---------------------------------------------------

Giving in to your boyfriend made you lament, and as much as you want to hate him for compelling you agree to this stupid festival, you couldn't bring yourself to do it because apparently, your bouncy brat of a brother who entered your bedroom in the wee hours of the morning (10 am) and his joyful celebration of you coming to the stupid event was enough to make you think that yeah, accepting that proffer may be worth it.

Still, you weren't prepared for it. You only packed the essential clothes necessary for the entire summer break. And it did not include any extravagant, shiny dresses or outfits that are suitable for parties.

Thus, that is how you found yourself walking down the cemented pavement to go to the nearest clothing store after having your not so peaceful brunch. With your brother and his friends going off about how amazing the night party at the beach for the festival would be, you couldn't help but listen to them yap.

You yelped when a car stopped beside you, and you were so ready to dash off or scream if some masked man tried to kidnap you. The familiar black tint of the vehicle made you stop and rethink the overreaction that you're about to pull, then the window of the driver's seat rolled down, revealing none other than Jake himself.

"A pretty lady walking under the sun without an umbrella at like," he paused to look at the imaginary watch on his wrist, "one pm, that's uncanny."

You scoffed, crossing your arms, "The only uncanny thing here is that," you pointed at his face, squinting playfully "wearing sunglasses inside a car, what kind of idiot does that?"

"Hey! This is for fashion!" he yelled, offended at your snide remark, completely forgetting the character he's in. "Anyways, get in. Where are you even going?"

He gets out of his car, opening the passenger seat for you and signaling for you to enter. He stands there patiently, waiting for you to move even though he was clearly upset at your joke, evident by the pout on his lips. You couldn't help but smile, flowers blooming in your chest with how sweet he is.

You amicably walked in his direction, pinching in his cheeks, "You're spectacular in those sunglasses. Now let's go to some clothing store because I have to prepare shit."

While getting yourself comfortable inside his car, you saw him fight back a smile at your compliment, his pronounced cheekbones failing to hide his grin at the last moment.

The drive resumed without a hitch with you explaining the reason for your impromptu trip, and being extra, he just had to go to the mall because, and you quote, "The mall has more options, don't be such a grinch about it." end of quote.

Now, you're having regrets part two of today's adventure because how on earth are you supposed to act when two elderly couples have mistaken Jake as your boyfriend? And he was so casual about it! He could at least act a little flustered because you were always caught off guard!

What does that make you?!

"You don't have to be so shy about it." he pokes fun at you, dragging you around the mall after telling you that he knows a good store that sells really pretty clothes.

"I am by no means shy. I was just surprised that's all, and h-"

"Here we are!" he exclaims, cutting your sentence short when he pushes you inside the shop.

The bell rang, indicating your arrival and you could hear a faint 'Welcome' from the back, probably the only employee for the day, considering the small space of the clothing store.

The ambience inside is nice, the interior was giving Parisian vibes, but you couldn't admire the place for long when Jake shoved a bunch of clothes in your face.

"Here, try some of this on and let me see." he says with an eager smile, you just have to bring out the full potential of your neocortex and thalamus and you'll be able to see his wagging tail.

"You mean I have to model you these?" you raised an eyebrow, entering a dressing room and burrowing through the clothes, picking only the ones that caught your eye, shaking your head when you heard Jake shout about him being the fashion king of your town.

The first outfit was a simple plaid red skirt and black long sleeve top, to which Jake said that it looks like you're going to a painting class.. it was a no.

Second outfit was a drag, he says, black sleeveless overall that you paired with a white crop top. Certainly, you'll have to remove the entire fabric if you want to pee, which is a good point.

You are now slightly fuming, wanting this shit to end, not until you saw an appealing, off shoulder white dress with golden linings on it. The subtle floral pattern embedded adds to its beauty and you think, yeah, maybe this is the one.

You threw it on without much thought, exiting the fitting room and showing it to your friend who was checking the prices of some of the clothes, "What do you think?"

Jake turned around from where he was standing, and it seems that time has been possessed by a turtle. His eyes widened, raking in your appearance and etching it into his brain, never to consign into oblivion.

Now, Jake is a devoted Christian. He goes to church to pray, thanking God for all of the blessings he has received in his life. He heard the pastor describe heaven and angels, and as a child, he thought that he'll only see that in the afterlife. Never would he expect that he'll experience nirvana and see a spiritual being whilst alive, all in the shape of you.

He was so mesmerized by you that he didn't even realize you were talking, repeating your question from before. Then his small sphere broke when an unfamiliar voice spoke.

"I think you look great in it, ma'am."

"Oh! Uh-I, thank you..?" you trailed off, looking at the boy's name tag, "Yeonjun?"

"Yeps! That's me!" the black haired man chirps, "Well then, are you getting that? Which I think you should because it really suits you."

You put a hand over your chest, thanking the employee before excusing yourself so that you can return in your previous clothes and pay for the dress.

Meanwhile, Jake was stupefied. He didn't get a word in and he was about to shower you with compliments! He scowled at the tall boy standing in the corner, and when he felt the menacing glare of the aussie, he raised his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry man, had to speak to her because you were acting like a statue earlier." Yeonjun explains, but the smirk on his face didn't sit well with Jake.

"Where do I pay?" you appeared out of nowhere, the dress hanging on your arms, effectively breaking the tension between the two men.

"Right this way, ma'am." Yeonjun gladly guides you to the cashier area, giving you a flattering grin while he punches the price of the outfit. Before he could say another word, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you flush towards a sturdy body and a black card being dropped in front of the worker.

"I'll pay for it, no buts." Jake's authoritative behavior took you by surprise, thinking real hard on what made him act like this.

You discreetly looked at him, and my god were you blown away by how.. hot he looks when mad?

Wait a minute.. is he?

You heave when you're suddenly hauled out of the store, too busy in your own daydream to actually notice that he's done paying, gruffly grabbing the paper bag from the counter and storming out like an emotional old lady in a telenovela.

"Hold up, Jake!" you forcefully remove your hand on his own, sizing up his weird attitude before asking him what's up, and why the fuck is he upset out of the blue.

He faced the other direction, tuning in on him as he murmured under his breath, and you think you heard some curses like 'motherfucker' and 'cunt' and you had to compose yourself, or else you'll have no choice but to slap him silly for acting so tiresome in the middle of a jam-packed mall.

You sighed, putting your hands on your hips, a stance that mothers use when they're drained of their child's tantrum, "My fucking god, Jake, if you don't tell me what's wrong I'll leave you right here at this instant."

"That cashier sucks!" he bellowed, turning on his feet to face you with a frown, "He thinks he's a hotshot just because he's tall and he's muscular but argh!" he threw his hands up in the air, now sporting a petulant expression whilst crossing his arms over his chest.

"I get it." you giggled, raising an eyebrow at him that had him further frustrated, "You're jealous because he's handsome?"

"Yada yada," he rolls his eyes at your antics, not accepting such despicable reasons, "I'm a walking disney prince, he's no match for me."

"Alright, calm down Jakey." you laugh heartily, finding his baby girl stance absolutely precious, "Get that frown out of your face, you'll get wrinkles!" you went closer to him, brushing your hands all over his face to emphasize your point, not stopping until you saw a glimpse of a smile on his lips. And when you're content, you link arms with him, looking for the nearest ice cream shop, your treat, to cheer him up.

After ordering and settling down in Baskin Robbins, (the only ice cream shop in the mall), you excused yourself for a while. Going to a mini stall that you passed by a while ago to buy a certain necklace.

A silver necklace with the initials 'J' on it. You already made up your mind on purchasing it, a small gift for your friend. Staring at the jewelry now, you know that the adornment will shine on Jake the best.

You smile fondly, silver suits him, you think. Elegant and sophisticated, and the miniscule topaz stone in the letter that represents his name is the selling point for you, truly a necklace made for him.

After thanking the owner of the stall, you returned to the ice cream shop with a pep in your step, but your jolly attitude died down when you saw Jake with a girl at your table. And it appears that he’s enjoying the conversation with the pretty woman.

'Well, fuck that, I ain't going back there when he's having so much fun without me.'

Your seething aura seemed to reach Jake, shivers running down his spine and his eyes were immediately drawn to the side, orbs widening in alarm when he saw you glowering.

Jake thought that the scariest moment of his life was when he was walking Layla early in the morning, and his dog choked on a piece of bone that was lying around in the neighbourhood, but as of now, he begs to differ.

His fear was audible in all ways, the girl in front of him noticed, making her follow what he was so riveting on and shit, that made you rage even more because it's fucking Kim Chaewon.

The girl who made your childhood a living hell. Your personal bully, the same girl who destroyed the sandcastle you built on the beach at the tender age of 6, the one who took everything away from you, the main cause of your departure in your hometown.

You felt so betrayed, the one person you thought she couldn't snatch from you, right in front of your eyes, was stolen.

You tried not to be affected by the scene, but you couldn't help the tears that pricked into the corner of your eyes when Chaewon smirked at you, and you'll be damned if you let yourself cry in her presence.

You turned on your heels, walking away and ready to commute back home but not before shooting Jake a disappointed look, ignoring his panicked expression.

Jake felt dread, guilt dropping down on his stomach when he saw hurt in your eyes, what's worse is that he's the cause of it.

He stood up right away, ready to follow you and explain the situation. That it wasn't what it looked like. He was about to take off, then he felt a hand grapple his wrist, a coy countenance can be seen on the culprit.

"You're seriously going after her?" Chaewon inquired, a mocking laugh escaped her lips, "What are you even gonna say?"

Jake retrieved his hand in a ruthless manner, sneering at the girl, "That nothing is happening here, she got it all wrong."

"Nothing?" she leered, batting her eyelashes like some bratz doll, "So fucking with me while she's gone and avoiding me when she’s here were nothing?"

"Listen here Chaewon," Jake aggressively leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth with a venom laced tone, "you do not say a word to Y/N, or else." then he left, running in the same direction that you took, making the blonde girl scoff.

Chaewon grimaced at the two cups of unfinished ice cream, setting her elbows on top of the wooden table and stagily resting her chin on her laced fingers, her attention stockpiling at a certain paper bag that's sitting on the left side of the comfy booth.

Scheme and trouble are her capital when it comes to instigations, "Game on, Sim Jaeyun."

---------------------------------------------------

"Y/N! Wait up, please, let me explain!"

You were well aware of Jake's pleads which made you walk faster, unfortunately, races like this meant that the one who has the longer limbs wins, and that wasn't you.

Jake caught up to you in no time, forcefully pulling you into his arms and enveloping you into a tight embrace, not letting you go even if you fight and hit him, accepting all of the profanities that you throw at him, he deserves that much.

It feels like you're in some k-drama. Getting back hugged by your childhood friend in a place where people are nowhere to be found, the skies turning into shades of gray and black, and frankly, you're getting tired of struggling knowing that you already lost the fight since he's so much stronger than you.

When he felt you go limp in his hold, he slowly turned you around so that he could examine you properly, a miscalculation on his part because seeing you in such a defeated state made him want to bury himself six feet under the ground until he's sure that he's paid the damages he had caused you.

"Y/N, please just one chance," he cupped your face, peering at you with such beseech, "please hear me out."

When you didn't speak, he took that as a chance to elaborate his case.

"I know it's wrong of me to interact with her, but she suddenly sat down in front of me. She caught me off guard and I was about to tell her off."

You let out a scornful laugh, pushing him away from you, "So you're saying that she's about to leave?"

He nodded, hope skirting his features but you wiped it all off with your next sentence, "Then why do you need to be so friendly with her, huh?!"

"I don’t want to make a scene there, Y/N. I have t-"

You raised a hand to stop him from saying more, having heard enough of his bullshit for the day, "Cut the crap, Jake, just- give me some time to think about.. t-this." your voice cracked in the middle and the sound reverberated through Jake's heart.

Watching you turn your back away was the hardest shit that Jake has to endure, especially since you're only a hair's breadth from his grasp.

Jake runs his hands over his face, attempting to rub the moisture away.

He has to fix this- No, he will fucking fix this even if it means that he has to go from heaven to hell.

---------------------------------------------------

You went home with a heavy feeling in your chest, ignoring the questions from your family and skipping dinner, (which is a big deal because your mother cooked your favorite food) since you don't have the appetite to join them for a delicious meal. You're tired, and all you wanted to do was cry yourself to sleep in the comforts of your mattress.

You dropped your body in the cotton sheets after washing up, dressing yourself in a simple tee and shorts.

It was eerily quiet, then the horrid memories that you clobbered in the back of your head started to swim back into the surface, your hands automatically went to your hair, gripping it hard as you choked back a sob.

A stuck gum in your precious, long hair that had caused you to cut it short, which made your classmates call you a tomboy.

Your artwork that was destroyed because this jealous girl just had to spray some black paint on it, causing you to lose a painting competition.

That one time when you had a crush on this guy named Soobin, but then he rejected you when you confessed because a certain someone made rumors about you wanting to have sex with him wherein reality, you only wanted to have a date with him.

Being called to the principal's office because you were accused of cheating during finals, which you never did but for some reason, 'evidence' of your wrongdoings appeared, and you lost the chance to become the class valedictorian.

The root of all these shitty things that you experienced: Kim Chaewon.

All the pent up humiliation and anger were released. The thought of Jake, the person who was supposed to be your shield from the disarray being involved with the person that you disliked, no, hate the most is killing you inside and out.

You sniffed, shutting your eyes and letting the tears flow freely as you clutched your pillow close to your chest. How you wished for your boyfriend to save you from this dark hole that swallowed you once more.

"Sunghoon, I need you here please."

---------------------------------------------------

You were rudely awakened by the repeated taps on the glass, a suspicious silhouette moving around the see-through curtain. You observed the shadow for a while until you decided to take action.

You sit up, quietly grabbing a lamp on the bedside table and cautiously tiptoeing towards the window, you slightly jumped when the intruder knocked again.

You took a deep breath, raising the lamp on your left hand and slowly pulling the curtains to the side. You yelped when you were met with Jake's face pressed onto the glass of the window, clad in an all black outfit and you had to physically stop yourself from laughing with how hysterical he looks.

"Jake?! What the fuck?!" you whisper-yelled, putting the lamp down on your dresser and quickly unlocking the window, ushering him to get in before someone sees him and calls the police.

"What are you doing here?! And in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea that people might see and talk about this?!"

"I have ice cream. You didn't get to eat yours today." he shoves a plastic bag in your face, not minding your words as he huffs and puffs, probably out of breath since he had to climb the tree behind your house and go over the roof so he could slink into your bedroom.

Yes, because life is not that easy and clichéd that a tree would be conveniently placed right in front of your window on the second floor of your home. Jake has to work for it.

"I don't want it." you uttered, trudging towards your door and opening it, beckoning your head downstairs, "Please leave, I'll be nice enough to escort you out."

You weren't looking at him, you don't have it in you to take him in because you're weak. You're not strong enough to stay mad at him, you know that one gaze into his starry eyes and you're gone, and you couldn't afford to do that.

Still, you should've checked at least once because hearing the plastic being dropped on some furniture and his incoming footsteps made you assume that he's done, that he's leaving, which was not the case.

A surprised gasp left you when Jake's hand grasped yours that was holding the knob, closing the door with a slight thud and he easily towers over you. An uncharacteristic intensity in his usually warm sepia orbs made your knees buckle, your heart rate speeding up when you realized that his masculine body had you trapped. Most importantly, his musky perfume makes you dizzy, clouding your ability to make sound judgment.

"I came here to see you, so no, I'll politely decline the offer of me leaving so soon." he murmurs, his hot breath cascading down your cheeks, and you got even more flustered when his free hand gripped your chin, leniently guiding your vision towards him.

"Please, Y/N, baby. Will you listen to what happened earlier?" he rasps, earnestly peeking into your own eyes as he searches for an answer that he desperately needed.

You'll condemn his perfume, his minty breath, his insanely attractive voice, and the sudden romantic ambience of the room. You'll inculpate anything at this point except your fragile self, because is it supposed to be your fault if Jake has the ability to render you defenseless against his overwhelming power over you?

A shaky sigh escapes you, nodding your head absentmindedly. The pet name surely had an effect on you, to which you could only describe as a grand circus playing around your whole nervous system.

"Jake.."

"There is nothing going on between me and that bitch, okay? I only care about you," he pulls your interconnected hands from the knob, bringing it to his lips and gently pecks your knuckles, "I'll drop anything just to be by your side, you know that right?"

"Please baby, I'm so sorry. I will never get in touch with her ever again. I'm so fucking sorry, I don't- I hate it when you cry, I hate it when you're sad. Please let me make it up to you. Please let me show you how much you mean to me."

You're not an impulsive person, as you'd like to believe, you tend to think first before doing something that you might regret in the future, but as of now, none of that matters.

For once in your life, you took the initiative, connecting your lips with Jake's, pouring all of your feelings in one emotional kiss. He wasted no time in returning it, turning his face sideways to deepen the liplock.

So this is what it felt like to kiss your plush, glossy lips. This is what it felt like to hold you in a way that is more than just some fucking friends.

This is what it feels like to have you. Intoxicating, addicting, and astronomically out of his wildest dreams.

Jake was brought back to reality when he felt you suck on his lower lip, opening his eyes in a haste and pulling away from you.

"I don't think we should d-" he starts, but you hush him by placing your index finger above his lips.

This is.. wrong. You are in a relationship, right? You two shouldn't be doing this.

"Jake," you whisper his name with such mirth, "show me how much I mean to you.. please."

That was the last thing Jake needed, throwing out whatever rationality remained in his brain in exchange for the yearning that he desired for so many years.

He groaned when you willingly opened your mouth for him, allowing him to slip his tongue in, licking every corner of your cavern. You let his wet appendage graze your teeth before moving your own to clash with his. Both are battling for dominance in this erratic exchange of saliva which he inarguably won, and you couldn't keep your moans at bay when he sucked on your tongue.

Pressing his lips into yours once more, a heated make-out ensues with him leading the way, wrapping his arms around your waist and compressing you between his body and the door, wanting to lessen the distance. He wanted more, he needed more, and he sure as hell will make the most out of this.

He'll act as a clueless villain if it means that he'll be able to steal the most precious gemstone that's already owned by someone.

But who fucking cares?

How could one say that it's wrong when everything feels so right? No one is qualified to dictate shit when the pieces of the decimated past are starting to recoup themselves, turning into a masterpiece called a forbidden tryst.

"Keep it down baby, don't want your parents to barge in here don't we?" he muttered against your lips, head moving to your clavicle and you instinctively craned your neck to the side, giving him the permission to paint you with the most colorful hues of blue and purple.

Jake breathes through his nose, inhaling your rousing vanilla and strawberry fragrance. This is what he's ever dreamed of. You, in his arms, marking you as his and only his.

One rainy day, he woke up only to realize that he wanted to be the man to make you happy. He wanted to cook meals with you, travel around the world, take candid photos of you and set it as his wallpaper. He wanted to be the person that you'll meet at the end of the church aisle.

The recollection of when it started was totally blurry.

Was it when you cried over that dimpled man back during 8th grade? Or was it when he saw you in your ball gown for prom? He has no idea, but he does know that he's prepared to give and let go of everything just for you.

Jake clutches on your waist even tighter, nuzzling his nose in the nook of your neck and leaving lightweight kisses up to your mastoid. He smiled when he heard you giggle, biting your ear lobe teasingly, "Still ticklish I see."

You poked his side in retaliation, making him jump and shriek a bit, "So are you."

"Why you little-!" Jake carried you like a sack of potatoes, dropping you on the cushions haphazardly yet you felt his palm on the back of your head, acting as an insulation so the impact won't hurt you.

"You'll be sorry for that." he says with a smirk, wedging himself in between your legs, and before you could reply, he kissed you deeply, proceeding to attack your neck with pecks and bites, sucking in the spot that had you gripping his hair.

His hand started to explore your body, tracing your shape and going inside your shirt, stopping right under your boobs. Jake lifted himself off, his eyes speaking for himself, silently asking for consent if it's alright to remove your clothes.

You nodded and started peeling off the shirt, the fabric getting comically stuck on your forehead (that's what you get for wearing clothes from your junior high days). You both laughed at the witless situation, and despite all that, you felt him help you out of the predicament but not without leaving a kiss on the exposed lower half of your face.

When the shirt is finally out of the way, you hastily remove your shorts as well, leaving you in nothing but a pair of panties because yes, you did not put on a bra, finding it ridiculous to wear one inside your own house.

You suddenly felt conscious when you noticed that Jake was unmoving and you found yourself covering your upper body, a movement that made the boy snap out of his daze.

"No, baby don't cover up," he grins sweetly at you, gulping down his nerves, "sorry, you're gorgeous, I can't help but admire."

You bit your lower lip, glancing at him and tugging at his own clothes, "Then be fair, give me something to admire too." you shyly said, avoiding eye contact when you saw him grin.

Jake instantly shrugged every piece of his attire, baring his all to you, and your eyes almost popped out of their sockets because what the hell?

Of course you knew he was well built, his fitted outfits leave nothing to the imagination at times, but fuck you to the moon and back, you did not expect him to be this muscular. He has abs! For goodness sake, you weren't prepared, and it shows since Jake has to boop you in the nose to get you out of your daydream.

"I know the view is amazing," he gently laid you down, positioning himself on top of you, "but tonight is all about you, darling."

He pulled you in for another solid minute of make-out session, this time though, he touches you with more vehemence. Snaking his hand on your chest, gripping your left boob and lowering his head down to give the other the rightful attention it deserves.

You moaned his name when he suckled on your nipple, tongue circling around the areola and occasionally biting to add more to the sensation. He used his fingers to twitch and pull on the other nipple, his other hand trailing over your stomach, down to the navel until it reached your heat. He experimentally dipped a finger, gathering your juices and groaning at how wet you are for him.

"Baby, you're dripping and I've only done the bare minimum." he mutters, releasing your nipple with a pop and staring down at you with desire written all over his features, "You really want me that bad?"

"Yes Jake," you answered without any hint of doubt, "I want you, please, do something." you begged, and who was he to say no to his beautiful baby.

"Your wish is my command, princess." he grinned, going into full action as he slid down, coming face to face with your core.

Princess.

There was only one person who called you that. It should hit you by now that this is taboo... but it's just one night.

After this, you'll move on and act like nothing happened. Isn't it?

You weren't able to delve deeper into your thoughts when you felt a finger inside your pussy, a warm mouth lapping at your wetness and sucking on your clit harshly. Your back arches when another digit goes inside you, going at a moderate yet wonderful pace every time it curls and hits a spot that has you curling your toes.

"Right there!" you moaned, getting closer to your orgasm, Jake sensing this made adjustments to his ministrations, basically going into feral mode. His deft fingers pumped in and out of you vigorously, his sucking, add to that the small nips in your bundle of nerves are getting too much for you to handle.

"Cum for me." he uttered, and the mini encouragement and vibration from his voice had you undone within a few seconds. Gushing into his face which he happily guzzled on, not stopping until you told him to stop, sensitive from the overstimulation.

He went up to your face and you could see the shiny slick on his lips, "That felt good?"

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue, "Very much, but what about you?"

"Baby, didn't I tell you that tonight's all about you?" he shakes his head, using his own limbs to spread your thighs open, allowing him to slot himself in the middle, goosebumps rising on your skin when you feel his tip prod at your entrance.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you taunt, wrapping your legs around his waist, pressing him closer to your soaking cunt. "Take me, Jake."

You really have a way with words or maybe you have this effect on him like magic, whenever you talk, all he could think about is making you his.

Inch by inch, he inserted his big, fat cock inside you and you know, because you feel it. The way he stretches you out just the right way, the vein on the side of his dick pulses every time you clenched on him, and when he finally bottomed in, you both let out a sigh that you didn't know you were holding.

Jake grits his teeth, putting the tip in and he thinks he's crazy because it's just the head but your pussy is sucking him all in and it almost made him cum.

He calmed himself down, if he's intending to pleasure you as much as he could, he's sure as hell to make himself last longer than usual.

He lets you adjust to his length, taking in a slow pace when you whisper for him to move. Gently rocking his hips into yours, making sure that he wasn't hurting you in any sort.

Then you begged for him to move faster, harder, truly, you're making this more difficult than it's supposed to be. He could hardly contain himself, but the more you egged him on, the more he let loose.

"Ah!" you cried out when Jake did a rather ruthless thrust, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously and it was getting him drunk off of you. He got a taste of you, and it'll be difficult to stop. He rammed into you mercilessly, the creaking of the bed was the least of your concerns now as you're more focused on the delightful feeling he's giving you, unconsciously scratching his back.

Jake hisses at the pain, but it motivated him to no end, knowing that you love what he's doing to you right now. Knowing that the reason you're acting like this is because he's doing you, as of the moment.

Your warm, wet walls hugged his cock so nicely that it made him believe that your pussy is made for him. Truly, every time he pushes in, you get tighter and it feels like paradise.

Nothing matters but the hushed moans of his name on your lips, he doesn't care about anything other than how good you feel.

You weren't in a good condition either, you're losing grasp of what's real, drooling mindlessly at the delight you're receiving. The man on top of you gives it his all, fucking you with all his strength as his length hits all the perfect spots inside you, making your eyes roll and see stars at the back of your brain.

Jake really tried to hold on, but your sudden release made your walls squeeze his cock, a low groan coming out of him as he cursed and complimented you on how well you're doing for him.

"Baby, I'm close." he warned you, sweat forming on his forehead and dripping down to your cheeks, and he finds it so hot when you dart your tongue out to lick the salty substance away.

"Inside, Jake. Please come inside me."

"Are you sure?" he slowed down a bit, peering into your eyes for confirmation.

Then you cupped his face, smiling at him lovingly, "Yes, I trust you."

That was all it took for him to release his seed inside you, thrusting shallowly to ride out his high until he collapsed on top of you, rolling over and slipping out of your walls when you halfheartedly complained about how heavy he is.

He finally did it.

Jake felt like a champion, one chance was enough for him and he's thanking all of the deities out there internally for giving him the opportunity to show you the love he's been meaning to shower you with.

He felt his body stiffen when you laid your head on his chest, telling him to stay, but what terrified him the most was when he listened to your request and naturally wrapped his arms around you.

Jake focused on you, combing your hair using his fingers as he watches you drift into dreamland.

You look ethereal like this, glowing under the dim light of the street lamps outside and how he wishes for you to continue being with him like this until you're grey and old.

He'll slip out of bed later, (couldn't risk getting caught by your family in the morning), and write you a note to make sure that you won't feel like shit when you wake up. For now, he'll relish in the blanket of your warmth and even breathing.

The boy sighs, his hand moving to your back, fingers lightly tracing his name over your smooth skin, 'J A K E '

---------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but then Jake finds himself in your window again the next night, and you let him in every single time. The moment he steps inside your room, no more pretending, straight to kisses and you getting railed into your mattress.

It was like a routine you both fell into, but as much as the guilt gnaws on your conscience, it was too good to let go. A drug you couldn't get enough of, you both have fallen into this wild goose chase but it's very much late to back out.

That's what happens behind closed doors when the moon shines, the strenuous task begins during the day.

Seriously, how are you guys supposed to act in front of your family and friends when there is 'something' going on.

It was exhilarating though. Sneaking knowing glances across the room, sometimes with a matching wink, the subtle thigh touching, following each other into a room without any people just to steal smooches.

It was all fun and games until someone had to make the situation even more arduous, courtesy of your brother whining about going to the beach without your parents aka friendly bonding.

It should be easy, acting like normal best friends and playing around in the water but noo, of course even a simple hang-out would turn into a battle of 'the first one to gape like a fish loses.'

By all accounts, it never crossed Jake's mind that you'd be daring enough to wear a swimsuit that shows a lot of skin, because you're usually a conservative little girl. So he was astonished when you exited the changing room, sporting the sexiest red two-piece, shaking his head in disbelief when you discreetly threw a smirk on his way.

He knew you were playing a game, displaying your ass for him, swaying your hips while walking towards the chosen spot for today's hang-out.

Jungwon whistled, Sunoo made a surprised pikachu face, and Riki paid little to no attention to you when you sat down on the blanket with them, under a big umbrella that you rented out shielding you from the scorching sun.

"Is this what the city air does? I dig it." Jungwon says, giggling when Riki hollered in disgust, side-eyeing you before making a comment about how he'll smack Jungwon in the head if he remotely said anything like that again.

Jungwon raised his hands up in defense, looking over Sunoo's direction for assistance, "I was complimenting her! Help me out here, man."

Sunoo raised an eyebrow, doing his infamous googly eyes at his friend, "You did sound like a pervert there but yes, I'll agree that Y/N looks great." he turned to you and gave you a thumbs up, to which you returned with finger guns.

Jake quietly nursed his bottle of cold beer, not participating in the conversation until the three stooges pointed it out.

"Yoi, one beer is all it takes for you to go mute?" Jungwon mused, Riki followed up with the teasing, saying that maybe Jake hasn't been getting laid, thus, the cranky disposition.

"Wha-! No, lemme tell you that I've been getting it so well nowadays." he defended himself, but not without giving you an inconspicuous glance.

"I don't wanna hear your sexcapades," Sunoo stood up, pointing at the ocean excitedly, "I think it's time to play, no?"

The other boys agreed except for you, telling them that you want to take a look of the scenery first before joining them in the water.

"You sure?" Jake asked, and you gave him the positive signal and he shrugged, "Suit yourself."

It was his turn to make you flustered.

Now, you have seen the guy naked, but it was during lights out, not in broad daylight, so the gulping that you did was unplanned. Staring at him while he removed his plain tee, bearing his toned muscles and abs for you to ogle at.

You glared at him when he threw a smug look in your direction, thanking the gods that the other younger boys were oblivious as fuck, mainly, their priority was the race to the water because the loser will buy them milkshakes later.

"What are you playing at Jake?" you questioned, standing up from your seat and doing your very best to look at him square in the eye, forcing yourself not to look down.

"Baby," he says, walking closer to you, licking his lips when he focuses on your cleavage, "you started this didn't you? Make sure to finish it then."

You weren't able to utter another word when he walked away and joined the others in the sea like nothing even happened, like he didn't make your heart race with exhilaration.

You huffed, turning on your heels to ambulate around the area, unaware of Jake's predatory gaze on you.

You watched the soles of your feet sink into the sand, leaving footprints behind, your brain contemplating the whole scenario that is sure to bring a storm into the fragile house made of cards. Starting from when you and Jake began this.. affair. Then your thoughts drifted to Sunghoon, you mowed at the unearthly concept, your conscience punching you in the face.

Your boyfriend is probably out there, tiring himself out during practice, doing his best to improve his skating skills so he could show off and make you proud when he wins all the gold medals for his competitions. While you're here, doing the unimaginable with a man that is supposed to be just a friend.

You paused, hugging yourself as some kind of comfort. Maybe you missed Sunghoon so much that you unconsciously went and found some kind of intimacy, any kind of affection that will satisfy you while you're away from your lover.

Will you really put the blame on that? Yes, it's pathetic but you have already crossed an unforbidden threshold, a thorny one that bleeds you dry but the more you drown in it, the more you get hooked.

You shook your head, trying to get a clear vision of how this is supposed to end, too lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice a pair that was trudging towards you, that is until their voices startled you out of your reverie.

"Uh yes? How may I help you?" you inquired cautiously, looking around just in case, and you felt stupid for not covering up because you can definitely feel their stares on your exposed skin.

"Relax pretty, we won't hurt you." the guy with a mullet spoke, smirking at you, the taller boy beside him nodded before adding a statement in.

"We noticed that you're alone, it's kind of dangerous here you know?"

"I'm a local, I know my way around here." you replied in a monotonous tone, letting them know that you're not interested in whatever they want to do with you.

"If you're a local," the mullet boy came closer to you, invading your personal space which made you frown and back up, "then how come that your face is not familiar?"

You took a deep breath, getting ready to shut them down when a towel was draped around you, a protective arm slinging on your shoulder and pulling you into a cast-iron body.

"Because she's keen on keeping her privacy, to avoid harrowing guys like you."

You'd recognize that voice anywhere, but you were surprised to hear such menacing articulation from him, very different from the usual sugary one that he always uses.

"Well hello to you too, Jake." the taller guy with brown hair greeted the aussie, a friendly smile on his face yet his passive-aggressive tone threw his calm demeanor away.

"Hello, EJ and Nicholas, didn't expect to see you here." Jake responds, matching the taunting attitude of the duo.

You clung to Jake, not minding the droplets of water if it means that you'll feel protected.

"Oh, is this your new bitch?" the one called Nicholas laughed, giving an amused applause and a low whistle, "You really have great taste, Sim."

You heard a low growl erupting from Jake's chest, his muscles tensing and you saw how he clenched his fist, getting ready to throw a punch if the need arises, "Don't you fucking disrespect my girl."

"Ah!" the ponyo look-alike named EJ mused, like a lightbulb went off in his brain, "Your girl? She's your girlfriend?"

"No way!" Nicholas sniggers, a surprise etched on his face, not believing what he was hearing, "A fuck boy like you settling down with a girl like her? That's some fucking news man."

One moment Jake was beside you, then he was gone, launching a full blown strike into Nicholas's face, and putting your scouts honor on the line, you’re sure heard something crack.

"Jake!" you cried out, fear creeping into you as you tried to simmer Jake down.

"A girl like her? A girl like her?! Fucking asshole, take that back!" Jake yells, about to attack the other man again but a divine intervention transpired, namely your brother and friends who came to the rescue.

They noticed that you two were gone for a while now, and thank god they decided to hunt for you both or something very bad might have happened.

"Oh my! Hey! Hyung, calm down!" Jungwon and Sunoo held Jake back while Riki got in between, helping Nicholas up, asking for forgiveness to deescalate the fight.

"Don't apologize to that asshole, he fucking disrespected your sister!" Jake shouts, breathing heavily through his nose, struggling to contain his anger.

Nicholas scoffs and wipes the blood from his busted lower lip, "I was stating a fact, that she is your bitch."

Silence ensues when Riki harshly shoves Nicholas, his friend EJ catching him before his ass makes contact with the sand. You've never seen your younger brother display an act of dominance before, rage brewing in his glare as he spoke in a threatening tone, "EJ, you're the sensible one here, get this fucker out of my face before I do something that we'll regret."

"This runt-" Nicholas was about to retort but he was dragged away by EJ, effectively stopping the brawl.

Jungwon and Sunoo sighed in relief, finally releasing Jake from their grip. Riki then went to you, softly patting you on the head as if he's saying that he's got you, that no one is allowed to mess with you except for him. Then he turned to Jake, "Thank you for defending her, hyung."

You all decided to go home after that incident, the mood totally ruined and you can hear the boys plot revenge as payback while you're changing, and you had to stop them right there.

As a compensation though, you and Riki invited them to stay for dinner, to which they happily agreed, not wanting to miss the opportunity of having free food.

When all of you stepped foot inside the reassuring space of your home, the sullen spirit from before was lifted up by some video games and snacks that your parents provided, letting you guys have fun while they prepare dinner.

You watched as Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki yell at the top of their lungs, accusing one another of cheating until one of them actually does it and everyone loses their minds. You laugh, then suddenly you were hyper aware of Jake's presence beside you on the sofa when his knee accidentally touched yours.

Your eyes discreetly slide over to his hunched form, the dim lights of the living room somehow highlights his sharp features even more, yet it made him look softer. You always had a habit of being obvious it seems since Jake turned to you with a questioning look on his face, silently asking you what's wrong.

You have to make up an excuse asap, and the lacerations on his knuckles provided the best one.

"I think we should treat that." you pointed at his hands, crummy reason but you'd stick to that rather than admit that you have been admiring him like a creep.

"Oh this? It's fine, it doesn't hurt that much." he looks at his knuckles, waving off your offer but you insist, telling him that it's the least that you can do after acting as your knight in shining armor in your damsel in distress. Thus, you find yourself alone with him in the bathroom, Jake sitting on the cover of the toilet while you rummage through the cabinet for the first aid kit.

"Found it, here." you ushered him to show his hand to you, placately tending to his wound, cooing at him like a mother hen whenever he hisses at the sting, making him chortle at the way you're acting. When it's all done, he thanked you, ready to leave but for some reason, you tugged him back to his position and placed your lips on his in a flash.

Jake was suddenly rigid, not really knowing how to react at first but he is nothing but a weak man when it comes to you, so he did what he does best, show you how much power you have over him, kissing you back as hard as he could. Then your next words made his head spin, like he's drunk off of you.

"I haven't thank you enough, Jake." you murmur against his lips, lowering your head to have your mouth reach the skin on his neck, sucking and biting it until you have left a visible mark. Your hands slithered over his clothed body, feeling his abs as you got on your knees for him, "Let me take care of you this time, hm?"

How can he even say no to you, he's going crazy right now. Your doe eyes begging to him, to let you pleasure him. Your silky voice calling him baby like he's the only boy you've ever called with that name. Your small hand on his crotch, palming him over his jeans. He couldn't say no to you.

"Go on then, I'm all yours." he rasps, relaxing his whole body and enjoying the show that you'll gladly perform for him.

You smiled and bit your lips, excitement coursing through your veins as you began to unbuckle his belt, lifting himself up to help you remove his pants and boxers so you could get to work.

His length sprung up a bit, having been freed from its constraints, still a bit soft but your mouth still waters from its sheer size. Your adventures with Jake always end up with him pleasuring you, never really giving you the chance to appreciate him like how you've always wanted.

You gently grabbed his manhood, your finger tracing the prominent vein on the side down to his balls, causing a sharp inhale from the man above you. You licked your lips, gazing at him from under your lashes, "What do you want me to do, Jake?"

God fucking shit.

Jake could cum just from your innocent teasing but he has to hold himself back, he must enjoy this, because he’s aware that this will be the best blow that he'll ever receive. He hasn’t experienced it, but he’s about to and if it’s you, he knows damn well that it will be out of this world.

He takes hold of your hair, gathering your strands and creating a ponytail, letting you kiss around his crotch and groin, then he stops you with a rather harsh tug on your scalp.

"Take me baby, use that pretty mouth of yours, and only your mouth." he instructs, giving emphasis to not using your hands which you immediately obligue, massaging his balls with your tongue until he tells you to stop.

Jake went and grabbed his dick, the tip leaking with precum and had half the mind to smear it all over your glossy lips, "Spit on it, then use your hands."

He doesn't need to elaborate more as you collect whatever moisture you can get inside your mouth, spitting on his member and lathering it all over his cock, moving your palm up and down, the slick making your movements smoother.

He can't wait anymore, not when you're allowing him to do things to you. No more restraints as he grabbed your chin, your mouth forming an 'o' shape and gave you this look, quietly informing you that he's done playing. You nodded, finally taking him in your mouth and you couldn't help the pride that swells within you when he suppresses his groans.

You coughed up a bit when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, some tears forming due to gag reflex, but Jake was unforgiving, whispering about how good you take him and that you should do more if you really wanted to thank him for everything that he's done for you.

You began to bob your head up and down, relaxing your jaw and hollowing your cheeks so you could take more of him, ignoring the pool of spit that formed on the corner of your mouth, letting it drip down your neck.

You started off slow, gradually increasing the pace. You used the tip of your tongue to zone in on the smaller and more sensitive areas of his member, pausing the bobbing of your head so you could pay attention to his angry, red head. Wrapping your lips around it and sucking, like a child with a lollipop, slowly.. slowly, enjoying his grunts and praises about how good you make him feel.

Jake felt his dick twitch when you used your hand, wrapping it around the base of his cock, adding pleasure to the parts that couldn't reach your mouth (because he's big af), and he felt himself losing control, a small apology leaving his mouth before he sets the rhythm himself. Holding your head steady as he stood up, his manhood not leaving your mouth and he started thrusting mercilessly. His dominant side always gets to you, and he knows because he's hearing those gagged moans as he used you like his personal fuck toy.

"I'm close baby." he warns, and he looks down, and fucking hell, the image has been burned into his brain. Messy, you're basically crying and drooling around his cock, your hands helplessly holding onto his thighs for support while you struggle to breathe through your nose.

Truly, the best view he's ever seen.

He staggers, not bothering to pull out of you, releasing his seed inside your mouth, not giving you a choice but to swallow all of it.

Jake exhales, satisfaction painted on his face while he slides out of your wet cavern, finally giving you the opportunity to catch your breath.

He knelt down in front of you, his forefinger smudged the strayed mixture of his cum and your saliva on your chin, swirling it around before inserting his digit inside your mouth, a smirk forming in his lips when you obediently sucked on it.

"That's my girl, now let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

---------------------------------------------------

"Bro, hey! Are you listening?"

Felix, one of Jake's friends from Australia snapped his fingers in front of the said man, breaking him out of his daze as he turned his attention from his phone to his friend.

"Pardon?" he asked, shiny eyes blinking while smiling innocently.

Felix rolled his eyes, pointing an accusing finger at the younger, "You've been fixated on your phone the whole day. Say, you're waiting for your girlfriend to text you, no?"

"I'm not!" he fights back, "And how many times do I have to say this, she's not my girlfriend!" he grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

Jake has always been a popular guy in this town, and obviously, after the incident at the beach, rumors fly through gossip faster than light.

"Jake and Y/N are together!"

That's what they all say, and as much as he loves the sound of you two dating, he's worried that the.. girls that he's been with might go crazy and attack you. He doesn't want you to get hurt, but all that he can do is deny everything. Heck, even Jungwon, Riki, and Sunoo helped in putting the baseless fire out.

"Doesn't look like it to me." Chan then interrupted the discussion, emerging from the kitchen with bottles of coke in his hand, setting it on the table and letting the other boys refresh themselves from the heat of the summer season.

"That's what I've been saying." the freckled boy agrees, finally having someone side with him.

Jake was about to retort again after gulping his sugary cola, but he stopped when he received a notification from you, saying that you need a ride and you're currently at the parking area behind the mall. He jumped from his seat, bamboozling his way out of his friends' apartment, bidding his friends a hasty goodbye.

Jake went back for a second, his head peeking from the door, "Oh and Felix."

Said man was startled, pointing at himself with a confused look on why his name was called all of a sudden.

"Yeah you, to answer your question earlier. No, I won't be going to the club or party or whatsoever. Hooroo!" and he was gone.

The two boys who were left in the living room looked at each other and shrugged, "Not his girlfriend, he said."

---------------------------------------------------

You were near having a panic attack, who would've thought that going to the mall to buy a new dress (because your last one was sadly lost and never found), would cause such chaos?

Tons of girls are either asking you about how you got together with Jake and how lucky you are or just plainly wanting to pull your hair out for stealing their prince charming... and you had enough of their bullshit.

You stood there in the parking lot, waiting for the very main cause of your dilemma to come and pick you up. Just then, a familiar stygian Kia entered the empty lot, stopping right in front of you then Jake himself appeared right out of the vehicle.

You wanted to scream at him for causing you so much trouble but a lump was caught in your throat when you saw his disheveled appearance, clearly rushing here to get to you but still managed to look exceptionally good.

How can one look like a painting da Vinci himself made even when his hair is all over the place and the collar of his denim top was not fixed at all?

Fear not, only he, Sim Jaeyun, can pull it off.

"Y/N! Are you okay?!" he dashed to you, holding you by your shoulders and examining you thoroughly if you were hurt. He swears, if he sees one tiny scratch on you, he'll haunt whoever caused the damage.

You almost cried at how sweet he is, but you opted to bury your face on the crook of his neck instead, surprising him but he returned the embrace nonetheless, entwining his fingers on the strands of your hair and setting his chin atop of your head. Apologizing for whatever happened to you, knowing that he was the root of all of these.

"No," you detached yourself, staring down at your white sneakers and how it complements Jake's brown leather shoes, "I guess I was shocked because I was literally being mobbed in there. Felt like a celebrity for a second." you tried to joke about the situation but Jake remained sympathetic.

"What are you even doing out here?"

"Well, I still need a dress for the festival.. which is tomorrow."

Jake facepalmed, laughing at his stupidity because how could he forget?

He held your hand in his, tugging you with him and ushering you inside his vehicle. When asked where he was taking you, all he replied to you was giddy "Secret!"

Soon, you arrived at his flat, and you were awed because it's been too long since you visited in here. Certainly, it still looks the same and the memories came rushing in like a wave.

Running around the house, chasing Jake with a spatula because he thought it was a great idea to scare you while you were in the bathroom, planting an oak tree in his small backyard, making him promise to take care of it even if he’s hoary and hunched.

You followed him to the steps, a delicate smile on your lips when you saw the rust on his door, surely a sign of the aged building. Upon entering, a familiar border collie ran up to you, sniffing you before wagging its tail in pure joy, making you squeal because she remembered you.

"Layla!" you hugged the little bundle of joy, rubbing her fur zealously, "You've grown so much! I missed you!"

Hearing your voice must have set off something from the dog as she threw herself over you, basically begging to be babied like how you did before. And you are willing! Except that she’s hogging you, her whole weight pushed on you which made it hard to breathe.

Jake, who was standing at the side, watching the wholesome interaction with glittering expression sensed your distress, "Layla! Come here!" he called the dog, using the treats that were stored as a way to entice the furry creature, which definitely worked.

"Sorry about that, she gets excited really easily." Jake went to you and helped you up when Layla was busy with her snacks, "Told you she really missed you." he adds, making you chuckle.

"I can see that. Well, what do you need to do that requires you to kidnap me here?" you asked, gazing at him curiously which made him nervous.

"Right." he scratched the back of his neck, giving you a sheepish grin, "Would you mind if I go to my room for a bit?"

You puckered your lips in curiosity but didn't question him any further, telling him that it's fine and that you'll wait. When he got out of his room, he was holding a pink paper bag, shyly walking up to you and handing you the item.

"What is this?" you accepted the bag, fishing whatever it was residing in there, then your eyes shimmered in recognition, hastily pulling it out and an attire was presented to you.

An elegant, satin red dress. An outfit that looked exactly like the one that you were eyeing back when you were 15, the age where you wanted to act like a model or some actress, and the red dress in a catalogue made you feel like you could reach such dreams.

"Do you want to try it?" he asks and you nod your head, heading towards the bathroom, leaving Jake and his nerves for him to calm. But you wouldn't let him, how could he when you got out of the toilet wearing the shade of autumn that represents all of his thoughts and emotions for you.

You walked closer to him, merrily twirling around to show off, "What do you think?" you look at him expectantly, skittish for his reaction.

Jake gave you a once over, hands in his pockets as he raked in your appearance, from your head to toe, and he tried his best to come up with a coherent answer. "You are," he inhales, removing his hands from his pockets and throwing it up in the air and placing it on either of your shoulders, "ethereal."

His heart beats strangely fast, which is a natural occurrence whenever he's with you. It always happens whether he likes it or not, something that he has no control over. He fixes his gaze into your gorgeous eyes and he soaks in them.

Everyday he swims to the thoughts of you, diving deep into the complexity of his feelings and hoping that when he ascends, you'll finally be able to see him in a different light.

"Say Y/N, would you like me to chaperone you during the fiesta?" he queries, and you couldn't help but laugh at his old method of asking you to be his date for the party.

You gathered his hands on your shoulders and held them into yours, transferring your warmth into his own skin as opposed to the cool air that starts to surround the house due to the darkening of the skies outside and the whirring of the air-conditioner, "I would love to."

Then your phone sets off, what a way to ruin the moment but you were pulled back into reality when you saw the caller.

"I'll be right back." you gave the man a tight smile, trudging down the hallways and out to the backyard to give yourself some privacy, unbeknownst of Jake's footsteps that followed you due to your anxiousness, but he made his presence hidden, and his blood boiled when he realized who it was that you're talking to.

He heard snippets of the conversation, and as much as he knows that he's in the wrong, the jealousy rises up to his stomach unprovoked, choking him until he's out of air.

"Yes, Hoonie, I'm having the best time here."

Best time because he's with you, making you feel like you're the only woman in the world.

"I do, I'll send you a photo of the dress soon."

The dress that he personally bought.

"Alright, take care. Uh-huh, love you too, my figure skating prince."

Well, that's fucking it.

The green eyed monster got the best of him, rage seeping through his bones and.. and he thinks he needs a glass of water to settle down. He runs to the kitchen, reaching for his favorite mug and filling it with ice cold water, letting it run down his throat and he wishes he could just dump it down on his brain to cool off the fiery envy that swiftly creeps up on his whole being.

He jumped a bit when you called his name, startling him when you were there, standing by the kitchen door with concern gracing your features, "Are you okay? Is something wrong? You don't look too good."

A barrage of questions and he answered it all in his brain in fear of saying something that might potentially hurt you.

Is he okay? No.

Is something wrong? A lot. You. Him. This. Whatever the fuck this is.

He doesn't look good? That’s where you're wrong. He always looks good.

His internal battle and fuming facade had you worried, taking steps closer to him in an attempt to console him. He was fine a few minutes ago, now he’s acting like this?

The moment you stepped into his sanctuary, touching him on his biceps, all his walls broke down and he immediately pulled you closer to him, connecting your lips together in a hot, messy, searing kiss.

He held you by your waist and you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck, granting him the license to trap you between his sturdy body and the marbled counter.

On the other hand, when your boyfriend called you, taking in his soft voice, his longing words. Hearing him tell you how much he misses you and how everything will be easier only if he has you by his side.. and his never ending canadian pancake jokes, this time with maple syrup.

It reminds you that you are taken, but you let yourself fool around for too long and you're stricken with guilt. Sin written all over your heart and soul because Sunghoon's own heart was getting broken without him even knowing and Jake's will sooner or later be shattered as well.

You walked back inside the building, determined to put an end to this fallacy as soon as possible. You've let yourself fall into the rabbit hole, and you believe that you have been only missing your other half to the point where you willingly rekindled an old flame, thinking that this summer thing would be the answer to your loneliness.

But you proved yourself wrong yet again when you let yourself be submerged into Jake's honeyed touches and spicy kisses.

You couldn't simply say no to him, not when every crevice of your body has been explored by him, savored and shaped to perfection exactly to his liking.

You moaned his name when his hand massaged your boobs over the thin dress, his thumb adding slight pressure to where he's sure your nipples are located. His tongue never stopped invading your mouth, asserting dominance that you've never seen from him before.

He hoisted you up the counter, spreading your legs for him to slot his tiny waist in, and when the need for oxygen was needed, you both parted ways and the string of saliva between your lips made the tips of yours ears red.

Jake's heated gaze had you embarrassed, his left hand on your thigh started moving, deft fingers tracing faint lines on your skin and you barely made out the words.. 'M I N E.'

You were inclined to return his stare, and all you could do was to revive the long forgotten yearning that you had left a year ago, everything that has been existing inside his hazel orbs.

There were a lot of uncertainties. What if you didn't leave your small town to pursue a city life? What if you stayed here instead? Will the changes be different like how things were right now?

No lingering stares across the room, no skinships concealed by friendship, no more denying of what you two really are because.. fuck this all. Friends do not know the taste of each other, a simple platonic relationship doesn't give you a whole orchestra playing Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams like that one scene in Bridgerton.

No, friendship doesn't make you feel like you're in heaven but love does.

This was supposed to be a one time summer fling, when the leaves turn into the color of wine that you had been nursing late at night, a past time that you developed whenever you're troubled about what you're really going through with Jake; you shall leave it all behind.

You will, but for now, the necessity to bury yourself in Jake's iridescence is your utmost priority.

You pulled him in again for a kiss, this time with a plan.

"I don't think this will reach the bedroom." he murmurs, his hands all over your body as he tries to feel you more, palms finally back on your thighs to lift your dress up, revealing black laced panties that had him groaning and inevitably, harder down there.

You giggled, pecking his cheeks while you started to unbutton his denim shirt, tracing your fingers over his golden skin, "I don't mind, do whatever you want. Also, leave this on." you say, admiring his chiseled muscles under his top.

He curses under his breath, you really know how to rile him up. You know him too well, and he's down bad for that.

Jake has always been a good boy, and he doesn't need to be told twice. If you told him to do whatever, then he'll do just that. First, he plans to fuck you in that tiny little red dress.

His hand traveled to your panties, chuckling when he felt a wet spot in the middle, his middle and forefingers playing with it, "Damn baby, haven't done anything yet you're this wet?"

You whined at his teasing, moving your hips for more friction but Jake pulled away, causing you to protest which seemed to please him, given by his smug countenance. He clicked his tongue and raked in your appearance, in a complete disarray and he's glad that he can affect you this much.

"I need you to be patient, baby. Can you do it for me?" he mumbles, voice dropping a pitch lower and it makes you wetter because it's so damn hot, not like his predatory leering helps your condition. Although, as much as you wanted to test his leniency, you decided to listen to him this time around, sitting still and watching him do his thing.

Your obedience greatly pleased the man, leaning down to give you a peck on your top lip, lightly nibbling on it before pulling away.

His hands move on your arms for a second, moving up to your shoulders. His calloused palms, probably from doing sports and playing the violin, are clement against your smooth skin, goosebumps running along the path that was traced.

Jake seems to be in a trance, hyper fixated on your body as he glides the straps down, guiding your arms so he could remove them through the straps, causing the upper portion of the dress to get loose in the process.

The action reveals more of your supple chest for him to gawp and you let out a gasp when Jake buried his face on your cleavage, trailing smooches on your chest and when he can’t take it anymore, he straightens himself up and he completely removes the bodice of the dress.

He takes the initiative to bring your bodies closer together, spreading your thighs wider and bunching the dress on your waist, until his hard on can be felt on your clothed womanhood.

Jake then resumes his ministrations, hands going over your belly, outlining your rib cage and his fingers traces the shape of your breasts, the sensations are building up fast and the agitation is starting to get to you. You made that apparent when you wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing him closer to give him a silent signal of where you want him to touch you.

He only chuckles, dipping his head near your jawline to trail kisses over it, reaching your ears and whispering sly statements, “We’ll get there, princess. Hold on tight and enjoy the ride, okay?”

“But Jake..” you whined and he shuts you up with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss where his tongue dominates your mouth, he takes that as an opportunity to engulf your boobs into his large hands, tenderly kneading and squeezing, tracing your areola in the process to make you squirm.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers rub your erect nipples slowly, increasing in speed and pressure as seconds go by. Your moans getting louder when he adds some twisting and pulling, pleasurable but not enough to cause pain.

Jake can’t help the groan that escaped him due to your incessant grinding, directly stimulating both of your lower areas. Your damp panties have been clinging on your pussy, your juices soaking even his jeans, specifically the area of his raging boner.

Jake disconnects from the liplock, observing your tousled appearance and despite his wobbly vision, he can confidently say that you’re insanely otherworldly.

The vermillion tint on your cheeks, blown-out pupils and bruised lips. Truly, the epitome of the goddess of beauty, his one and only.

“Jake?” you questioned, in a hazy stupor with your labored breathing, “What happened?”

Jake shakes his head, leaning down to rub the tip of his nose on yours, giving you a butterfly in the stomach-inducing feelings, “Just that you’re gorgeous.”

He chuckles when you squeaked at his compliment, removing his hands from your boobs in lieu of grabbing your ass, further pressing you on his hardness before leaning down on your chest, his warm breath hitting your mounds that had you shuddering.

You clutched on his shoulders for support when he began sucking on your nipple and gyrating on your covered wetness. You felt him flatten his tongue on your boob, covering an ample surface, turning into the hardened edge of his wet appendage flicking the nub repeatedly.

A brave lioness is what you are, primed for battles and victory yet you are nothing but a lady in desperate need of release in Jake’s presence and skillful tongue.

Soon enough, when your clit has been prodded far too many times by the rough fabric of your undergarment and your erected buds have also reached their limit, your back arched in pleasure, your orgasm washing over you like waves.

Jake continued his movements, ceasing only when you whine in overstimulation.

“My baby did a good job.” Jake praises you, patting your head and smoothing the bird’s nest on top of it. A spent smile is painted on your face, slumping onto the tiled countertop to catch your breath, then your eyes almost bulge out of its sockets when you hear Jake say that you’re not done yet.

He merely raised an eyebrow, getting rid of his pants and personally manhandling you into a position of his liking but is also comfortable for you. He pushed your panties to the side, too impatient to remove it and lining the tip of his leaking cock in your entrance.

“I still haven’t cum yet, princess.” he mutters, holding your thighs apart as he plunges into you, inch by inch, “You’ll help me, right?”

You nod your head, hands going over to his chest and he immediately grapples it in his, groaning in pleasure when your gummy walls sucked him in, but he held the overwhelming urge to do it one go as he wanted to feel you in the most intimate way.

“That’s my good girl.” he moans, bottoming out of you. He stays motionless for a few minutes, giving you adequate time to adjust. Then he started moving, freeing your hands to grip the sides of your hips, his pace was tamed at first but he went feral when you beseech him for more.

His thrusts gradually escalate, fast-moving and solid, making you feel so full. Every drag of his member on your slick creates squelching sounds mixed with your mewls, it rings in your eardrums, and the result is you getting wetter.

You’re basically lathering his counter and skin with your juices but Jake couldn’t care less, frowning in concentration as he does his best to pleasure both of you.

“Don’t stop.” you mumble along with other incoherent sentences, his darkened eyes glimmered, ramming inside you with all his might, adjusting a bit so he’s able to hit your sweet spot, and when he finally hits it, his reward is your chants of his name.

“Don’t worry, babe.” he grunts, tilting to match your face to grace you a saccharine kiss, his pace unrelenting and merciless, not wasting any minute as he bullies into your wetness without any care in the world, “I don’t plan on stopping.” he mumbles against your lips.

The knot in your belly gets tighter each time his cock grazes your g-spot and you purposefully clenched around him, causing him to unconsciously dig his nails into the flesh of your thighs.

The euphoric feeling was too much for you to handle, closing your eyes and dumping your head on his shoulder.

Jake’s gasps and low grunts are echoing in your head, slightly opening your eyes when you feel a rather pleasant yet burning sensation, realizing that he’s rubbing your clit. Adding onto the stockpiling gratification.

You heard Jake curse, expressing how breath-taking and marvelous you are, in every aspect and facet. You tried peeking at him in spite of your incoming cloud nine, and in your drunken stupor of paradise, your enticement towards his sweaty neck invoked you to lean in and suck on his skin.

Jake moans in delight, a specially harsh thrust was given to you in the process, taking you by surprise as it strikes the perfect site that had you tingling and creaming all over his member.

You accidentally bite a bit too hard on his neck, marginally leaving teeth marks that’ll surely take at least a few days to heal.

Jake’s hips stuttered, groaning rather gutturally at your dripping, warm cavern’s involuntary clenching, seizing his cock and as much as he wishes for the intercourse to carry on for a little longer, he has also reached his limit.

He releases his seed inside, painting your walls white and warming your core. He keep his languid strokes to ride your highs, halting when the dopamine dies down.

The smell of sex drifts in the kitchen. Sweaty, hot, satisfaction and fulfillment surrounds the place. Both of your strained breathing reiterates the events that have transpired.

You made the first move, lifting your head from his shoulder and pushing his sweaty locks that got stuck on his forehead, smiling at him giddily, “That was amazing.”

He wheezes at your pronouncement, “I know. You are amazing.”

“Why is it always me?” you complain, not accepting his never ending praises towards you. Besides, it wasn’t you who’s doing all the work in your.. endeavors.

“Because,” he engulfs your hand in his, kissing your knuckles and fingers one by one, “that’s what you are. Amazing.”

You roll your eyes at his flattery, then the joy you’re feeling turns into sorrow when he pulls out of you, some of his cum oozing out of your hole. The emptiness nearly made you whine but you fight off the impulsive thoughts of doing so.

After cleaning up and making sure that you’re presentable for other people to see, Jake offered to take you home and you accepted. Throughout the ride, you two are singing at the top of your lungs, ranging from love songs to rock songs, tittering when the other’s voice cracks.

When you’re finally home, you are reluctant to separate with him, but he assured you that he’ll see you tomorrow. As he should because he is your date for the event.

Bidding goodbyes was a herculean task, managing to do it when your parents themselves went out of the house due to their anxiety at the car parked in front of the house for 10 minutes.

You steer away from your family’s curious questions, telling them that you are tired (the truth) and you crave some alone time to rejuvenate.

It is a very particular day, like you two have discovered something new that veered your social link to a blithe yet brooding one. The possible consequences of your poor decision-making was washed away by fatigue, thoughts of Jake and the excitement of tomorrow’s event lulling you to a dreamless yet deep sleep.

---------------------------------------------------

You watch the youngsters run and jump in thrill at the vibrant and bright atmosphere of the location for the town’s long awaited celebration, sighing through your nose but still laughing at their energetic vibes.

“Takoyaki!” Riki exclaims, nudging his friends and quite literally yowling at them when they disagree at his suggestion.

“I want some candied apples.” Jungwon points at a certain stall, Sunoo’s eyes following suit and the smile that he’s sporting is the biggest you have ever seen. (desserts do have that kind of effect, maybe that’s why they always have a room in the stomach.)

“Really? So early in the evening and you want sweets?” the tallest among the guys deadpans, turning to you for help, “Knock some sense into these idiots.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, nonchalantly waving Riki off, “Put on your big boy pants and deal with it.”

You ignore your brother’s bleating, facing Jake who is beside you the entire time and fretting over the fact that your mother and father left you to look after the boys to have their ‘alone time.’

“Jake?” you called for his attention when you noticed that he wasn’t responding to your hardcore yapping, only to find him immersed at you.

“Jake? Is something wrong?” the thumping in your chest accelerates as he peers at you with dreamy eyes, permeating with fondness and yearning. You are not entirely sure on how to react, standing there like a statue until the man in front of you scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.” he laughs bashfully, “You are simply glowing, a rare jewel. I can’t stop admiring you.” he admits and the blush on your cheeks darkened.

Your appearance is not something to be confident at, you look decent at best if you say so.

You wore the red dress that Jake gifted you, paired with rubber shoes of the same hue. Your hair is styled in a dutch braid, decorating your strands with various pins and ribbons for the aesthetic, and finally, a natural make-up for added radiance.

You literally see no reason for him to goggle at you, but then again, you can’t and don’t perceive yourself in Jake’s point of view. You’d be shocked if you learned how angelic you are in his world.

In Jake’s standpoint, the tinge of cerise complements your sublime beauty like no other. It brings out the tincture of your eyes, the carmine of your cheeks, the cherry of your lips and it greatly enhances your flushed complexion. A mermaid you resembled because of your hair, relatively constructing an illusion of enchantment.

That is why he cannot fully fathom why you’re denying his words, simply because Jake is confident about it. He frankly believes that there is no other like you— unparalleled and stellar.

“Be serious for once.” you say, thwacking his shoulders with a snigger.

Jake frowns, facing you and catching your hand in his, he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a shrilling voice, one that had you reeling in consternation and abhorrence.

“Well, well, well. The power couple has revealed themselves.”

Great, the night is young and it’s already ruined by none other than..

“Chaewon.” Jake utters her name with such revolt, shielding you from her as he protectively shifts you behind him, “What do you want?”

“You wound me.” she places a hand on her chest, faking a sad expression before she wheezes and narrows her overly eye-shadowed eyes in your direction, “Hello again, Y/N. Won’t you come and greet me as well?”

Your whole body trembles when you hear her call your name in a sweet, sickening manner with an underlying condescending tone. It wreaks havoc in your supposed to be zen state, the rain in your glossy orbs threatens to fall any minute the more the interaction is prolonged.

Jake senses your dilemma, and he knows that he has to do something, anything to not let this get out of control. He needs to wrap this up asap.

“Chaewon!” Jake roared, seething and perturbed, “Get out of here while I’m asking nicely.”

The girl hoots in laughter, obnoxiously even, holding onto her tummy, “You’re hilarious, Jake. Why are you acting like nothing happened between us?”

Time seemed to come to a pause at her revelation. Surely, that wasn’t what she said, right?

You must be mistaken because Jake? The boy that you trust the most, the only person who is aware of your trauma towards Chaewon’s wrongdoings.. something transpired between them?

Your head that is hanging low amidst the whole ordeal tilts to spare the girl a glance, which you shouldn’t have because you have now witnessed the most gut-wrenching sight: Chaewon wearing the white dress that was supposed to be yours.

She peeks and notices your gaze on her, whirling around to show-off with a haughty smirk, “Pretty isn’t it? I’m really happy that Jake gave this to me.”

“Jake gave that to you?” you whisper, and like a bat with supersonic hearing, she makes-out what you just said without any problem.

“Yeah!” Chaewon giggles, and she dropped the bomb that exploded all over your conviction and solidarity, “I mean.. From all the nights me and Jake have spent in his bed, I think it’s only natural for him to give me some gifts.”

Your eyes widened in anguish, meeting Jake’s with resentment. You don’t even need to explain yourself, your betrayed expression articulates all the emotions that are fermenting in your being, spoiling the gaiety and leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

You bitterly tugged your hand, grimly retiring in this shithole wordlessly. Jake’s pleas were blocked out as the ringing in your ears is too noisy, currently focusing on how excruciating it is to wear your rose tinted glasses.

Seeing in a bird's eye view, the earthquake of indulging in your desires, the red flags; rejecting the clues and signals in place of shooting stars and red roses.

There is nothing wrong with harboring intense, burning feelings for someone. There is nothing wrong about it except…

You choked back a sob as you stood still in the middle of some empty street, covering your mouth with your palm while you used your free arm to hug yourself, a coping mechanism to the either the cold breeze or the icy realization of your own breach of trust.

To the person that you are tied to. The lover whose heart is reserved for you but here you are, cracking his entirety unbeknownst to him.

Truth to be told, you are apprehensive about the entirety of your solstitial days. You are no doubt in the utopia of cloudy marshmallows and lustrous sequins, such vista is brought to you by your paramore, Jake.

Your affairs are not accepted by society, deemed illegal by the law and an unforgivable misdeed by the gods. Yet you couldn’t, for the hell of it, deny the fact that you are over the moon, spending time with your revived ardor that you thought had passed away.

Reflecting on your decisions brings you on a disparaging trip to guilt land, your sins are not reasonable, will never be decipherable but love has always been like that, isn’t it?

Working in mysterious ways, playing with fate and destiny, using cupid as its puppet and people’s heartstrings as marionettes until it cooks up its desired results.

But must it be so ferocious?

You are having a meltdown, drowning in these poisonous thoughts when a distant voice clears your smoggy psyche.

“Y/N!”

---------------------------------------------------

Jake fumbled. He fucked up. So bad.

He was motionless for a minute, wide eyed and panicking as the noise around the ongoing celebration helped him block the cringe-y voice of the girl, whose presence if he must say, is irking as hell.

He watches as your lovely figure walks further away, getting smaller the more distance you put between you, and it’s nauseating. The agony was fucking too much, not foreseeing the events.

He was meant to be with you the entire night. Eating delicious foods from the stalls, winning you a giant teddy bear, watching the grand fireworks whilst he kisses you under the radiance of the natural and artificial stars.

And whose fault is this?

Jake turns to the culprit, her innocent facade pissing him off to no end.

“What the fuck, Chaewon? Have you finally lost your marbles? Didn’t I tell you to leave me the fuck alone?!” he yells, his emotional intelligence gone because the mere thought of losing you is not worth the effort of suppressing his anger.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms in disdain, “I only came here to say hi and to show the dress.”

The scene appears to catch the attention of the bystanders around them, and multiple pairs of eyes scrutinize the pair, which is not good for the sake of it all.

Jake inhales, praying to anyone out there to give him the patience that he’s currently lacking, “How many times do I have to say that I’m not interested in you? We fucked once and I was drunk! That’s the end of the story!”

“So fucking around with Y/N is better? Have you forgotten that she has a boyfriend? You really want to spend your precious summer with a whore?” she rebuts, and what she labeled you was the last straw.

He ruthlessly gripped her arms, no caution nor forgiving, “Listen here, you do not call Y/N a whore ever again. She is so much better than you and,” Jake scoffs, eyeing her with disdain, “you do not even come close to her level. So, I would really fucking appreciate it if you zip your shitty mouth, or else I will make your life a living hell.”

Jake lets her go, clenching his fists and hiding it inside his pockets, glaring at the teary-eyed woman but he certainly does not fucking care. She can bawl her eyes out and spread gossip about him, but he won’t let any disrespect towards you pass.

He turns around, quickly changing plans as he thinks of ways on how to make things up with you, but before that, he took a shot of belittling the girl, “Now that I see it, that dress is ugly as hell. You can keep that, it's only beautiful if Y/N wears it.”

Jake then runs off, in a mission to find you.

---------------------------------------------------

“Y/N!”

It took you a minute to process what’s happening. One moment you are alone and the next second you’re engulfed in a warm hug. Must be a divine intervention or something, your knight in shining armor coming in at the right time to save you from the sorrows of your own faults.

You pushed him away rather forcefully, vigorously wiping the remnants of your tears away but Jake has seen it either way.

He cups your face, mellowly speaking, “Please don’t cry, baby-”

“Stop!” you cried out, placing your hands on his chest to put a tiny gap in the middle, a feeble attempt at refusing his support, “Stop calling me that if you don’t mean it. I-I.. Please, I want to be alone.”

You’re beginning to go into hysterics, sobbing uncontrollably now that you have been slapped by reality.

“I don’t want you to be alone, and,” Jake steeled himself, not accepting your rejection, “I mean it. You are my baby so please Y/N, let’s talk this out.”

You shake your head, struggling against his firm hold. The complexity of the whole situation embroiders dark threads in your snowy fabric, commencing the madness in you, and you’re so damn afraid if you’ll be able to surpass this test.

“Jake, I don’t want to- Please, stop, I can't do this anymore.”

You are too busy wallowing in despair that you failed to notice Jake’s terror stricken guise. All of his brain cells are working overtime to think of something, anything to dissuade your incoming rash verdict about your.. circumstances with him.

Jake slides his palms onto your shoulders, lowering his forehead down the crook of your neck, shutting his eyes and relaxing for a second.

It’s now or never.

“You can’t do this anymore while I've been here, doing it ever since.” he mumbles, decibels reaching your ears and it makes you confused.

You stay rooted in your spot, listening to his shallow breaths, “Doing what?”

“This Y/N.” he lifts his head up, meeting your weeping orbs as his lower lips tremble, wavering and hopeless mien, “I did not pursue Australia for the sole reason of staying here, because I thought that you’d continue college in this town.”

Wait. You are the reason?

“I wanted to be with you, then I learned that you applied to a university in the city and I was too late. I wasn’t able to go with you because I hesitated. And that was the biggest mistake that I will forever regret.”

Jake didn’t give you the time to butt in, he prattled on and on, explaining and disclosing every bit of information that you have to know.

Chaewon and him did have a history, but he was drunk and was in need of some sort of intimacy because all he did was miss you while you were gone. Yes, shitty excuse but that was the truth. He apologizes hundreds of times for that, verbalizing that he avoids her like the plague after their one time encounter, and that she’s the one who kept on persisting in a relationship with him.

He doesn’t want to do shit with her and he is willing to spend a lifetime making it up to you if it means that you’ll forgive him.

You mutter his name in hopes of cutting his reverie to tell him that it’s okay. That he doesn’t need to be unfair to himself and that you also have made an awful blunder yourself. So, you tried again but then he blurted out the words that rewired your verdict.

“Y/N, I love you. I am so fucking in love with you. You inhabit my day, possess my nights and I-”

You finally placed your lips on his, shutting him up for good. You can’t contain your selfishness anymore, and you’re going to hell for it.

“Jake, I understand.” you whisper against his lips, “No more talking. Just kiss me.”

And he did. A passion filled kiss in the dimly lit middle of the road, and soon enough the two of you are giggling out of your wits, running towards his flat to savor each other beneath the raving moon and stars.

Ablaze sheets and shushed confessions of affection, lustful chants of pet and nicknames, hot and ponderous breathing. Lips molding, tongues dancing, limbs intertwining — love was made multiple times that night.

Jake felt his turbulent ambitions being nurtured into a calm sea.

When he holds your sweaty body close to his after the last of the many rounds of ardent copulation, he pecks the crown of your head, thinking that he’s got you.

Imagine the bewilderment and fretfulness that he undergoes when the next morning, he wakes up and you’re not by his side. The slot beside him is where you’re meant to be.

So, why are you not here?

He is like a thundercloud, fixing himself up and taking a dangerous, speedy trip towards your house only to gain the certitude that you have left.

“Yeah, she came back home during dawn, grabbing her suitcases and catching the earliest train back to the city. She didn’t say anything to us, just that she needs to go back as soon as possible.” Riki clarifies groggily, your brother rubbing his eyes sleepily, overlooking Jake’s fall from grace.

He thanks the younger and when the door is shut, he’s out.

He was in a sinking boat the whole fucking time, his white knuckle grip on the handles was useless as he’s the only one dying with it.

You, his gospel, are once more absent to guide him, and he is left alone to fend for himself.

Jake enters his car in a daze before laughing to himself, beyond miserable and breaking down. You can’t even be bothered to give him an acrid goodbye. Was he not worth the time? Was he not worth it?

He slams his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes going over the hidden compartment where the bracelet with your initials sits. Looks like he won’t be able to give you that, no?

“What do we do now, Sim Jaeyun?”

---------------------------------------------------

Your sudden disappearance deeply troubled Jake. His gut tells him not to contact you first, listening to his intuitions and twiddled on his thumbs.

He waited for a call, message, anything to let him know that you have not abandoned him, but not once did he receive one. A complete dissonance and in a flash, the pigments in his face that you have sprayed were drained.

He prayed for a sign to the deities because he’s tired of waiting, ‘Give me a reason to stop chasing after her.’

And what he asks, he gets.

One day, when he was rolling around in his bed, stalking your social media, he saw that you updated on instagram. He immediately opened the app, but he was crushed like an insect at what he saw.

It was a photo of you and your boyfriend. Seems like your ‘ice skating prince’ won a tournament, no trophies at hand since his prize is already in his arms— you.

Jake lies down on his back, his arms covering his eyes and he lets the salty tears that he’s been keeping at bay for the longest time freely stream down. He granted himself the license to cry this time, to have a moment of weakness as he grieves at the newly formed memorabilia of adulation and picturesque remembrance.

You should have at least given him some sort of magnanimity, a heads-up perhaps?

Yes, it was necessary so he could’ve commenced the digging of the graves. One for his dying gray heart and one for his wilted, parched crimson roses.

Jake is no stranger of the naked truth, that he was the other guy in the portrait. The snake and not the proprietor but even for a trifling moment, despite the bleak and slim chances, he believed that the silver lining exists.

He was so sure that the inkling sentiments, skinship, companionship throughout the summer would mean something to you.. If not, then why would you be so cruel to give it to him? Why would you be so heartless to let him think that he could win against someone that is unrivaled when it comes to a space in your heart and life?

He spilled his booked sentiments, you let him savor you, allowed him to follow you to the depths of nowhere only to pull back at the last minute, leaving him stranded at the end of the cliff.

So he did what must be done. He jumped in the deep, dark ocean of precariousness. Hoping that at the end of his expedition, a treasure would be waiting for him.

Jake did find fortune alright; rusted, grotesque, and counterfeit.

He was a deep-dyed, utter fool. Pathetic at its finest for falling for a person he could never, ever have.

Indeed, a complete defeat. What was the name of the victor again? Ah, right.

Park Sunghoon.

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