#another in that folder of loose ends

[kotoku]

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ! ꜱ/ᴏ

pairings - sunday x injured! reader / aventurine x injured! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ angst but with comfort/ fluff in the end

warnings - a bit of angst (?), maybe like two sprinkles..

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

Sunday had been filing through his paperwork, eyes skimming over the contents before tucking it into its rightful folder. The ticking of a clock was the only sound that filled the room, besides the noise of papers being shuffled. It was then his mind had begun to wonder, filtering out the ambiance and recalling the last conversation the two of you had shared before leaving for work. 

“It seems that something urgent has come up at work. I’ll be leaving now, Sunday.” You quickly put on your footwear that you normally use for work, making sure that it isn't loose. Sunday stood near the front door and offered you your bag that held your belongings when you got up.

“Alright, stay safe, my dear.” 

And with a quick peck on the lips, you had set off to work, leaving Sunday in the doorway feeling a little lonely. 

With a shake of his head and the shutting of the door, Sunday had made his way to the bedroom to start his own routine.

There was no need for him to feel lonely. As you would be back in his arms later that day. 

He wouldn’t have had to wait that long, as he was notified of your disappearance by your boss. 

Sunday had dropped whatever paperwork he was doing, the papers that were once neatly organized scattered across his desk. When he had got the call from your superior, knots of dread had weaved itself in his stomach and it made him want to puke. 

He left his office in a hurry, not bothering to close the door fully as he sprinted to the place your superior had sent you to. Your superior had said that you had an assignment within the real dreamscape, something about the memetic entities within it that were disrupting the environment. The group that was sent to the area had lost you somewhere deep within it before they were attacked by those monsters. 

The thought of you being by yourself while facing those things made a shiver run up his spine. He knew how capable you were but he didn’t want to risk losing another person again. 

Not after what happened to his sister.

When Sunday got to the real dreamscape, he had met with the group you were sent with before leaving on his own to find you. He tore the entire place apart, searching for any traces of where you could have gone before stumbling upon a trail of freshly spilled blood. Your blood. 

Sunday cursed under his breath, following the trail that led him through door after door. It was then the trail stopped, your beaten up form sitting up against the wall, a pool of blood beneath you from the blood that you were losing. You were on the verge of unconsciousness.

For a moment he felt his heart stop, hands clenching in anger and fear at what had done this to you. But despite the urge to eliminate whoever was responsible, he needed to focus and bring you somewhere safe. 

You hadn’t registered the footsteps that were quickly approaching you, the gentleness of the person who was carrying you and the soft fluttering of wings against your face, nor the warm grip on your hand while you got transported to the infirmary. It was then when you could barely make out a couple of people above you that you were swept away to darkness.

-----

There was a faint noise coming from beside you. It was the sound of the monitors that were hooked up to you, the IV pole sitting nearby with its saline bag half empty. The bright lights that flooded your vision as soon as you woke caused you to wince, slowly shuffling in the medical bed you were set on. 

The pain you felt was almost unbearable. The myriad of bandages on your body and the cast around your leg were proof of where the pain originated. You could barely move around that much with how everything was restricting you, yet you attempted to find a comfortable position. 

However, you felt a lightweight resting on your thigh and a loose grip holding your hand. 

“Sunday..?” You croaked out, peering over at the man who slept peacefully with some of his loose feathers around you. You figured that he must’ve been so stressed that some had popped right off, poor thing. 

Reaching out a hand and carefully swiping away some of his disheveled hair, you saw the bags that had formed under his eyes. How many days has it been? It was clear that he had spent a while there with you, waiting for the moment that you’d awaken, but his tiredness eventually caught up to him. You couldn’t help but shake your head, feeling a little guilty you had caused your lover this much stress. 

Sunday stirring awake snapped you out of your thoughts. He slowly blinked his eyes open and lifted himself away from where he lay as he noticed that you were awake.

“_____..? You’re awake..! Thank Xipe..I almost thought you weren’t going to wake up anytime soon.” Sunday breathed a sigh of relief, the feelings of stress and anxiety that ate away at him disappearing. He carefully cupped your face and pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get there in time, My Love…”

“Sunday… You don’t need to apologize for that. I should be apologizing for my recklessness…” You murmured, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You sunk further into his touch, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheek. 

“Nonsense, you were only doing your duty.” Sunday firmly stated, nudging you to look him in the eyes. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, not just from the pain but the reassurance that Sunday gave you. You would not have known what to do if either one of you lost the other, so you were eternally grateful that both of you were alive at this moment. 

A brief silence fell between the both of you. It wasn’t uncomfortable but rather comforting, enjoying the presence of each other for a little longer before the nurses would check in on you. 

“If you think about it… You’re kind of like my guardian angel, Sunday.” Sunday chuckled. 

“I guess I am."

-----

You and Aventurine had an..interesting start to your developing friendship that brought you to where you are now. The both of you had first started working at the IPC in the same department so the frequent appearances of the other never really surprised either one of you. There would be times when you’d guys share small talk, but that never really lasted long as you got swept away to another assignment. 

When you had started rising through the ranks, there was an unspoken rivalry that began to form between you and Aventurine. You never really cared or bothered to feed into this ‘rivalry’, but you had to admit that it was pretty funny seeing Aventurine so fired up if something fortunate happened to you. This led to constant teasing and bickering whenever the two of you encountered each other. It got even worse when you got paired to the same assignment as him. Yet he did know when to take things seriously so you both could get the job done. 

It had been a rather uninteresting day of work for Aventurine, bound to his desk and reviewing important documents that had been submitted to him from his subordinates. Eventually, he had concluded everything and placed them into a cabinet for further inspection later. He just wanted to take a quick walk to stretch out his body after being strapped to his chair for the entire day. 

The scenery outside the spaceship was what you’d expect, yet he never grew bored of it. Sometimes he’d stare out into the vast sea of stars and planets, distracted by the idea of just how small he and his problems were. In a way, it distracted him from the stresses of life.

Aventurine had begun to near the area where people would come in, a group of workers that had recently finished an assignment passing him. He noticed some familiar faces amidst the group and started to wonder when you’d be back to see him. 

It had been 2 weeks since you left for your assignment, giving him a long kiss that left him dazed before departing. Aventurine didn’t lie when he said that he’d miss you as he whined about you leaving for 2 weeks, clinging to you when it was the morning of your departure. Yet he whined a little less when you promised to text him whenever you had a moment of free time.

Speaking of which… The last message you sent to him was a while ago, around 2 days in fact. He never heard anything from you since you bid goodnight to him which made him a little worried. But he knew more than anyone that you were a capable and dependable person, so his worries grew a little less. 

…Yet he could feel a small twinge of dread in his stomach whenever he thought about the time span. 

The opening of the doors leading to the docking area brought him out of his thoughts, glancing over to check what ship had come back. To his surprise, it was you..but in crutches and countless bandages as you awkwardly made your way past the door with someone assisting you. 

Aventurine stared for a couple of seconds, registering your beat-up form before rushing over. “_____!”

You had strained your neck to look towards where the voice came from, seeing a distressed Aventurine catch up with you and your coworker.

“Ah.. Aventurine–,” you started, giving him an awkward smile. “--didn’t think I’d see you so soon. How has work been–”

“What happened to you??” Before you could finish your sentence, Aventurine had taken your coworker’s place, assisting you towards the infirmary. You were trying to explain what happened during your mission and brushed off the injuries, as it was never uncommon to come out with a few scratches and bruises… Aventurine disagreed in a heartbeat.  

“Missions can be dangerous so you must take care of yourself.” Aventurine huffed, getting you checked into the infirmary. 

After you were settled into your room with everything taken care of, Aventurine came back in to stay by your side. You could tell he was upset and concerned for your well-being, sighing as he continued to whine and lecture you about safety. 

“You should’ve given me a call, you know I’d be there in a heartbeat–” 

“Aventurine…”

“Who knows what could’ve happened to you if the circumstances were different–” 

“Aventurine.”  

“Whatever happened… Whoever did this to you I’ll–”

“Aventurine!” 

He stopped pacing around the room, head snapping towards you when your voice finally got his attention. You sighed softly, looking down at your hands that had medical equipment attached to them. “I’m okay. Everything is fine–” “How can you say that?” 

Aventurine gave you a frown, crossing his arms as he stood at the foot of your bed. “You came out with multiple injuries, hell you could barely walk. How could you say that everything is fine?” His eyes had narrowed, staring down at the tiled floor that reflected back at him.

You stared at him for a bit, thinking of what you could say to him. After all, he was right, you came out bearing a multitude of injuries that would leave a couple of scars. But..you didn’t want him to be so worried for your sake, you couldn’t bear burdening him. The grip you had on the sheets loosened, your head leaning back onto the pillow. 

“I…” A pause. “..I’m sorry, Aventurine. I didn’t want to cause more stress for you but.. I’ll be fine. I promise.” You firmly spoke, watching him look back at you before coming over to sit beside you.

“No I… You don’t need to apologize.” Aventurine sighed, moving to hold your hand. “I was just..scared. I’m sorry for lashing out on you, _____.” His gloved fingers felt warm against your bare skin, thumb gliding over your knuckles. 

You hummed in response, your hand interlocking with Aventurine’s. “I know, Aven.” He gave your intertwined hands a kiss, pressing his forehead against them.

“Geez… You really don’t know how worried I was when I didn’t hear anything from you for two days.” Aventurine whined, head moving to rest on your stomach. You stroked his hair, fingers gliding through his golden strands as he sighed in bliss. 

“...I missed you.” He mumbled, peering up at you like a kid through his lovely eyes. You smiled softly at him. 

“I missed you too, Aven.”

“You won’t believe how work has been without you, though…” “Really? I’m all ears.”

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - sorry for the sudden disappearance everyone! 😀 i hope that you guys haven't missed me too much but i'll promise to post stuff soon! thank you guys for your patience and i hope you guys have a safe and wonderful break/week!

[aesthetically-dying101]

Uh...Boss?

A/N: Inspired by this post by Tonycries. It lived in my head for way too long so i had to write my own spin on it cause urrrhghghhgh Nanami. (idk how to tag ppl, maybe: @tonycries ? idk how this works)

(also, u prolly have, BUT, pleasepleaseplease go check out Tonycries, they're the best, i linked their pinned post up there)

warnings: pre established relationship. she/her pronouns.

Nanami Kento wasn’t a man of many words.

He was all sharp edges and efficiency—a no-nonsense leader who operated with surgical precision, leaving no room for pleasantries or personal connections.

In the sterile hum of the office, he was a figure of unwavering discipline. His unbreakable demeanour was as much a part of him as the neatly pressed suits he wore every day. His employees had long since learned that their stoic boss wasn’t one for idle chatter, team lunches, or office parties.

The most anyone knew about his personal life was the faint glint of a gold band that rested, unassuming, on the fourth finger of his left hand—a quiet declaration of his marital status, though no one dared ask questions about it.

Speculation, however, ran rampant.

In whispered conversations by the coffee machine and text exchanges after hours, the theories grew wilder by the month. Some insisted he must be a widower, his heart locked away with the memories of a tragic love lost too soon.

Others speculated that the wife was purely a fiction, an illusion crafted to fend off any personal inquiries. After all, there was no evidence to the contrary: no photos on his desk, no anecdotes shared in meetings, no offhand remarks about home life.

Nanami’s demeanor only fueled the mystery. He was distant, cold, and methodical—traits that seemed to belong to a man consumed by work, not one whose heart might be tethered to another.

And then came Tuesday.

It began unremarkably enough.

The office was slowly coming alive, the usual rhythm of clattering keyboards and muffled phone calls punctuating the air. An early morning meeting had been called, and as always, everyone expected Nanami to arrive promptly. His entrance usually marked by the sound of his polished shoes against the tile floor.

But he didn’t show.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

They thought of calling the national guard- maybe the president.

And then, the door swung open.

Every head turned, and the room collectively froze.

Nanami strode in, but not as the crisp and polished figure they were accustomed to. His usually pristine shirt was rumpled, the collar slightly askew. His tie, which was always immaculately knotted, hung loosely around his neck, as though it had been hastily thrown on. His blonde hair, typically combed back with military precision, was tousled, stray strands falling across his forehead. But none of that—not the dishevelled appearance, not the unusual tardiness—was what truly caught their attention.

No, it was the vivid smear of red lipstick on his stern mouth, a bold and damning mark that clashed spectacularly with his usually reserved persona.

“Good morning,” Nanami said, his voice calm, betraying no hint of embarrassment. He set his briefcase down on the table and adjusted his tie, though the effort did little to restore his usual composed appearance. “Apologies for my tardiness. My beautiful wife… delayed me this morning.”

He delivered the explanation with the same measured tone he used for quarterly reports, entirely unaware—or perhaps unbothered—by the tidal wave of shock rippling through the room.

The silence was deafening.

Nanami opened his folder and began the meeting as though nothing were amiss. His deep voice droned on about figures and strategies, but not a single soul in the room was listening. All eyes were fixated on him, or rather, on the crimson mark that lingered stubbornly on his lips—a mark as loud as a confession, as undeniable as a sunrise.

When the meeting ended, the office exploded into hushed whispers.

“Did you see that lipstick?” one whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Beautiful wife?” another hissed. “Did he actually say beautiful wife?”

“I thought he was a widower!” someone exclaimed, their tone incredulous.

“I thought she wasn’t real,” came a quieter voice. “Like, he just wore the ring to… I don’t know, keep people from flirting with him.”

Speculation grew wilder by the second. Theories ranged from mundane explanations to wild conspiracies. Even Nanami’s closest colleagues—those who had worked alongside him for years—found themselves stunned into silence. They had thought they knew the man, or at least the carefully crafted version of him that he allowed others to see.

But this?

This was something entirely new.

Not only was Nanami Kento married, but he was also clearly, undeniably head over heels in love. The lipstick wasn’t just a slip of evidence—it was a bold, unintentional proclamation.

*-*

A couple of hours later, the office was still buzzing when the elevator doors opened, and she walked in.

You.

It was as if the room had collectively held its breath. Every head turned, every eye caught by your effortless radiance. You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t need to be loud to make an impact—your presence alone sent ripples through the stillness.

Dressed in a tailored, effortlessly chic outfit that seemed perfectly in tune with both elegance and casual charm, you carried a neatly packed lunchbox with ease. The soft rustle of fabric as you moved, the delicate shimmer of the sunlight that caught in your hair, and the subtle, effortless grace in your step made it seem as though you were glowing from within.

But it wasn’t just your beauty.

It was your warmth.

The way you smiled—so genuine, so effortlessly sweet—that it seemed to brighten the very air around you. It contrasted to the cold, calculating atmosphere of the office. Heads swiveled to follow your every step as you made your way toward Nanami’s office, your presence like a breath of fresh air after a storm.

The assistant at Nanami’s door was still blinking, stunned by what she’d witnessed earlier. When she saw you approaching, she stammered, trying to regain her composure.

“H-Hi—how can I help you?”

You smiled brightly at her, undeterred by the way she seemed utterly disarmed by your arrival. You put your ID down on the counter- with his last name on it.

“Hi! I’m here to drop this off for Kento,” you said, your voice light and cheerful, as if you were simply running a normal errand, rather than walking into an office full of flustered employees who were still grappling with what they’d learned about their usually stoic boss.

“Y-Yes, of course, Mrs. Nanami!” the assistant blurted out, fumbling with the door handle in her rush to open it for you.

You gave her a kind nod before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind you.

Nanami looked up from his desk the moment he heard the door open. The room was dimly lit, his desk cluttered with papers and open files, but as his eyes met yours, everything seemed to fade into the background.

His gaze softened, his expression melting from that usual cool professionalism into something more intimate, more tender. The moment was so fleeting, so delicate, it almost felt like a private world between the two of you.

For a moment, you just stood there, eyes locked with him, the office suddenly feeling smaller, quieter. Then, a soft smile pulled at the corners of his lips—a smile that was so warm, so genuine, it made your heart flutter.

“Hey there,” you said teasingly, stepping toward him. “You forgot your lunch this morning.”

Nanami chuckled, the sound deep and rich in his chest, a welcome contrast to the usually tight-lipped silence he carried. He rose from his desk immediately, his movements fluid and quick as he rounded it to take the lunchbox from your hands.

“I didn’t mean to, but it seems I was a little distracted,” he replied, his voice lower now, warm with affection.

You placed the box into his hands, your fingers brushing his for just a second, and you couldn’t help but smile as you gazed up at him. He was so… Kento. Always so composed, so restrained. But here he was, looking at you with soft eyes that betrayed a different side of him—one that was so much more vulnerable and open.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Nanami murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You shook your head, smiling softly.

“I wanted to. Besides,” you continued, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers grazing his skin in a gesture so tender it made his heart skip, “you left in such a hurry this morning. I thought you might need a little extra love today.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and for that brief second, the world outside the office seemed to disappear. There was no agenda, no projects, no deadlines—just the two of you, in this quiet moment of affection that spoke volumes more than anything else could.

Nanami’s hand lingered on yours, his fingers warm and steady, before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His lips were faintly trembling as he pulled back, eyes searching yours for a moment, as if to drink in the love that radiated from you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice impossibly soft, a hint of gratitude in the tone.

“Aw, my love,” you teased gently, reaching up with a perfectly manicured finger to wipe away the tiny red lipstick stain that had remained on his lips from earlier. Your red lipstick—the one you had left on him in the chaos of the morning, before he’d rushed out the door, leaving the office with a story no one could have predicted. You smiled at the sight of it, and a playful glint entered your eyes. “You’ve got a little stain.”

Nanami froze, his eyes widening for a split second before his lips curled into an embarrassed grin.

“I didn’t even notice,” he muttered, clearly flustered now, though his heart was warm at the small, loving gesture.

You smiled at him, utterly charmed by his bashful side.

“Well, you look perfect now,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his lips once more, just to make sure the stain was completely gone.

He exhaled deeply, his expression softening as he gazed at you, lost in the depth of your eyes.

“You always know how to make my day better,” he said quietly, his voice laden with emotion.

You smiled warmly, the two of you standing there in a bubble of comfort, away from the chaos of the office. “It was nothing, Kento. Just a little something for my favourite person.”

You gave him a lingering look, that undeniable warmth in your smile tugging at his heart. But the moment was short-lived, as you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before stepping back.

“I should get going,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing.

Nanami nodded, reluctantly letting go of your hand, but not without that same warmth lingering in his gaze. “Dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” you answered, flashing him one last radiant smile. “It was lovely meeting all of you,” you added, waving to the still-stunned colleagues who had been watching from the doorway.

As you turned to leave, the room seemed to come alive again, and Nanami’s colleagues were left utterly speechless. The confident, reserved boss they thought they knew had just been revealed to be completely, unapologetically whipped, in the most beautiful way possible. His expression remained soft, utterly relaxed, and for a moment, he didn’t care about the curious eyes on him or the whispers that would follow.

*-*

The aftermath of that morning’s revelation was pure chaos.

The office- that was once humming with its usual rhythm, now seemed to vibrate with shock and curiosity, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn open and a new, unimaginable world had spilled out.

The news of Nanami Kento’s uncharacteristic display of affection had set off an uncontrollable ripple, and it was all anyone could talk about.

“Did you see her?” someone whispered in the hallway, eyes wide with disbelief.

“She’s gorgeous!” came another voice, filled with awe. “How did he manage that? She’s like... perfect.”

“I feel like my entire perception of the universe has shifted,” someone else muttered, as if trying to come to terms with the impossibility of it all. “I always thought Nanami was, I don’t know, immune to love or something.”

“Nanami’s whipped,” another voice said, and there was a certain awe in their tone, a mixture of surprise and something else—something that almost bordered on respect. “Totally whipped.”

In the break room, the conversation was reaching fever pitch. A group of Nanami’s long-time colleagues, some of whom had worked with him for years, shook their heads in disbelief. Their minds struggled to process what had just happened.

To see their stoic, ever-serious boss—Nanami Kento, the man who ruled the office with icy calm and calculated professionalism—acting like that?

One of them, an older colleague who’d known Nanami since he’d first started at the company, ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“I’ve known that man for years. YEARS,” he emphasized, his tone a mixture of wonder and confusion. “I never thought I’d see the day where he looked that happy, like... like he had a whole different side to him. I didn’t even know he could smile like that.”

Another colleague, equally stunned, leaned against the counter, his eyes still wide as he replayed the scene in his mind.

“Forget the smile,” he said, shaking his head. “Did you see the way he looked at her? I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that—not like that. That wasn’t just love. That was... devotion. Pure, unfiltered devotion. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Back in Nanami’s office, however, the man himself was blissfully unaware of the firestorm his private life had ignited among his staff. He sat at his desk, papers scattered in front of him, but his focus was nowhere near the reports in front of him. His mind wandered to the memory of you, of your soft smile and the way your fingers had brushed against his as you handed him the lunchbox, the fleeting kiss that had left him feeling like the luckiest man alive.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stared blankly at his computer screen. It was subtle—just a soft curve of his lips—but it was there. No one would see it unless they were paying close attention, but to him, it was all that mattered.

His employees might be gossiping, they might be speculating wildly about his mysterious wife, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. Let them talk. Let them fill the air with their astonished chatter.

He didn’t need to defend himself or explain anything. He was content in the knowledge that he had you—that you were the love of his life, and nothing else mattered.

As his fingers hovered over his keyboard, his thoughts shifted again. There was something he had to do—something far more important than anything the office could throw at him. He’d promised you that he would be home early tonight, that he would spend the evening with you.

Just the two of you, together.

The mere thought of it made his heart race with anticipation, and the smile on his lips grew just a little wider. His focus was entirely on you—on the quiet, intimate evening you would share when the workday ended.

He had no intention of being late.

The work would be done, and he would be home in time for dinner—because the truth was, that was all he cared about now.

You.

In the end, they didn’t know the half of it.

They didn’t know how his heart felt lighter every time he thought of you, how the mere mention of your name made his whole world feel brighter.

They didn’t know that he had found something deeper than work, something worth fighting for, something that made all the cold, calculated days of his life worth it.

The office was still buzzing with questions and speculation, but he had more important things to think about—like how soon he could leave the office behind and head home to you.

Tonight, he was going to be exactly where he wanted to be: with you, the love of his life, the one person who made him feel whole.

A/N; hes so arghghhghhgghgh, okay anyways, yes. Look at him go:

:)

[jiminiecrickets]

DOUBLE TEAM. JJK / M!READER

summary. vigilantism comes in many flavours. jungkook, you, and your parasite come together like a neapolitan sundae.

wc. 17k

tags. smut | mcu spider-man!jk, venom!reader, loootta plot. top reader, bottom jk, established relationship, college au, bloody violence at one point, basketballer!reader, sex toys, mention of handcuffs (on reader), oral, rimming (jk receiving), multiple orgasms, manhandling, venom takes over sometime so it's basically a threesome, size difference, rough sex, lots of come

note: here, the venom/reader biology is less of a suit and more like they morph between shapes at a molecular level to whatever extent they want (bit of body horror)

"wow, he's so handsome..."

"yeah, did you see his results last semester? i can see why he managed to get that internship so young. crazy."

"internship? i heard he was given a job there. like, actually – not as a coffee-and-clipboard boy. proper stuff."

dappled under the shade of a large oak tree, jungkook fixes the earbuds in his ears, scrawling down a few lines for his chemistry homework. he pauses to close his eyes, head bobbing as he jams quietly along to his music. he pushes his soft bangs back from his eyes, a breeze running its fingers gently through his loose locks.

"god, gorgeous and a genius... d'you think my mom would like him?"

"girl, go tell him your name before you start planning the wedding! he's not with anybody. it's the perfect time!"

a slender girl in a pleated tartan skirt and a cropped black vest top sidles up to the end of the bench. she tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles shyly, tilting down slightly in an effort to maintain discretion. "hi... can i talk to you for a moment?"

jungkook shuts his folder and rises to his feet, dusting off his blue jeans. he tosses his backpack over his shoulder and hurries down the small grassy mound, checking his cracked phone screen for the time. he slips past a girl in a tartan skirt and places his hand on your shoulder.

"hey, yn," he greets. "we still on for tonight's study sesh?"

you beam, brightening at the sight of him. you prop the basketball on your hip under your arm. "hey! yeah, of course. oh, i was thinking of bringing some sausage rolls to do in your oven, a chicken salad for 'dessert' – it's more chicken than salad, though, i gotta admit. you mind?"

"no, 'course not – as long as you share. speaking of, i'm starving." casually, he leans up and drops a kiss on your cheek, cupping your jaw. he begins to move off, walking backwards to give you a pointed look. "remember: my place, five-thirty! be there or be square!"

you roll your eyes, smiling fondly. "yeah, yeah – i love you!"

he turns around, forming a heart with his hands and pursing his lips. he nearly bumps into someone, apologising profusely with animated hands. you scoff and roll your eyes, shifting the basketball in your grip and turning back to the girl.

"sorry about that. what did you want to talk about?"

her face is beet red. "o-oh – um, i-it's okay. nothing. sorry to bother you."

you frown, inspecting her with concern. "are you sure? it's not a bother."

behind you, your teammates holler at you to get back in the game. you toss the ball at one and give them the finger. they 'ooh' back at you, laughing amongst themselves as they dribble the ball between them and take lazy shots at the hoop.

"they're animals. don't worry about them." you smile encouragingly at her.

she shakes her head, long hair swaying around her cheekbones. "n-no, it's okay! um – have a good day!"

before you can get another word in, she scampers off to her gaggle of friends, clutching her bag to her side as they engulf her and begin moving off to the library.

you scratch your head but shrug, turning back to the court. you jog towards the others, and they offer every greeting from 'good trip to venus?' to 'get off the fucking court'. you just huff, punching their shoulders, and catch the ball with a soft thump.

"sorry, sorry. i'll send them your way next time."

after your decidedly unrelaxed game, chasing jungkook into the campus centre's cafeteria is the next priority. you find him alone at a round white table, staring at his phone, held landscape.

you pull out a seat from a neighbouring table and flip it around, straddling it backwards as he takes out one earbud and smiles up at you. you nudge his arm and grin, tilting your head at his phone. "finally tracked down your scent. what're you watching, sweetcheeks?"

"local news." he squeaks his chair closer to yours and unplugs his earbuds from the jack, letting them dangle from the neck of his science pun shirt under a zip-up hoodie. "you know the new guy around these parts? a couple of criminals are saying his name is venom."

"venom? is he?"

"is he what?"

"venomous," you clarify. "he's certainly got the teeth for it."

jungkook snorts, grabbing his bottle of iced tea and balancing his phone against it. "i don't think so. he just scares the crap out of people. heard he used to make snacks out of people, though. metal."

"shame. venom powers would be neat," you reply, crossing your arms over the back of the chair and propping your chin on them. "what's the news talking about?"

"mostly, it's just gossip." he shrugs. "'is venom the new spider-man?' 'are spider-man and venom working together?' they say it's 'cause they share some similarities – methods of movement, areas of control. thoughts?"

you inhale deeply. "well, i can't say much, but i will admit that venom does look pretty damn sick." you point at the video clip the news story plays of a huge black figure loping along the sides of buildings. he grabs a cop cruiser in one clawed fist and hurls it at a supervillain, who currently rots away in the raft. "ooh, shit!"

jungkook scoffs, shoving your shoulder. he grins. "so you only like him because he looks cool? not because of his ideals or worldview or anything? i understand, i like 'em big, but you're being a little reductive."

"i'm just a pretty face. i am completely unable to consider anything deeper than the cool factor." you rake his lean body with your gaze and smirk. "have i told you how good you look today?"

"baby, you can't abuse your boyfriend privileges to get out of this debate," jungkook murmurs, leaning in against your lips with a smile. "what do you think of spider-man?"

"eh. six outta ten."

"six?" jungkook sputters, jerking away. "what? you – but he's totally more than a six! eight, at least! do you realise how much math he has to do on the fly while he's swinging around? and i think he looks pretty cool, y'know. the fact that his ears don't stick out of the mask is pretty high-tech, if you ask me."

"easily recognisable, unique silhouette, cool colours." you list them off on your fingers. "both spider-man and venom fit these categories. venom, however, has the intimidation stat maxed out."

"spider-man is totally intimidating," jungkook protests. "i don't like spiders. what if he has secret spider-controlling powers and can corral them into doing his bidding? that's terrifying."

"sure, if you have a thing against spiders. i will say, though: i like that he deals with petty crime. the avengers aren't gonna bother themselves with purse-snatchers and bike theft."

jungkook hums. "finally – something we can agree on. aliens aren't falling from the sky every day."

you share a smile and jungkook shuts off his phone, leaning closer and placing his arms across your part of the table. your noses touch, and he giggles softly as you capture his lips in a tease of a kiss. he tastes like the white icing of his bakery snack.

"wanna go back to yours early?" you murmur, nosing at his neck. his cologne is faint, light and fresh. he's always been sensitive to smell. "we can go out for dinner instead. or take out – i'm easy."

"yeah, i know you're easy," he teases, nibbling on your lower lip. "one kiss and you're already begging to come home with me."

you gasp, offended. "how dare you! just because i am captain of the basketball team and extremely sexy does not mean i am an expert in mattress brands. apologise."

"mm... no."

"apologise!"

"do you take cash," he rests his palm against the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his, "or card?" he ghosts his palm over the front of your pants.

"oh, you little minx," you growl playfully, grabbing his phone off of the table and him by his wrist. "c'mon. you got your helmet?"

he grins and nods, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "right here."

"good." as you run out of the cafeteria, dragging your giggling boyfriend after you, you lean in, kissing the apple of his cheek. his skin is warm, flushed and pretty. "i'd fuck you in it if it didn't stop me from kissing you."

he gasps. "come again?"

"oh, you know i will be. now, on the bike – hold tight onto me. no hands in the pants this time."

he blows a raspberry, swinging your hands between your bodies. "buzzkill."

—

with a heavy thump, you drop your bag and jungkook's at the base of his desk. his tiny studio apartment is sparsely decorated, but you've come to view it as a place of simple peace and comfort. he clings to you easily, arms wrapped around your shoulders as you carry him to his king-single bed. it's not large enough to fit both of you side by side, meaning that jungkook tends to stack himself on top of you when he snoozes.

"i'm noticing you like to carry me everywhere these days," jungkook whispers, grinning as he sucks on your neck, bruising the skin.

"mhm," you reply breathily, placing him down on his bed and hovering an inch over his body. he wraps his legs around your thighs and pulls your crotch against his. "i've been working out my core. results are finally showing."

jungkook grins darkly, pushing your dark grey letterman jacket off of your shoulders. you help him, shrugging it off. "really? let me have a look, baby."

you kneel back and tug your shirt over your head, revealing planes of soft warm skin. jungkook moans at the sight, tossing off his own clothes all over his apartment in his hurry. he sits up, wrapping his arms around your middle, and plants kisses up your stomach and chest, leading to a soft peck on the bulb of your throat. it bobs as he tucks his face into the side of your neck, breathing in your scent with a soft hum. he draws back slightly.

"did you change your cologne, honey?" he lowers his face again, a cute furrow between his brows and a thoughtful pout on his lips. "you smell different."

"uh – no, i don't think so," you reply, struggling to keep your head on straight when jungkook's hands are venturing down the front of your pants. "could be a new formula."

"mm, yeah, you're right," he whispers, licking his lips as he grips your bulge a little harder, making your hips jolt into his palm. he grins, eyes twinkling with innocent amusement. "hah. you're cute when you're sensitive."

your cheeks warm at the sound of his smooth, lilting voice, dropped lower than usual. arousal stirs deep in your gut. "shut up..."

he coos, gazing up at you as he rests his chin on your sternum. "unused to compliments, baby?"

"n-no, i'm just... not used to people calling me cute."

jungkook's grin widens and he nibbles on his lower lip as he gropes your hardening length through the thick denim of your jeans, his own straining against the zipper. "big boys like you need more love. can i... give you some love?"

his cheeks tint pink when he says that last part, barely a whisper. he's so flirty, yet so shy, and it's a dichotomy you have yet to figure out. still, it's so endearing watching him blush at his own flirtations.

you nod wordlessly, only finding your voice after a moment or two. "yeah. please."

he giggles and tucks his knees under himself to touch his lips to yours. it's surprisingly chaste despite the way he's feeling up your cock, trying to locate every vein and curve through thick denim.

"i bought something the other day," he begins, stroking your hip as he grinds the heel of his palm into your bulge. "i was wondering if you'd like to try it out with me right now."

"you bought something...?" a dark urge to encircle his tiny waist with both hands and fuck him stupid nearly makes you black out. it fills you up from the centre outwards and rams against your ribs like taking huge lungfuls of air, one after another, without allowing yourself to breathe out.

the pressure vanishes as soon as it comes, simmering instead in the pit of your stomach. you kneel on the bed with shaking hands, reeling inside your mind.

"yeah. something for us to play with." he smiles. "or, something for me to play with and for you to enjoy."

"oh," you exhale, barely a wisp of a breath. "you want me to watch?"

your cock stirs at the idea. he's shown himself off for you before using just his hands, and even that felt thick with sin and filth. you don't know how you'd react if he used something else.

"yeah, but it isn't quite what you're thinking. you always please me and forget about yourself, and i wanted to do the same. it's really self-indulgent for me – i've been imagining this for a while. ah, maybe i should just show it to you instead of trying to be all cryptic and mysterious." he laughs at himself and motions for you to stay put. he swings his legs over the small bed and reaches for his bedside drawer, atop which lies a shoebox-sized black box. he picks it up and places it on the sheets in front of you.

with one hand on the edge of the lid, he lifts his gaze, which flickers nervously over your features. "if it's too much, you can just tell me and we won't ever have to talk about this again."

you shake your head. "it's okay. i just wanna know what it is. i can't stop staring at your lips."

with a chuff of laughter, jungkook licks his lips, a little shy. you've never been one to mince your words, and it's rather soul-baring. he can't help the flutter of his heart when he catches your quick glance down at his lips. "alright, alright... somebody's hungry tonight, isn't he?"

"mm, just for you."

jungkook lifts the box's lid and extracts, with only a second of hesitation, a clear silicone fleshlight.

you always please me and forget about yourself.

i've been imagining this for a while.

"you… want to use that... on me," you say, but it's almost a question with how your voice wavers on the last word.

jungkook nods silently.

"but... what about you?" your eyes widen slightly. "wait – is this because i've been really needy recently? are you tired? i'm sorry, i don't know what's gotten into me lately."

he shakes his head quickly. "no, not at all, baby! you could never tire me out – i think your neediness makes you cuter. yes, you're cute, don't give me that face – we went over this already. i just... want to see it more."

"that's why it's transparent?" you ask, unable to hide your amusement. "you want to look at my dick?"

he blushes all the way down his chest. "it's as good a reason as any! can you kiss me? my face is hot and i need a distraction."

like the good boyfriend you are, you oblige, cupping his cheek and drawing him into a slow, deep kiss, prodding your tongue into his willing mouth. he moans as your tongue slides against his own, soft and wet and hot. he places his hands on top of your thighs, your open jeans hanging low to reveal your apollo's belt cinching your hips. he ghosts his palm over the bulge in your boxers as he sucks lightly on your tongue and your whole body shudders like a ship crashing against rocks – the animal, guttural growl that bubbles from the pit in your stomach rumbles in his skull, ferocious lust nearing fury so intense and primal that for a moment jungkook doesn't think it comes from you. as if on instinct, you wrap your arms around jungkook's torso and yank him towards you, pulling his front against yours.

"f-fuck," jungkook nearly whimpers when he pulls away, lashes fluttering as he stares up at you, dark pupils swallowing his irises. he arches his back. you press the flats of your palms against the bumps of his spine. "i didn't know you could make a sound like that..."

"like what?" you murmur, panting softly as you slide your hands under his jeans over the curve of his ass. you push his pants down hurriedly, sloppier than usual. you just... really can't wait.

he shifts his knees to let you take his blue jeans off, his underwear tangled somewhere in the legs. he tilts his head as you bury your face in his neck and shuffle out of your own pants, leaving you both naked on jungkook's single bed – except for your socks. his bed's barely big enough for one person, and with both of you, you're struggling not to slip off. you'll have to be careful if you roll over.

"like... never mind." he shakes his head, staring down with tangible anticipation at the thick length bobbing between your thighs. he's not small, but fuck, you make him feel that way. "just c'mere, please."

"so polite," you chuckle, watching him squirt a generous amount of lube into the toy.

"only for you, honey," he hums. he holds the toy slightly away from his stomach, as if suddenly unsure what to do with it. his indecision only lasts for a moment before those big brown eyes raise to yours. "lay down. we'll do it this way."

"mm. can't refuse the view you'll give me."

he swings his leg over your lap, smiling shyly as he grips your length in one hand. he tears his gaze from yours to sink the entrance of the sleeve down around your cockhead, teasing the glans. he takes about a third of your cock into the toy, glancing up to gauge your reaction. he finds only pleasure in your expression and, emboldened, moves the toy faster, rolling his wrist the same way he strokes you. the toy squelches as it slides down around the middle of your shaft, lube dribbling down the veins of your dick.

"fuck, that's cold," you whisper, acutely aware of how your cock pulses.

jungkook places a soothing hand on your tense thigh, rubbing what you think is meant to be relaxing circles into your skin – except he does it a little too high, a little too close to your dick, and relaxing's the last thing on your mind.

"it's alright," he hums, "you'll warm it up."

you huff at his nonchalance but lay back down, tucking one hand under your head to help bolster his cloud-soft pillows. you could sink in his pillows, drown in them. your other hand rests on his bare thigh.

"good boy," he says cheekily, fucking your cock with the slick toy. it's knobbly on the inside, and almost too tight – but the pain's pleasurable, especially when he gazes down at you with such loving eyes.

"call me that again and i'll out-brat you," you mumble, hissing softly as he slides the toy all the way down. your throbbing cock leaks, and watching it through the silicone makes your skin flush. evidently, he feels the same, staring at it with such intensity you're not sure whether you should feel afraid or aroused.

you decide on the latter.

"you? a brat? you don't have it in you," he says dismissively, stroking and squeezing your balls. he pulls the toy off and swipes his thumb over your leaking slit, gathering all the precum he can. he brings his thumb to his lips and licks it clean.

god, it's always the quiet ones – always the shy ones. your boyfriend, with his alliterative name and baggy jeans and zip-up hoodies, used to be too nervous to initiate things with you – what if you weren't in the mood? what if you didn't find him attractive? but after the first time, after you worshipped his body and got drunk off his pleasure, you seemed to unlock something in him – something dirty and saccharine.

"what – mm – what do you mean?" you ask breathily, closing your eyes as he returns the toy to your length, the squelching lube and precum dripping down your shaft.

"you're too in love with me and too soft. you couldn't hurt a fly. besides, big boy, i noticed how you tensed up when i told you how good you were being for me. did you learn something about yourself?" he teases.

you shake your head, flushing slightly. "i just... like pleasing you."

jungkook's smile grows softer, less coy. his eyes crinkle as he leans down to kiss you briefly, humming gently. "i like pleasing you, too. you can come when you want – don't hold back for me, m'kay?"

"okay."

fuck... you've never seen a prettier sight than this, the angel on your lap totally focussed on making you feel good. he shuffles down your body until his face is level with your cock, and you give him a little more room to lay down by shifting to sit against the headboard. he smiles up at you gratefully, watching closer as the fleshlight swallows up your thick cock again and again. arousal swirls low in his belly as you groan lowly, head tipping back.

bent at the knee, his feet kick absently behind him, ankles crossed. he takes your balls into his hot, wet mouth, sucking softly at the velvety skin as his wrist twists firmly around your dick. he looks so innocent, but the things he's making you feel certainly aren't.

"you're... you're gonna make me come," you groan softly, "doin' that with your pretty mouth..."

"oh? so soon? are you just exceptionally pent up," he drags his tongue against the veins of your cock, "or are you more into this toy than i am?"

"no, you just – oh, shit – you look so good like that. you're so fuckin' pretty with those eyes, those gorgeous lips that i know're so soft – drives me damn near crazy, jus' wanna fuck you all the time—" you're babbling, you know that, feeling your high creep up on you mercilessly. it's almost embarrassing, you can last longer than this, but something inside you is just so damn hungry, so eager. it draws in your lust to a dark bottomless pit in your stomach, gorged with all the pleasure jungkook's giving you but still greedy for more, more, more.

you reach down and hastily twirl jungkook's hair into a short, messy ponytail. you pull him into you, making him moan and his hips jerk – he sucks on your balls, taking each into his mouth one at a time, pumping your cock until the toy leaks with your precum, dripping with it. he licks it up wantonly, gliding his hot tongue over your veins until the whole thing glistens with saliva and lube.

he pants softly, stroking your cock faster until your whole body aches with the will not to give in – you grip the wooden headboard above you to ground yourself, struggling not to lose to the heat and wetness of jungkook's mouth and touch.

you can't. you're better than this. but god is your mind foggy with lust, feeling him lap at your balls like an overexcited puppy, feeling his toy grip your cock so enthusiastically. you want to feel him around you, feel his heat, his walls, real tight and greedy – want to taste him, lick the sweat off his hips, taste your own come on his lips like some filthy exchange of power, prove to him that you're the only one he wants, the only one who'll take such good care of him—

the dam crumples. your spine arches; the world goes white.

when your eyes flutter open – you swear you didn't close them – jungkook's sitting up, dazed and wearing the heaviest blush you've ever seen on him, red from his chest to his ears. his chest heaves, his breath shaky, and a few smears of what looks suspiciously like come cover his cheeks and neck. he hasn't wiped it off yet.

"b... baby..." jesus, your voice is fried. you clear your throat, rather painfully, and try again. "why're you lookin' at me like that...?"

he doesn't say anything for a moment, those huge doe eyes stuck on you. finally, he tears his gaze away, covering his mouth slightly – a jerky half-move that suggests he doesn't really know what to do with himself.

"um," he says softly, his voice a little unsteady, "th-the... the toy – it broke..."

after a second, you frown, still dopey and cotton-brained. maybe you should've done something in the last two weeks instead of postponing it until you could next get jungkook alone. "what? what do you mean, it... broke?"

he extends it to show you. down the side is a long crack, and the closed end is split open. you don't know what to say – you don't know what anyone would say – but by the way jungkook's looking at you, it's clear he wants something.

"do you think they'd refund us for a faulty product?"

clearly, that's not the right thing to say, because he pouts aggressively.

"you got bigger when you came," he mumbles, sweeping his index finger over his cheek and sticking it in his mouth as he glances up at you. he doesn't know how much that casual motion affects you. "like... real big. i didn't know your voice could get that deep, either. it was... kinda hot..."

you don't... remember talking... "did i say something?"

"mm. you pushed my head down and told me i looked good like that. that i was good to you – to us."

"us?" you repeat, an empty dread dropping in your stomach like a stone. you try to hide your dismay, but jungkook has always been particularly receptive to your emotions. either that, or you're just really easy to read.

"it's okay, why are you afraid? it didn't hurt, if that's what you're worried about. i like it when you're rough."

something in the back of your mind preens at that. you shake your head. "alright – yeah. just – i'm sorry for ruining it. i'll pay you back for it."

"don't worry about it. you paid for our last few dinners, so think of this as my turn to pay." he giggles and flushes, leaning closer and straddling your waist. "besides... i got something out of it, too." he takes your hand and places it on his toned stomach. you have to think past the firm muscle of it to notice that it's warm and sticky. he slides his bottom lip between his teeth to hide his flustered grin. "i really like it when you're rough."

it's enough to make your dick twitch to life again, but part of you is still rattled by how easily you just... gave up control.

"i'm glad you liked it," you say softly, "but i don't want to do that again. i don't want to hurt you."

he scoffs, grinning as he comes to sit beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip in his narrow bed. "you couldn't hurt me if you tried, baby. i'm stronger than i look. but okay – i get it. do you wanna cuddle in bed for a while, catch our breath?"

you hum softly, burying your head in his shoulder. he strokes your hair. "yeah... but maybe after a shower."

he laughs softly, pushing you off the bed towards the bathroom. he splays out on his back to make sure you don't come creeping back into his arms. "what, city boy, can't handle a little mess?"

"of course, hate that shit. i'd live in a lab if i could."

"how scientist of you. i can see why you joined the life foundation – the entire place looks like a hospital, just with more skylights."

"mm, definitely feel like a doctor, scrubbing my arms up to the elbows every day." you pick up a towel from the stack in jungkook's wardrobe.

"sounds fun. maybe i'll join you, scrub your arms for you."

"don't," you say quickly. you clear your throat, wiping the panic from your voice. "you'll ruin your pretty hands working there. all the soap makes even moisturising painful."

he arches a brow, but doesn't say anything. instead, he hums and turns his gaze to the ceiling. "guess i'm stuck with mister stark, then."

"hey, they're doing some cool stuff with prosthetics right now, and you get to fix the avengers' gear. the avengers, man. you shouldn't sound so sad. have you met thor yet?"

"not yet. the guy's a prince – pretty sure he was better things to do than say hello to some puny human."

"ah, well. at least you're doing something – i'm wasting my life away being someone's assistant."

he watches you for a while as you gather new clothes from your drawer in his wardrobe. he rolls onto his side to keep watching you when you move out of his vision.

"are you okay, honey?" he asks quietly, gazing up at you. "are you still upset over the toy? i told you, i don't mind. it was kinda hot, to be honest..."

you glance over your bare shoulder. he bats his eyelashes and winks. you huff. "you think everything i do is hot. i could sit down and you'd drool over my posture or something."

"how'd you know i like the way you sit? you take up so much space. in a good way, of course! i – i wish i had your confidence."

you soften at the very real vulnerability he displays. not just everyone gets to know his thoughts and feelings. you glance at the towel in your hand and back at him – with a soft sigh, you set your clothes aside and return to the bed, smiling as jungkook's face lights up like a star.

"oh, that was easy," he says flirtatiously, stroking his fingers up and down your chest as you lay down next to him on the pillows.

"i'm your boyfriend, i'm trained to do this," you hum, bearing the discomfort of the chilly stickiness for jungkook's soft gaze, trained on you. the playfulness falls from your tone as you reach up and brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. "you're so beautiful, you know that?"

he giggles bashfully and turns his face into your shoulder, shuffling closer to hide his red cheeks. "gosh, what a charmer. did i do something to turn you all mushy?"

you shrug, cuddling him close to your chest. "not particularly. looking at you just makes me really, really happy."

his eyes crinkle as he smiles, leaning up and kissing your throat. "you big sap... i love you, too."

you bury your nose in his soft dark mop of hair and close your eyes. you don't want to think about how small he feels in your arms, your little finely-muscled dancer. you don't want to think about how easily he can take over now, and how fragile jungkook would be if he wrapped his hands around him.

you only let the feisty parasite stick around so you can better protect jungkook. sure, you have to keep it well-fed with brain matter in exchange, but anything's a fine trade if you can keep your darling safe. with all these genocidal aliens and egomaniacal scientists running about, to make sure this one particular civilian doesn't get trapped under a fallen building, you can't count on anyone else except yourself.

—

no matter how many times jungkook gets slammed into concrete, getting mashed through three floors of an office building in lower manhattan will never stop hurting like hell. even his pride is a little bruised – getting so beat up by the scorpion was almost embarrassing. he'd managed to subdue mac gargan – again – but his mind had been elsewhere during the fight, leading to gargan landing more than a few avoidable hits.

he stumbles slightly when he lands on the fire escape with a soft thump. gripping his bleeding side, he pushes his bedroom window up and slips inside, hissing as a broken rib pokes a nerve. he shuts the blinds of his window and pulls off his mask, breathing easier without it.

finding the time to fix his suit is going to be a pain. he has so many assignments due and so little time.

he limps out of his darkened bedroom, bracing against the door frame for support. he flicks on the bathroom light with a sigh and wanders over to the sink, sparing a glance into the mirror.

great: a big ol' bruise on his cheek, little cuts all over. nothing would heal in time for his chem lab the next day.

he peels the suit off his upper half, too sore to even attempt bending down to pull it off his legs. turning in the mirror shows him the massive purple bruise covering his back and shoulders, green around the edges. he makes a face and it hurts.

guess he's sleeping on his stomach tonight. he pulls the mirror forward, opening up the cupboard behind it, and raises himself onto his toes to reach the first-aid kit on the top shelf, right next to your shaving razor and other bathroom essentials. the small green bag is stuffed full to bursting with gauze, antiseptic, and thread, and maybe it was a blessing to live in criminal-infested new york because you never asked why he had so much on hand.

keys jingle. "hey, baby? are you home already?"

shitshitshitfuckshit—

you peek around the bathroom entrance, your hoodie singed around the edges and smelling faintly of rocket fuel. you frown at the opened first aid kit, cotton pads and saline sitting by the sink, and turn briefly to set the groceries down in the kitchen behind you. you enter the bathroom and glance around at only white tile and glass.

you glance up behind the door and jump three feet out of your skin.

"jesus christ—! what the fuck?" you shout.

jungkook motions haggardly, pressing his finger to his lips with wide eyes. he's backed into the corner of the ceiling – what the fuck – wearing the red-and-blue suit of new york's spider-man – what the actual fuck– and looks like he lost a fight to a brick wall.

what. the. shit.

"pleasepleaseplease don't scream," he whisper-shouts. "sh-shh-shh – let's be normal about this!"

"normal?" you hiss, aggression bleeding into your fear. "ex-cuse me?"

"just don't yell! please." he drops down from the ceiling with one hand and you jerk back, the scene in front of you proven real. "you weren't supposed to find out this way."

"weren't supposed to – this way – what?"

he presses on the spider in the centre of his chest and the whole thing loosens like a deflated balloon, hanging off of his bruised arms. "honey, please don't be angry—"

"angry? angry?" you bark out an incredulous laugh. "i'm fucking furious! you're spider-man? my boyfriend is spider-man?"

he swallows harshly, lowering his gaze to stare at his feet. he nods almost imperceptibly.

"spider-man's been around for years. how long have you been doing this? since fifteen, sixteen?"

"four – fourteen..."

silence.

"you're mad," you say flatly. "actually mad. fourt—" you pinch the bridge of your nose. "you know what, instead of getting upset about how young you were when you first went about punching bike thieves for funsies, i'm going to get upset about the fact that you're bleeding all over yourself. what happened to you?"

"it wasn't for fun," he mumbles. "it was a morals thing. and, um, scorpion tried killing the ol' triple-jay, so i had to step in. the police should have him by now."

"the scorpion? well, we'll be seeing you on tonight's news, then. i'll be able to see exactly how he got you so messed up."

he flushes at your accusing tone, rubbing the back of his neck. "i'm sorry, honey. i meant to tell you… i just didn't know how, or when. i was so scared of the wrong people finding out and… and hurting you."

slowly, you release a deep sigh, and with it goes your anger. "the last thing you should be worried about is anyone hurting me. you should be worried about you. is this what you look like after every fight?"

he shakes his head. "it's not usually so bad. he just got some lucky hits in. i heal quickly, anyway."

placing a tentative hand on his cheek, you turn his face this way and that to examine his wounds. your hand shifts to take the point of his chin under your thumb and he stares up at you with such sweet, sorry eyes, brimming with glossy apologies.

"can't you put down the mask?" you almost plead. "let someone else do it. someone who's got more help than you do."

"who, like the avengers? they only really do world-ending threats, and for all gargan's bluster, he's not that."

you cup his neck and gently run your thumb over his jawline, careful of his wounds. "you… you mean so much to me. i love you something crazy," you whisper, voice dropping to a raw, almost tired rasp. he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around you, resting your foreheads together. "i know i'm selfish, but i don't want to lose you."

"i'll always come home," he murmurs. "i promise. for you, nothing could keep me away. someone has to keep greedy people out of your pants."

you can't help but loose a weak chuckle at that. "i'm yours, baby. will you let me patch you up?"

he nods, gripping your shoulder as you help him step out of the suit. he sucks in a breath when he bends too far in a certain way but attempts a smile when you glance up at him.

"don't worry about it. you'll make me right as rain in no time, won't you, doc?"

"you're going to make me grey with worry," you mumble, straightening up and reaching for the cotton pads and antiseptic. those cuts need tending to. you dab the damp cotton pad onto his brow, gently holding his head in place by cupping the nape of his neck. "hold still, baby."

"'m sorry. stings a little."

"how's it going to feel when i get to that massive scrape on your side?"

he winces at the idea. "if you leave it alone, it'll heal by itself…"

"you beggin' me to not touch it? thought you were the amazing spider-man."

"spider-man eats punches and springs back up with a quip. jungkook gets sweaty hands when approaching the cashier. jungkook's a bitch when it comes to pain."

your hand pauses slightly, then presses harder than necessary on his busted lip. he flinches and whines. "you're still you in the suit, sweetheart. if spider-man can take it, so can you."

"thure," he mumbles thickly, the cotton pad obscuring his words. you move onto the tiny cuts caused by flying shards of glass and he braces himself, gripping your forearms tightly. "so… you're not mad anymore…?"

"no, i'm still furious," you reply. "i just want you in one piece before i rip into you."

he has the gall to giggle nervously. "that's a joke, isn't it?"

you glance down at him and he quietens, suitably chastised.

eventually, after taking care of his wounds and sitting him down at the small dinner table to make him a cup of hot chocolate, you speak up. "every time you came home with a black eye or split lip and told me you got mugged on the way home or tripped on the stairs, it was because of spider-man, wasn't it?"

jungkook fiddles with his sweater sleeves. "yeah."

"you lied to me."

he picks at a loose thread and swallows. "yeah…"

"i always wondered how you healed so fast." you set down the steaming mug in front of him and take a seat across from him, watching him cup the mug in both hands and take tiny sips from it. you cross your arms and look away.

that's the last thing you say for a long while. you stare at the table, mouth twitching every so often as if you want to say something but can't find the right words for it.

"i want to go to bed," you say suddenly, rising to your feet as if pulled by puppet strings. "it's been a long day. come… come join me when you're ready."

jungkook nods and his throat bobs, turning his gaze into the swirling whirlpool in the mug. he whispers, "okay, baby. i'll be there."

you nod and take a step backwards, then another, before turning around and heading into jungkook's bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

jungkook stares at the closed door for a while. he can hear you mumbling, then pausing, and mumbling again, but even for his enhanced hearing, it's too quiet for him to discern. he doesn't know if he wants to know at all – it's probably better if he doesn't know what you're thinking.

he sighs softly, swirling the remnants of his not-so-hot chocolate in his mug. at least you don't hate him, which is more than he could have asked for. you're sleeping in his room, too, and that must mean something.

he hopes you won't leave in the morning.

—

it always starts as a normal day. things don't turn out as you hope they will.

"spider-man's here! spider-man's fighting the sandman!"

you'd been sitting in a ramen restaurant, sipping a pineapple smoothie with your noodle bowl, when the ground-shuddering booms grew close enough to be noticeable. the tv wired up against the wall showed the developing story, with helicopter shots showing flint marko's massive sandy form, bellowing in fury at the tiny red-and-blue figure thwipping around the skyscrapers to avoid hurled cement and rebar.

you can see the same thing out the restaurant window.

civilians scatter, panic and chaos causing a din. people shove past you, and the smart ones don't hang around to whip out their phones. you can taste the dryness in the air, the thick desert-like heat compressing inwards and crackling in your fingertips. sand-marko roars in rage and surges forward like a wave, crumpling cars like tissue paper.

YN.

the low, grating voice is loud in your head, overruling every scream in every direction.

THAT'S A BIG BAD GUY. LET'S FIGHT HIM.

"i'm looking at that church tower, man. he's getting close. the bell's the perfect shape to throw."

COWARD, venom roars in your head. YOU WON'T FIGHT TO SAVE OUR SPIDER?

"i'm not a coward," you snap, dodging an i-bar thrown like a javelin. it pierces the restaurant window. "he's got it covered. he's fought sandman a few times, knows his weaknesses."

if he could, venom would narrow his eyes at you. WE KNOW WHO HE IS. WHY CAN'T HE KNOW WHO WE ARE, YN?

"because we've killed people," you hiss, sprinting towards marko's mammoth form. a barefoot woman in a business suit screams for help, fruitlessly tugging the arm of another woman pinned inside the foyer of a law firm's brick building. "heroes don't do that."

venom forms a simple black face mask and cap over your face to hide your identity a little more. a large pile of concrete chunks from the caved-in floors above trap the woman in a tiny space under a table, where she'd dived for cover. you reach out and an oily black tendril shoots out, smashing a falling chunk of concrete to dust before it can crush the barefoot woman. she doesn't notice among all the other falling debris outside and spots you.

"please, help us!" she cries with a face smeared with ash. "her leg's pinned!"

you run up to them, gripping the edge of the largest chunk of concrete, snapped steel bars sticking out at angles. venom envelops your fist and spreads along the underside of the chunk, giving you more leverage to push it high enough to allow the woman to crawl through. her left leg is smeared with blood, soaking into her pantyhose. she limps out, leaning heavily on the other woman, who stares mutely as you set the concrete slab back down with a grunt and venom slinks back into your skin.

"thanks," she whispers, finding your eyes under the cap. you nod silently, and she helps the other woman hobble out of the ruin that once was a building.

you turn your attention back to the sandman. he's further away, and you notice how jungkook's leading him towards buildings with water towers. most of them are apartment complexes, and with the speed they're moving, there's going to be no shortage of civilians in danger.

"we'll focus on getting people out. spider-man will focus on wrangling the sandman. teamwork makes the dream work." you race towards marko, dodging all the people running the opposite way. if you were smart, you'd follow them, but you're not smart, and venom roars encouragement and puppets your body in the direction of civilians in need when you miss them.

with a bellow like a thousand boulders through glass, marko smashes jungkook through the roof of the train station, the famous, golden grand central terminal. you happen to be there, helping a family find each other through the chaos.

when jungkook wheezes and struggles to his feet, his gaze passes over you – then snaps back. the eyes of his mask widen, and he looks as if he's about to run to you – before marko slams him along the ground with a huge fist of sand.

there are still civilians in the station, trapped underground where the floors have caved in on the stairs to the platforms. on the lowest level, you manage to nudge aside a large piece of steel and concrete, reaching down to a terrified father cradling two little boys in his arms. they flinch back when the debris shifts dangerously, sand swirling in the air above.

"take them," the man pleads, "take my kids – please! i'll wait it out down here. i won't make it through that gap."

"are you kidding?" you shout above the din of battle and distant sirens, eyes widening. booms shake the ground and the walls, reverberating in your bones. "the tunnels might collapse!"

"i'll take that chance," he calls back, ushering forward his older son. he turns to him and grips his shoulder. the boy's in tears, babbling to his dad not to leave him. grimly, he pushes him towards you, and the boy hangs off of your arm as you lift him next to you through the gap in the debris. it's barely big enough for the width of his shoulders, and it'll take too long to clear it all before marko might do something that'll crush or suffocate you all.

the man lifts the infant towards you. you strain to reach for the crying baby, hidden tendrils of black mass extending out of your back and shoulders focussed on keeping the weight off of you and the child sobbing next to you. you take the baby under the arms and hold him to your chest, feeling venom form a wrap carrier around the child. he has enough foresight to turn your jacket into the wrap for appearances later.

the air is getting hot, hard to breathe through the dust, and venom shapes a simple face mask over the baby's mouth and nose to filter the air. the baby stops crying almost immediately with his influence.

with another rattling boom shaking your roots, you peer through the hole, gripping the back of the older boy's sweatshirt to keep him close and steady. "i'm coming back. stay alive."

with that, venom leverages the steel frame away, allowing you to crawl out from beneath it. the young boy clutches your belt as you hurry up what remains of the stairs, coughing in the dry, sandy air.

"vee, how's the baby?" you mutter, running along the lengthy platforms while the fight rages overhead. with every heavy smash, concrete and tiling dust your shoulders, trickling from hairline cracks in the ceiling.

CALM.

"okay… kid, when we get up there, you have to close your eyes and mouth, alright? try not to eat any sand."

he sniffles and nods, his grip tightening with resolve.

grand central and several nearby blocks are ruined with huge piles of sand blown into the corners, making the ground hard to run across. the boy slips a few times but you're always there to haul him back up.

half of your attention is on spider-man. even as you're lifting a displaced i-bar from a nearby construction site from the entrance, one eye is on the tiny red-and-blue figure zipping around and a shrinking sandman. marko's patches of dark sand slough off in heavy cascades, enraging him – making him desperate.

you run the children to a nearby police blockade, which is little more than two or three cars parked haphazardly across the road. a fire engine is parked nearby – the older boy screams, "mom!" and stumbles towards a woman in firefighter gear. with the way they embrace and the woman checks him for injuries, you don't have much worry bundling the now-crying infant up in his blanket and pressing him into her arms. you don't wait for swapped words or even eye contact before spinning on your heel and running back towards the ruins of the train station.

"flint! you have to stop this!" jungkook shouts, crashing another water tower down onto him. "what's going on, man?"

"i can't stay here!" marko bellows, his voice like the whip of a hurricane. he flings a billboard at jungkook, which he deftly dodges. "i won't!"

"what are you talking about? why not?" he threads the needle between slabs of debris swirling in marko's storm. "marko, you're going to hurt people!"

in response, he roars, whipping up a sandstorm into a single spear-like point, and hurls it down towards jungkook.

he dodges, pulling himself out of the way just in time, but you don't have his spider-sense. the shaft of the beige spear thrusts through your heart.

jungkook's senses explode until his ears ring. he looks back and screams.

the father's hand slips in yours as your grip loosens. he cries out in horror and blood stains the compressed sand, dripping from the tip.

you can't breathe. the sand collapses where it sits, including in the gaping wound the size of a beer bottle. frantically, venom floods the wound, pushing out the contaminants and creating and stitching your cells back together. but with his attention already divided through holding two tonnes of steel off your back and bolstering your strength to lift the man with one hand, he has to choose his battles. he chooses you – you can feel the power draining from you, your hand slipping around the father's.

you blink, hard, to rid yourself of the dizziness and nausea rising in your gut as venom stitches your heart and lungs and bones back together. you stare down at the man, whose terrified face is splattered with your blood. "i'm going to pull," you rasp, blood spilling from your lips. "your family's safe."

and you pull. you pull and pull, twice as hard because your hands are wet with blood and sweat, and the man finally manages to grab the edges of the hole and clamber out, collapsing beside you.

you push him weakly, hands feeling fat and rubbery. "go," you cough, able to feel the air on your exposed heart. you push him again. "go."

the floor of the station crumbles into a sinkhole over you, blocking you into a tiny space. you slump over, blinking hard with your forehead against the ground to rid yourself of the black spots swimming into your vision.

a cry of your name, and light spears down onto you. jungkook roars with effort as he hauls six feet of steel and concrete off of you and it crashes into the wall of the train station, crumbling into pieces.

he wraps an arm around you and webs the ceiling, lifting you out and hiding behind a corner. he falls to his knees, dragging you towards him by your shoulders with a sob.

"b-baby," he sobs, tremors wracking his shoulders. "baby, no, no, oh, god, i'm so sorry – baby, please—"

he peels back your black jacket and a wail rips through him at the sight. you keep your bleary gaze on the red of his mask, feeling venom squirm inside your cells, beating on the walls to let him out, to heal you. by sheer fucking willpower you manage to hold him back, burning him whenever he comes too close to the edges of your wound. he roars inside your head, slamming his will against yours in an effort to subdue you, knock you out of the driver's seat.

NO! STOP FIGHTING ME!

he can't know. it would break him.

your lips part to speak. your throat is dry, your tongue too big for your mouth. "you sh-should… go fight that bad guy…"

NO!

jungkook rips off his mask. he can't breathe, and his world crumbles around him. tears stream down his cheeks and throat. he gasps, breaths short and wheezing, and cradles you close, rocking your body against his. "no," he hiccups, gloved hands shifting down your chest to clear the cloth around the hole that goes right through. he can see the blue of his suit through it and bile rises in his throat. "no!"

"it's okay," you sigh raggedly, reaching up and groping for his face. you can't see much in the blurry darkness invading your vision. "s'okay… 's okay. you can win this. c-come find me… later…"

"fuck that!" he cries, gripping you tighter and obsessively running his hand through your sandy hair, pressing his lips to your temple. his tears are wet and cold against your skin, a small reprieve from the suffocating heat.

he clutches your hand to his cheek, pinning it there. his dark eyes glimmer with fat tears, and you can't help but think it's beautiful how his lashes clump together and the reflections waver in his eyes like the starry sky in a lake. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry," he whimpers. "i love you. i love you. please – p-please don’t go, please don't leave me – don't close your fucking eyes!" he screams when your gaze slips from his to blink slowly up at the ceiling, each blink getting heavier and heavier; the voice in your head gets harder to ignore. he presses his palm over the gushing wound. "no, no, no, no, no—! i-i can fix this, okay, you'll be okay! i can fix—"

a massive sandy club slams into him. he cracks the wall with the force and he groans as he peels himself out of the crevices, his limbs wobbly and his head ringing.

sandman is smaller now, human-sized. he grips his weapon, and in his hands it transforms into a battleaxe, the blade edges gleaming as he compresses it to razor-sharp glass.

jungkook glances aside, where your body lays crumpled and limp, dark oily blood pooling under your shoulders. he looks back at flint marko and all he sees is red.

he doesn't use his webs, doesn't wall-crawl. he lunges like a panther and drives his fists into his face, his screams of agony tearing his throat up ten times over.

over and over. over and over.

marko groans weakly, his face swollen and bruised. his lips are thick and purple, blood and saliva spilling onto the floor.

jungkook knows the bones of his hands are cracked. he can feel them grinding against each other, but the pain doesn't register. all he knows is that a villain is still alive, and that his best friend is not.

he raises his fist, flexing his hand. his chest heaves. he wonders what sandman would look like if he didn't hold back. he might knock off his head.

that sounded good.

his fist comes down – and halts.

jungkook tugs. a large hand tightens around his wrist. he raises his eyes.

large, filmy white eyes stare down at him, a grinning mouth like a red slash filled with too-big teeth widening slightly.

"HELLO, PRETTY SPIDER," venom purrs, eight-foot-tall body blocking out the hazy sunlight. "LET'S TALK."

jungkook makes a sound between a gasp and a retch as he pats his face and finds only skin. "my mask—"

"DON'T BOTHER," interrupts venom, tugging jungkook's wrist and pulling him off of marko's limp body, whose chest still rises and falls shallowly. "WE ALREADY KNOW WHO YOU ARE."

"you do?" jungkook rasps, on his knees and still swaying dangerously. "'we'…?"

venom's long scarlet tongue lolls out of his mouth as he grins. those murky white eyes are hard to track. "HE DOESN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW HIM. EVEN NOW HE SHOUTS AT ME." his eyes narrow and he glances aside. "BUT I CAN PUT HIM BACK TO SLEEP IF HE WANTS IT."

jungkook swallows, his eyelids heavy and his body begging to lay down and rest. he cradles his ruined fists, blood seeping through the cloth.  "i don't… i…"

the monstrous, grating voice almost seems to soften. "ALLOW ME TO HEAL YOU."

he offers a large clawed hand. his skin is black and oily, somewhere between flesh and liquid. it never stays in one place for long, swirling and smoothing over in faint patterns like mixing thick paint. heart in his mouth and mind in pieces, jungkook places his hand in venom's.

the black oily goo begins to spread over venom's knuckles, seeping into jungkook's suit and skin. the feeling is cold and damp and jungkook panics, scratching at his skin and yanking his arm back, but venom holds fast, and his inhumanly bulky body begins to shrink – down, down. oily blackness gives way to soft human skin.

you gaze back at jungkook, eyes apprehensive and sorrowful. his hand lays in yours. you lick your lips, glancing down at the black shirt and jacket over your heart. like it never even happened.

"hey," you greet softly, your voice a comforting low rumble.

jungkook stares up at you: still, silent, unseeing. his eyes well with tears, and he doesn't move, his gaze doesn't shift, as they slip down his cheeks, creating new clean tracks over his dusty, bloodstained cheeks.

your lips quirk up mirthlessly. "look like you've seen a ghost."

"no," he whispers in a voice like sandpaper. he yanks his hand away and rubs his eyes roughly until stars and colours bloom in his vision. "no, no, i'm going crazy, oh, god—" his voice cracks on the last word, his shoulders shaking.

you fall to your knees, taking his hands firmly in yours and pinning them to his sides. "look at me. look at me, baby," you whisper, "open your eyes."

stubbornly, they remain screwed shut. he shakes his head constantly, his shoulders hunching over. venom returns to you, black tendrils trickling back between the cells of your body.

you sigh, glancing down at your entwined hands. you link your fingers with his. "you're probably disgusted with me, i know. you've read the reports, watched the news. you know what i am – what we are. we're not a hero like you are. i understand if you don't want me to be your boyfriend anymore."

at that, he lets out a terrified little gasp and his eyes shoot open.

"there we go," you murmur. "but i was telling the truth. we aren't compatible."

"shut up."

you glance up. "what?"

"shut up," he repeats, louder. his voice is shaky. "i'm… you're… i'm still processing the first part. slow down. please."

"what first part?"

his head snaps up, the anger in his expression taking you by surprise. "the fucking part where you aren't fucking dead!"

his voice echoes in the empty train station, half-ruined and buried in sand. his chest heaves after the outburst.

he exhales shakily and sits back on his heels, turning his hands over and pressing his thumbs against his knuckles. there is no pain, no grinding broken bones. "i… just let me…"

he sways on the spot and keels over. you rush forward and catch him, cradling him in your arms.

"baby," you whisper, shaking him slightly. "baby."

the sirens of police cars swerving on the gritty roads outside catch your attention. once they've secured the civilians, they'll be closing in on marko quickly, and he doesn’t look like he's in any position to wake up soon, let alone fight back. you glance down at jungkook's limp body, his eyes closed and lips parted slightly.

you shift him in your arms and lift him easily, walking past the pool of your own blood. the red spider-man mask sits crumpled on the ground, and a black tendril scoops it up as you move past it. with each step, venom grows, engulfing your body until it's just him cradling jungkook's small body in one muscular arm. he exits the train station and lifts a hand, shooting a thick black webby tendril into the air and launching himself up, away from the sirens and the journalists' chatter.

—

when jungkook opens his eyes again, he's staring at the golden sky. the sun is about to touch the horizon behind pillars and pillars of glassy skyscrapers.

a hand cards through his hair, gentle and familiar. he turns his head.

you smile down at him, hair tussling in the wind. you're wearing a different set of black clothes. his zip-up hoodie slips down his shoulder and you pull it back up.

"morning, sleepyhead," you hum, combing his unruly hair with your fingers. "feeling better?"

he blinks, bleary-eyed, at his shoes. "what…? how did i…"

"you passed out after fighting sandman. we headed home long enough to grab you a jacket and then we decided to bring you up here, away from the hubbub of the city streets. thought you'd appreciate it." you glance up, gazing at the sunset. "can't deny that view, either."

"'we'," jungkook repeats, his thoughts chugging slowly. he blinks and shoots upright, staring back at you with huge brown eyes. "oh my god. you're that guy. you're venom."

"half of him, yes," you agree, watching him carefully.

he turns back around, staring at his lap. part of him wants to throw up. another part wants to scream, and yet another wants to leap into your arms, cry, and pass out again.

instead, he turns back to you. "tell me how it works."

"how venom works?"

jungkook nods, turning to face you fully. he folds his legs under himself.

"well—" the words get jumbled up in your head. where could you even start?

THE BEGINNING.

so you do. the lab breach, the symbiosis achieved, the fight with riot and the rocket. jungkook listens attentively, nodding along but otherwise quiet. sometime during your recounting, he slides closer to you, sharing the air conditioning unit as a backrest. he tucks his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around them, resting his head against your shoulder.

when you finish, you sit in silence for a time, wondering if you've missed anything. venom doesn't think you have, so you glance down at jungkook, searching him for a response.

"so…" he begins quietly, "is that why you never carry a bag around anymore, yet always seem to have a laptop and pens when you need it? venom has freaking hammerspace?"

you chuckle, resting your temple against the top of jungkook's head. "no, interdimensional pockets of spacetime, obviously. yeah, it's how he can get so big despite originally being the size of a large bag of chips. he pulls our mass out of… somewhere."

"somewhere," jungkook echoes, thoughtlessly. despite the tone of his voice, you can feel him tensing up against you, all his muscles like steel corded rope as he leans in. new science never fails to excite him, and he's always been a hard-science kind of guy with physics and chemistry. your specialisation in alien biochem opens a new world to him, and it doesn't help that he loves hearing you talk.

you wrap an arm around him, kissing his temple. "i'm not really sure how it works. that was one of the things we were looking into when the lab, er, went kablooey. maybe vee could tell you about it."

his eyes widen. "would he really?"

DON'T LOOK AT ME.

you clear your throat. "uh… he doesn't know how it works, either. i don't think they had scientists on their asteroid."

jungkook visibly dims at that, but shrugs and nuzzles into your shoulder with a sigh. "it's okay. i just think that's so cool. i could finally stop making a point to take my camera out with me – and i'd never run out of film." he jerks back, staring up at you with wide eyes. "you could take all you wanted with you on planes! no more stupid weight limit. man, that would have been so helpful in italy."

"yeah, but bad for your bank account, baby," you tease, nudging him with a grin.

"shut up. like you didn't wear that necklace for two straight years." he gazes up at you with gentle brown eyes. they flicker down to your lips and back to your eyes. he leans in.

you meet him halfway, cradling the back of his head and curling your fingers in his hair. you groan softly as he nips at your lower lip. a low, pleased rumble reverberates in your chest and stomach as he swings his legs over yours, straddling your lap and tilting his head to kiss you deeper. his lips are soft, if a little chapped. luckily for him, you're wearing chapstick.

he sits back with a hum and smacks his lips. "mm. cherry?"

"guess again," you murmur, and his brow pinches slightly. he leans in, capturing your lips, and when he parts, he takes your heart with him, comfortingly sitting behind his teeth.

he frowns, deep in thought. "is it… cola?"

"no. it was cherry," you admit, sliding your hands up his thighs and squeezing. "i lied – sorry. i wanted another kiss."

he laughs and thunks his forehead against yours, pecking your lips. "i knew it. nothing else quite captures the flavour of synthetic cherry like chapstick. it's super sweet. like you," he adds cheekily, eyes crinkling. "you're so stupid... you could have just kissed me again. i wouldn't have minded."

you hum quietly, avoiding eye contact. you lift your hands off of him. "i just… are you faking it right now?"

his smile vanishes. "faking what?"

"you're acting like you don't care about what i've done. i'm a murderer," you implore, "you shouldn't want me anymore. you're spider-man and the best hero we don't deserve. can we at least talk about it, rather than pretending as if nothing happened?"

he sits quietly on your lap for a while, shifting his weight to fully rest on you. he stares down at his hands and plays with the zipper of your jacket, wiggling the metal tag up and down about an inch either way.

"i don't know what to say," he whispers eventually, not lifting his eyes. "i love you. you know that. i really, really do. i just never thought we'd have such… fundamentally different takes on vigilantism."

he chuckles at himself, a little self-deprecating. "you make me really happy, and it might be cruel, but i don't want to give you up for anything. not even if you, um, bit people's heads off… you don't do that anymore, right?"

"no," you reply quickly, shaking your head. "no – no. it won't happen again, either. we've found a better way to sustain him. he especially likes those little… hershey's kisses."

"he likes kisses?" jungkook sounds surprised.

"yeah, i know. i had the same reaction." you shrug, cuddling jungkook's waist and pressing your cheek into his shoulder. he drapes his arms over your shoulders. "anyway. thank you. for… for being selfish."

"you say it as if you expected differently," he says softly, gaze searching and imploring. "you really thought i'd hate you?"

silently, you nod. your hair tickles jungkook's cheek.

"i could never hate you," he says firmly, cupping your face. "we've been through so much together. we can – we can get through this. maybe you guys can just… tone down the violence a little, maybe?"

"we'll try our best," you whisper. your gaze flickers down to his lips. "thank you."

he hums softly, pressing his forehead against yours. he closes his eyes, the gentle breeze loosening his hair from behind his ears. you tuck them back and cup his jaw, bringing him in for a deep, hungry kiss. he moans into it and wraps his arms around your shoulders, the raised black webbing of his suit bumping over the base of your neck as he cups it.

you part with a sharp gasp as he nips your lower lip with his teeth, the sting only serving to deepen the hunger gnawing in your lower stomach.

jungkook jerks back, eyes widening. hastily, he wipes the blood from your lip, already babbling apologies. "o-oh, crap, i'm sorry! i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to – does it hurt—?"

"fuck, we liked that," you rasp, gazing up at your perfect pretty boy in your lap, and you swear you can see your own pupils blow with lust in some strange godly out-of-body vision. you grin up at jungkook and pull his arms back around you, hearing his already-quick heartbeat pound.

"i… i don't – why do you want to bleed?" he sounds so clueless, so worried, and a deep, pleased rumble escapes your chest. no one knows who it comes from.

"i like anything you give me. 'sides, it's not like you can really hurt me, you know? since you know my big dark secret, and all."

he glances away. he tugs at your jacket's lapels, straightening them for the sake of it. "i don't… i don't really like the taste of blood," he mumbles, rubbing his cheek with the back of his knuckles to brush away the tickle of hair. "i like it when we're rough, but – but just no blood, please. i like anything until that point."

your gaze softens. venom seals the two edges of the nick without having to be asked, and you dab away the remaining blood with your sleeve. "does it remind you too much of bad fights?"

he nods, exhaling shakily. "and you. today. i can’t – i really th-thought you were—"

you hush him as he leans into you, gripping you tight. he buries his head in your neck and you kiss his shoulder, cradling him as he curls into your embrace. "you wanna head home? make some waffles and cuddle?"

"n-no. i'll deal with it later when my brain catches up, so let's pretend like it didn't happen. right now, my suit is so painfully tight and i really want you to fix it."

"sure, yeah. but you know venom controls our suit, right?" you say, lips curving into a soft, half-teasing smile. "i'm no seamstress. tailoring anything but the inseam is a challenge."

"shut up," he groans, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his bulge. you can feel the stiffness of a cup, thin enough to keep his silhouette clean and flat. "you're gonna put me out of a job if you get any quippier."

"i'd be a pretty sick spider-man." suddenly, you push him down, flipping him onto his back as you slide between his warm thick thighs. you cradle the back of his head before resting it against the concrete rooftop, careful with him as you always are. his eyes widen and he flushes dark as your clothes melt into an inky black layer, skin-tight, just like his. as venom hems off the neck, black tendrils sinking into the skin behind your ears and nape and below your adam's apple, a flourish of white spreads across your chest like a lily unfurling.

"h-hey," he protests weakly, though he reaches up to trace the slender spider motif embossed into the suit. "i designed that."

you scoff, rolling your hips against his teasingly. "can you even enact intellectual property laws if you've got a secret identity? mine now – finders-keepers." you nip at his neck and kiss your way down the centre of his chest, feeling his breaths stutter as you press the spider emblem in the middle of his chest. "now, that is some view…"

softly, he whines and kicks your thigh, petulantly covering his bare chest. all it does is tense his biceps and squeeze his chest together, all impossibly chiselled. fuck, why couldn't you have gotten bit by a radioactive spider instead of playing host to an alien who exacerbates your worst instincts?

"not fair," he huffs, pushing your face away from his washboard abs. he tugs the suit back over his arms and smirks when you groan at the loss. "mm… i can't take your clothes off, so you shouldn't be able to take mine off. what if i wanna see you, too?"

"what, not a fan of the black suit?" you pout, flexing an arm teasingly. you don't miss how his eyes snap to it, his pink lips parting slightly.

"don't make me lie to get it off you." he taps the emblem at his chest, tightening the suit, and swings his legs around so he can mirror your kneeling position. he glances down and hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and propping his chin against your chest as he gazes up at you. "might be a literary message here. anti spider-man versus the original… morals, outlooks, aesthetics?"

"i'll go back to my normal look if you suck my cock in your suit," you offer.

jungkook's cheeks darken as he giggles, embarrassed. "y-you're serious?"

"yeah. we'll even do it now. think of it as a down payment." the suit shifts and billows – and you're wearing jeans and a leather jacket again. you exhale softly, palming your hardening cock, and jungkook's dark eyes can't tear themselves from devouring the sight. "so? thoughts?"

"i wasn't talking about your outfit," he murmurs, sliding his gloved hands up over your knees and thighs. he shifts, pressing his nose into your bulge, and gazes up at you through his long lashes. "you really wanna fuck me… i-in the suit?"

"shit, fuck yeah," you breathe, carding your fingers through his hair. "that's so fucking hot."

he giggles again, already reaching for your belt and zipper. if venom unentwines your belt for him, he doesn't mention it. "naughty, naughty… what does venom think?"

"he thinks you're our pretty spider, but you already know that," you huff, closing your eyes as he mouths at your boxers. "he's dirty-talking. no, i'm not telling him that. you can do it yourself later if he wants to hear it."

"so, my boys are happy, yeah?" he purrs, nuzzling into your twitching cock. "mm, i can tell. you're drooling, baby."

"because you're being a damn tease," you groan, tipping your head back against the concrete block forming the roof access. you buck your hips into him – THAT IS PITIFUL – and jungkook moans softly, teasing the band of your underwear. "please, nnh, please…"

"didn't quite catch that. you want this?"

"shit, yes, i know you heard it. fuck me, my dick's gonna fall off from how fucking hard it is," you complain, swallowing harshly as he accepts it with a proud little smile on his lips, tugging your underwear under your shaft. he hums, pleased, as he gazes up at it, stroking the base lazily.

"has venom made you more impatient? try to relax, honey… don't want you bursting in my mouth after three seconds, now, do we?"

"you're such a jerk…"

"mhm, yeah. venom's made you less patient. do you remember when we used those handcuffs? you were so good for me then." he licks a long, flat stripe up your cock from base to head and flicks the tip of his tongue over the glans rapidly, moaning softly as your hips jerk into his mouth.

your nails dig into the rough concrete below you, cold under your shoulders. they crumble slightly under your touch. "oh, fuck… those were real, weren't they? where'd you get them?"

"they tried to arrest spider-man once, way back. but i have a detective friend who happened to be nearby, and she helped me out. didn't take the cuffs from me, though."

it dawns on you like a bucket of ice down your neck. "that's why we never used them again. you snapped them to get me out of them."

jungkook glances up at you, mouthing at your balls contentedly. his eyes crinkle when he grins. "smart cookie."

easily, he takes the head into his mouth, suckling wetly as he strokes the rest in his hand. he pulls away briefly to spit on your cock – jesus fucking christ – and his pink lips stretch pale around your shaft as he lowers his head, swallowing several inches in one motion.

your head tips back and a drawled moan escapes your lips. you chuckle lazily, twisting a hand in his hair as he bobs his head, gradually taking more into his mouth. looking at him, that shiny skintight red-and-blue – you could burst right there.

fucking a superhero. you never could have dreamt it. a superhero is giving you head so sloppy it's dripping down your balls.

hm. maybe venom is influencing you more than you thought, because two months ago such a thought would've set your face on fire, yet all it does now is lead you to imagine what new positions you could try with your pretty spider, how else you could have him swallowing your come.

popping off with a wet gasp, jungkook grins up at you with half-lidded eyes, panting for breath. he nibbles his lower lip as he pumps your cock steadily, his gaze glued to how the generous precome drips over his knuckles and down the web-shooters of his suit. he giggles and shivers with a thought – how full would he feel if you finished inside him? has that changed?

he stuffs your cock into his mouth to hide his blush.

"fuck, sweetheart, 'm gonna come if you keep sucking like that," you groan, the filthy schlk-schlk of his hot wet throat bubbling arousal in your gut. his nose brushes the warm skin of your lower stomach and his gaze is dark and clouded when he gazes up at you, his throat constantly constricting and loosening as he swallows around your throbbing dick.

he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. his grip tightens on your thighs, digging into your skin, and he swirls his tongue desperately over the veins, flicking and curling as he feels your rapid, booming heartbeat in his mouth.

saliva drips down his chin as you thrust sharply into his mouth with a hissed curse. his eyes roll back as hot, thick come bursts down his throat and he can't even whimper – no room to. your fist yanks his head closer and he drools as what feels like gallons of come warm his belly. your hips grind roughly against his lips.

when your grip finally loosens, jungkook collapses backwards onto an elbow with a raspy gasp, chest heaving. he's never had much of a gag reflex, not since the bite, but fuck…

when his eyes flutter open, he wipes his slick, swollen lips and sits up, skin too hot for his suit. his cock throbs against the cup, wet and aching. he nearly collapses, arms unable to hold up his own weight, but you're there to catch him, one hand twisting in the back of his jacket to hold him up by the scruff like a kitten. he whimpers, fingers tugging ineffectively at your clothes.

"thanks, baby," you say huskily, pulling him into your arms and crushing your lips to his. the taste is sweet with a slight salty tang and he moans as your tongue pushes against his, messy and animal. he melts into your arms, limbs like noodles as you kiss him and lap up your own come from the corners of his mouth.

he nearly cries when you slip your thigh between his legs. he grips your shoulders for balance as he ruts against your thigh, needy gasps and moans spilling freely from his lips – you rumble your approval when he wraps his arms tightly around you, temple pressed against yours and lips right by your ear. his hips lose their rhythm until he's practically humping you, the stinging pleasure of his trapped cock spiking hot desire up his spine.

with one hand, you grope his ass, rumbling purrs sighed from deep in your chest. you can taste the embarrassment sweetening his eager moans – how lucky you are to have such a cute little spider.

but you are HUNGRY.

thick black claws shape your fingers. jungkook squeaks at the sharp riiip of cloth and he gasps, stiffening and twisting around to check the damage instinctively. you kiss his shoulder placatingly as you slap his ass, squeezing the soft meat and muscle.

"fuck—! it's cold," he whines, gripping your wrist. "oh, man, my suit's already torn from earlier – you couldn’t've just waited until i took it off?"

"wouldn't that just make you colder?" you reply, amused.

"well, now i have to replace the entire blue section from my hips to my knees! i can't just sew a line up my ass, now, can i?"

"yeah, yeah, you can bitch to me later. i'll fix it," you huff, grabbing him by his little waist and pushing him down beside you. you flip him over onto his stomach and tug his hips up. you take a moment to admire your boyfriend. how nice that is to think – your boyfriend. "mm… just wanna eat you right up."

tucking his head against his forearms, he gazes over his shoulder at you, face flushed and hair mussed. he grins, a little breathless. "please don't eat me, mister venom…"

your other half growls, his hunger overtaking any reservations you have about prepping jungkook properly. you move before you can think, your lips parting and your clawed fingers pulling to reveal his twitching asshole.

your long, long tongue pushes into him, saliva squelching obscenely as it wriggles inside him, flicking and curling against his tight, gummy walls.

he squeals, his heart jumping into his throat with shock, fear, and a healthy dose of burning liquid desire. he knows what it is before his brain can make a thought out of it. it's so deviant that the shock and shame make his tip drip faster. he tugs his jacket sleeves over his knuckles and hides his face in the soft pools of cotton, biting down harshly on his arm to muffle his wanton cries and helpless moans.

"mmgh – ngh! oh fuck. holy fuck, b-baby—! baby, n-not so fast, i'll – 'm sensitive…!"

hot and thick, thick as a cock, your tongue worms its way into him, thrusting and writhing relentlessly. he is plump and soft and utterly delectable, a sweet tasty treat you'll hunger for long after you pull out from his clenching walls.

you can't think – your dick throbs – you see the world through a faint filmy white. you're more monster than man, able to taste the wine-heavy sweetness of jungkook's arousal in the air. it is hard to breathe through his scent – you have to push against it, like wading through waist-high water.

his hips jerk away from you and you growl in warning, yanking him back towards you with a squelch of wetness. your saliva drips down his ass and thighs – thick thighs that quiver like leaves – and jungkook cries, his eyes rolling to show their whites.

somewhere in the back of your brain, you think he came. probably hard. obsessed with his sweet, soft taste as you are, however, and unable to see his cock because of his suit – it makes no difference to your animal indulgences.

jungkook babbles half-words and nonsense, punctuated by shouts of pleasure as your tongue wriggles and glides against his swollen prostate. he comes again with a cry, the stickiness between his thighs only growing with every passing minute.

he presses a shaky hand to his stomach, gasping for breath. he feels so full…

eventually, when jungkook's whines start to quieten, exhaustion making him sway, you begin to slow. your vision starts to clear. your jaw moves lazily against his puffy asshole and his whole body jerks, his hole clamping around your tongue. it feels more human, now.

slowly – somewhat reluctantly – you pull away, panting. his hole gapes slightly, dark and shining with saliva. you dip a clawed thumb against the edge, pulling gently, before pulling away to pat his ass. the motion is so different, so fond and strangely innocent, that it hard-reboots jungkook's half-melted brain. he blinks away the tears and the fog of lust, lifting his head from his arms.

"mmph… baby…?" he mumbles, his words slow and slurred. you tuck your nose into his warm neck, the bulk of your body heavy and comforting. your breaths are slow and steady and instinctually, he tries to match them.

he giggles, ticklish, as you nuzzle into his shoulder, a satisfied sigh fluttering past your lips. he strokes your hair, pressing his ass teasingly against your cock, still hard and heavy. "hah… you 'n' venom're gonna wear me out one day, y'know?"

his voice is wobbly, but pleased. you like it. "sweetheart, you don't have to. we can deal with it alone. you've already done so much for us."

"and let you waste your come? uh-uh. wanna feel it inside me." he wiggles his ass, making you groan. "c'mon, big boy… i'm getting soft."

"you're hard already?"

jungkook laughs at the surprise in your voice. "now that you know who i am, i don't have to hide it anymore. maybe you can even keep up with me."

lifting him up to kneel, you tug off his jacket and lay it down on the concrete. he hums and turns over to lay on his back, spreading his legs to give you room between them. he smiles sweetly up at you – your heart races.

you trace his suit's web patterns with a slight frown. "wait… so – this whole time, you've never really finished?"

"i finish. i just get hard again really quick." he blushes. "it's kinda humiliating, honestly, so i really want you to put it in before the clarity hits me like a truck. shit, was your cock always this big…?"

"you wish it was," you scoff, gripping the base and tapping the head against his hole. "you're such a size queen."

"m-mm, no, really, i seriously think it's – fuck!"

his head falls back as your cock pushes into him with minimal resistance. his walls clamp around you like a vice, drawing groans from both of you as you push in deeper, firm and steady in your pace. his hole swallows you up, and it's so damn warm and wet that you feel your control slip for a single frightening moment. jungkook moans sharply, back arching, as your claws dig into his skin hard enough to snap a normal person's bones.

jungkook's gasps are short and rapid in quick succession. he goes lax in your arms, arms limp above his head. you have him in your lap, his thighs resting atop yours.

"fuck," he hiccups after a giggle. you glance down, away from his drunken expression.

you shift your hips, drawing out, then push back in. a bulge in his stomach follows the motion. in your head, venom purrs at the sight, curling around your senses to feel what you feel like a lazy, satisfied cat.

"yeah," you whisper, experimentally setting a slow pace to really see it. you press your palm against the firmness of your cockhead. "yeah. fuck. you're so fucking hot, driving us downright crazy…"

you sound like an idiot, saying things that a high school jock would say to his cheerleader girlfriend in a teen movie. it's so shallow and repetitive that it makes you embarrassed, but jungkook's moans are extra loud after it, so it can't be all that bad.

still, you'd rather call him beautiful, if only to have him bury his face in your chest and laugh.

"fuck me," he breathes, reaching down and caressing your hands, black and clawed as they are. "fuck me hard – please, don't stop."

he gives you an addicted, lopsided grin, dark eyes blown with want. he cries out as your hips slap his ass, grinding into him. you pull out until the tip rests against his twitching hole and grin, sharper than usual. briefly, your eyes swirl white. "your wish is our command."

you drag him towards you as you thrust forward, your skin meeting with an obscene clap. through your lungs, venom groans, halfway between a growl and a catlike purr. your dick throbs inside his clenching walls, lining his insides with an audacious amount of precome… he'll have to do more than patch up his poor suit.

jungkook's eyes are squeezed shut, a hand planted firmly over his own mouth as your thrusts ravage his body. his hair bounces over his flushed cheeks, locks sticking to his temples with sweat. he seems to shimmer with it in the afternoon light, so unfairly pretty, as if he's dusted with crushed pearls…

you tug his hand away from his lips, parted with need, and your fingers twist through his own, clasping tightly. you rest your weight upon the first joint of each finger – you wouldn't want to rub the backs of his hands raw, after all. it's an easy feat with venom's claws creeping over your fingers from the knuckles like twisting vines.

"c'mon, spider," you purr, relishing the way his eyes flutter with each rough thrust. your balls slap against his ass. "don't be shy. we want to hear you BEG FOR IT."

when you slow down, really making him feel every pulse and twitch of your veins, he manages to crack his eyes open, though they flicker anxiously over the sky and glass towers surrounding you before landing on your face. he swallows, and a defiant glimmer shines in his eye. "no."

"no?" you chuckle. "gettin' cold feet? scared to make a whore out of yourself when you know we're both watching?"

"no," he repeats, a little harrumph passing past his lips. "i don't wanna work for it. you're my boyfriend – you're supposed to make me happy. are you slowing down because you want to tease me, or because you're too tired to keep up?"

a growl. "OH, YOU…"

grip tightening, you shift forward on your knees, hiking his thighs higher over yours – he gasps as your cockhead scrapes against his tender prostate on its way in. he sucks in a deep breath as you bottom out, his lashes fluttering, and the bulge in his belly moves as you do. "babe—"

"does it hurt?"

he shakes his head minutely. his bitten red lips part and he wraps his legs around your waist, digging his heels into the small of your back impatiently. "t-told you not to stop…"

you hum softly and resume a rough, steady pace, the obscene sound of wet skin slapping skin echoing far too loudly with his enhanced hearing. it's hard to ignore and he realises, suddenly, that he's still in the suit – maskless.

"h-hurry – hurry up," he whimpers, a shred of panic fluttering in his belly – or maybe that's just you. "if someone sees—"

"then they'll know how well spider-man takes cock." you smirk with a gloating glint in your eye.

"i'm being s-serious," he whines, breathless. unable to inject any sense of urgency into his words, he settles for squeezing your hands tightly, feeling and hearing the crack as venom imbeds himself into the concrete like tiny harpoons for support. you're trembling slightly – he can feel it in your legs – and he has an inkling that you're holding back more than your own urges.

"SO ARE WE," you reply as if it's obvious. you roll your hips tauntingly into his ass and his back arches, his hole clamping down around your veiny shaft. you hiss and the smirk on your face drops to make room for the irritated twitch of your brow. "fuck. don't squeeze too hard – i'll come early."

"e-early, he says! like you haven't been wringin' me of everything i have," jungkook huffs, squeaking in surprise when you let go of one of his hands to grip his waist and heft it higher, helping you to thrust deeper. your thick cockhead kisses his tender prostate, again and again and again – hot, sticky come drips down your shaft and balls and jungkook's suffocating cock throbs with a pulse of wetness when your claws dig into his skin in warning for his cheek.

you tap his hip absently, surveying your damage. "not everything."

you pause just long enough to seize his suit in both hands, and in one smooth motion, rip his suit to free his cock.

"honey—!"

with a quick swipe of your claw, his underwear falls apart and his dark, throbbing cock springs free. his underwear, looped around his thighs and waist like a jock, held the protective cup in place. you tug it out of his suit impatiently and toss it aside, much to his embarrassment, but he doesn't have long to stutter about it because your big hands close around his neck and your cock slams into him.

he wails. he lets out a bone-searing string of breathless cries and moans, tears welling up on his dark lashes as he grips your wrists and bounces with your rough primal pace. your thumb shifts over his adam's apple. you purr at the feeling of his moans, your name vibrating against your skin like a prayer and burning up your veins to settle in the base of your stomach, hot and coiled.

"SO PRETTY FOR US, SPIDER… SO TINY AND OBEDIENT. your cock is drooling – ALL FOR US," you rumble, shifting one hand to grip his shoulder instead. you cradle his head, turning it slightly to one side. you swear you can hear the blood roaring through his jugular and down, down, down to his heart, through it, and back up again, rushing rushing rushing through his arteries…

"mhm, f'you…! more – more, more," he babbles tearfully, his hard cock leaking a puddle onto his stomach. it leaks down his sides with your harsh thrusts, bouncing him off of your lap like a pretty little toy. your hips quicken, your grunts rumbling out as animal snarls as his cock smacks his stomach and yours throbs deep inside his trembling wet hole. "more! please, baby, fuck, feels so good! so fucking good, 'm gonna – yes! 'm coming—!"

you GROWL as his cock explodes onto his chest, sticky translucent come streaking his suit and dribbling down the black spider emblem. your thick cock pulses in his quivering heat and your orgasm crashes onto you in thundering waves, harder than anything you've ever felt. it feels a bit like dying: the way your thoughts melt into one another into a slosh of raw animal emotion, the blurry white-out vision, the feeling of every nerve and neuron firing at once in a desperate last hurrah that burns you up and shaves the meat off your bones for what seems like an eternity.

your eyes flutter open. the filmy white has receded.

jungkook hangs off of your cock, his hands loosely pressed against your chest. his head rests in one massive inky black palm, his back in the other. he gazes up at you with glossy, dazed eyes, something like awe glimmering in them as he pants, hot breath fanning your kiss-bitten lips.

like a dog satisfied with an under-the-table steak, venom slinks back into your skin, and jungkook shifts his quivering thighs around your hips to accommodate you better between them. he leans in and cups your cheek with a shaky hand – you don't think you'd notice it if venom wasn't boosting your senses – to kiss you gently, his soft slick lips moving against yours with lazy contentment.

you blink slowly at him, your brain still pulling itself together, and finally notice the state of him: sweat-damp hair, marked skin, bruised lips, ruined suit.

ruined suit…

"oh, shit," you croak, reaching between jungkook's legs to collect the thick white come dribbling down his thighs, still red with the imprint of your grip. it's starting to turn purple in places. "shit."

"it's okay! it's okay," he soothes, cupping your face. his voice is raspy and his chest heaves. "i can fix it. it's just a bit of thread."

"n-no, it's more than that," you whisper urgently, eyes widening as you hug jungkook to your chest. your cock shifts inside of him. it's almost tender. "i hurt you."

"i heal fast, honey, remember? tomorrow morning, i'll be right as rain. you'll see." he shifts on your lap and winces softly, inhaling sharply. "j-just – mm – pull out slowly, please. and lay me back – i can't feel my legs…"

"o-okay. okay. sorry," you mumble, being as gentle as you can. once he's comfortable, you reach down and slip yourself out little by little.

the head pops out, and a thick gush of come pools around jungkook's ass.

he groans at the feeling, his gaping asshole clenching futilely as it leaks your come like a damn waterfall. one of his hands presses against his stomach, the phantom feeling of you devastating his insides impossible to overcome. the other hand flicks lazily over his shaft a few times as he pants and regains his breath, his thighs trembling even as you try to comfort him. he's never looked so… drained before after nights together. not like he could fall asleep at any moment.

after a while of cleaning up – to the best of your ability – you find yourself sitting cross-legged by jungkook as he lays his head in your lap, halfway there to nodding off as the warm breeze musses his hair.

jungkook plays with your fingers as venom slowly stitches together shorts and a hoodie for him. black, of course. he insisted you all have to match. he's been rather quiet for a while, and when jungkook teased him about being so vocal just minutes ago, he'd huffed something about being hungry. the lack of energy was his reason for why he was threading the clothes onto jungkook's back so slowly, but you saw right through his excuses.

"how are you feeling?" you ask softly, fluttering your fingers at him.

he huffs and catches your hand without looking, glancing up at you. "honey, stop making it sound like i'm sick – i'm fine. a little achy, but nothing worse than hitting your funny bone on the edge of a door. the only thing that's taking its time is my voice. i sound like i've just gone to a club – nightclub, i mean – and had an hour-long conversation."

you chuckle, watching as venom finally finishes the sleeve he'd been working on for the last few minutes. after a moment, the surface of the hoodie ripples like water, and a white spider symbol, sharp and long, blooms from the centre of his chest. it settles back into simple cotton and polyester.

you touch the mark, tracing its edges. "i think it's a nice design. maybe you should try a new suit for the next one, since this one's pretty messed up."

"and whose fault is that?' he snarks, sliding his palm beneath yours and shaking it slightly. he glances down and nibbles on his lower lip. "it's nice, i admit… but it might be dangerous. i could remember i'm wearing it and get distracted, and then i'll smack into a crane or something."

"spider-man gets distracted?"

"only for big boys with big you-knows," he whispers, blushing and giggling to himself. he props himself up and reclines in your arms, humming contently and sighing as your arms wrap securely around him, heavy and warm. "i'm kidding. not really, but i'm kidding. i'd love you even if you took over the world and made us all subjects to your dark dominion. please don't, though, because i'd be morally obligated to stand up for the little guy and i don't wanna hurt you, y'know?"

you nod with a smile, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. he purses his lips against it for a little kiss. "i promise i won't go crazy and become a supervillain."

he falls quiet for a while, settling his head back into your lap. he closes his eyes, dark lashes brushing his cheeks, and brings your hand up to rest on his chest. his heartbeat is slow but sure, and you can feel your muscles relaxing just by the sight of his serene expression.

he doesn't hate you. he doesn't hate you.

he won't leave you alone. not ever – you understand this now. in this world of gods and aliens, you couldn't be happier with anyone else by your side – you are just mortal, just human. so very human. even if a planet-eating god sticks their fingers into the threads of the multiverse, melting existence as you know it, at least you'll be able to look into his eyes and know that at the very least, you were loved – and that is worth more than anything.

[wombywoo]

Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ��️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed 😚

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

[hxzbinwrites]

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Ignorant In Love

(Lovestruck Part 2)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Violence, Vox being annoying

————

4:30am

Vox woke up, yelping as he sprung out of bed. Not a great decision for his sore back as his clawed hand immediately went to brace it. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, attempting to recall what got him in such a tizzy waking up

Right. Another dream.

Vox had been, haunted, by that humiliating event last week. Even more so that he finally realize how incredibly enamored he was with her.

His screen flushing red at this realization of his current situation, Vox decided to rise out of bed. What good was sulking going to do?

Since that day, (Y/n) hadn’t smiled once more at him. Oh how he craves it. Vox acts like he doesn’t care, but he’s aching for another fix. Another high of seeing that smile. He would do anything and everything just to experience that euphoria one last time, just one drop of it.

Getting dressed for the day, Vox was looking at his bow tie collection, seeking out one of his favorite ties before realizing it had been ruined from the coffee.

Frustrated, he grabbed a random one from the pile, not really thinking too much about it as he put it on.

He stomped out of his quarters, his heels dramatically clacking against the floor as he made his way to his office. It was far too early in the morning for anyone to be active, too late for Val to be doing work (at least IN the office, and not at the club), so the quite walk gave his ever-running mind more time to think

What the hell has gotten into him?! He’s a VEE, THE VEE. If anything, this is woman should be loosing sleep and foaming over him!

‘That’s what I like most though’, He thought to himself,’She’s real. She doesn’t tell me just what I want to hear, or cause problems for me, she’s just…her, and she simply does it best.’

His internal conflicts were brought to an end once he finally sat down in his chair. Cracking his sore, aching joints, before booting up his monitor system.

————

8:30am

(Y/n)‘s heels clacked against the tiled floors, making her way to her desk. Her desk was one of those circular desks that curved around the middle and touched both sides of the wall. There was a small door on the side that she could enter from, but it blended in seamlessly with the black desk, so it would be hard for someone who didn’t work here on a daily to find.

Once she entered her cubicle-like desk, she logged onto her monitor, clocking in. 8:30am sharp, as always. She began to work on her boss’s meetings, but her eye caught a certain one for today “errand.”

This caught her eye, as Vox always made her run errands during work hours. Mostly for coffee, but she’s ran to the convenience store in the lobby for strange things as well.

“Hmm” she mumbled, before printing off the schedule regardless and putting it in her folder for later at 10.

That was her routine, print off the original schedule for the day, present it to him at 10, and if edits are needed, she’d come back and re-arrange some things, and repeat the process until it was to his liking.

(Y/n)‘s hardest part of the job was the PR portion of it. Normally, it’s for the PR team, but they got sick of the Vees tantrums and the entire department up and quit. Now, (Y/n) handles Vox’s PR, Velvette’s assistant handles hers, and Vox handles Valentino’s himself.

Speaking of PR, she was in for a doozy today. Last Friday, when the coffee incident took place, apparently Vox said some…choice words…to the Radio Demon, and Alastor relayed that information back to his listeners on his radio show.

Sighing, (Y/n) began typing a public rebuttal, going for the “deny and victim blame” strategy, as Velvette called it.

‘Why does Vox have to act so…stupid’ (Y/n) thought, her stoic face staying steady as her fingers flew across the keyboard,’For someone so smart, he sure acts dumb. Maybe he should just be a model for Velvette instead, he’s sure got the looks for it, but he doesn’t have the social skills for a public viewpoint like this-‘

“(Y/N). MY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.” Vox yelled.

Her eyes flicker up from her monitor, which was now adorned with two clawed hands gripping the top of it. Vox was leaning over it, his tall, slender frame allowing his screened face to intrude (Y/n)’s personal space, but it’s not like that hasn’t been done the before the weekend.

Locking eyes, he saw the flick of emotion run through her, he almost for a moment let his anger go, almost. He could hear her mumbling those things about him. About how “stupid” he was, his “dumb actions….how “he’s got the looks”….never mind that last part.

“Sir..?” She said, her face immediately turning back cold. Ah, there it goes again, fleeting like time itself.

“Don’t sir me,” Vox said, shoving the monitor who knows where. He crawled on the desk towards (Y/n), before grabbing her chin, pulling her towards him. The force from his arm made it where she was on her feet, but she was now hovering over her chair. Vox cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes and he whispered towards her.

“I heard you mumbling about me over there. Insubordination will not be…tolerated, at this company. If you want to keep this job, and your soul, I suggest you meet me in my office.”

He let go of her chin, before sliding back off of her desk, and walking towards his office. Vox’s hands were clasped behind his back, as he glanced over his shoulder one last time to look if she was following him.

(Y/n) got up and started walking behind him, her face not giving away any emotion.

‘DAMN IT.’ He thought, his mood growing worse,’That whole little stunt was just to get a rise out of her. To get something!’

————

10:00am

Once they arrived in his office, the door slammed shut behind them. Vox’s electrical bolt from his fingertip locked the door, as he walked towards his chair, took a seat, and swiveled it around to see an unamused (Y/n) awaiting his words.

“So, (Y/n)” He started, his claws tapping against one another, “Would you like to repeat, word for word, what you were mumbling about me, or should I repeat it for you?”

“Okay, I asked myself why you acted so stupid. Your actions are ignorant and your social skills need heavy improvement.” (Y/n) said,”also, for your schedule today you have a meeting at-“

“No no no sugar.” Vox said, smirking as he crossed his legs,”Tell me everything you said.”

“I did” She lied, standing her ground.

“Ah, so Im not good enough to be a model anymore? That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to give you a show, but alas.” He sneered, trying to desperately to get a reaction out of her, but failing miserably.

“Ah, a shame indeed.” She said, deadpanned,”Now, todays schedule consists of one meeting with Valentino at 7:30pm and during your 3:30 slot all it says is ‘Errand’? Sir, I’m confused about that portion, don’t I normally run your errands..?”

Vox gritted his teeth, his hand now clenching the sides of his chair. This was getting ridiculous, no emotions out of this one. God, he should just pour an entire mountain of coffee on himself, muck up his PC and everything just to see her smile.

“I was originally planning to get my clothes back from the dry cleaners myself, but I see that as punishment enough for today. Do it and get out of my office.”

“A-Alright sir.” (Y/n) said. They locked eyes, and Vox immediately regretted pushing so far for a reaction. Her eyes showed hurt in them.

Vox couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his face contorted with many emotions. One side of him was over the moon, he made her show something! The other side was in immense regret, he didn’t want to hurt her, that was by far from the plan.

Once she left the office, he started throwing monitors again in frustration.

————

10:30am

(Y/n) didn’t even return to her desk, instead opting for a little stroll down to the convenience store down in the lobby. She picked up a drink and a candy bar to take back to her desk as a little pick me up

Well, she attempted to go back to her desk, she ended up just going to a secluded corner in the building, only adorned by a lonely bench, a plant, and a security camera in the hallway.

(Y/n) sat there on the bench, sighing from stress and she took a chunk of her candy bar.

Sitting there, she replayed the interaction in her mind once more. The way he was so, powerful, it made her cheeks dust pink, with equal parts admiration and humiliation as she smiled to herself, lowering her head. She softly chuckled before taking her wrapper of her snack and going to seek out a trash can.

Little did she know that Vox was watching her every move on his monitor, stalking every security camera that tipped off her motion. He was nearly short circuiting at her little smile. Vox noticed how her shoulders bounced as she chucked slightly. He really wished he could just call her into his office, but it was already time for her to pick up his dry cleaning. Sighing to himself, he adjusted his bow tie.

Out of his entire collection, he just had to pick the most irritating one out of all of them. It was entirely too tight and the material was so unpleasant.

Sighing, he just untied it and threw it on his desk, reveling a small sliver of his skin beneath it.

————

3:45pm

“I’m here to pick up Vox’s clothes.” (Y/n) said, making the worker scramble to go retrieve the Overlord’s clothes.

“H-Here you go ma’am! Do you mind checking to see if everything is in there? We don’t want to forget any article of our valuable costumer’s clothing!”

“Sure” She replied with her signature neutral expression, opening up the box of neatly folded clothes to see his entire wardrobe from that day, except something was missing…a key part of his ensemble.

“Ah, where is his bow tie?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? We had to return it to him, the fabric of it was too thin, it would’ve burnt up in the dryer.”

“Oh, well thank you.” (Y/n) said,”everything looks like it’s in order.”

“Have a good day!” The worker said, earning a nod from (Y/n) as she walked out of the dry cleaners.

‘He wore that bow tie often’ (Y/n) thought to herself,’ Maybe since I pissed him off earlier today, I can get him another to make it up to him.’

She strolled by the clothing district before entering the tailors shop, browsing the different selection of items for a while before the clerk cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I’m looking for a bow tie with a certain fabric to it. It’s rather thin, I need a replacement.”

“You? A replacement?” The man chuckled, looking over at her,”I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I dare say I don’t think you’re in the tax bracket to be purchasing that.”

“I’ll purchase what I please.” (Y/n) retorted, her dead eyes looking into the man’s cocky ones

“Oh really? And who is this for?”

“Vox.”

The man started howling in laughter,”YOU?! FOR THE TECH OVERLORD?? OH PLEASE I-“

(Y/n) briskly walked over and slammed the man’s head down on the table.

“Yes. I suggest you make it quick due to your little interruption.”

“And why should I?”

(Y/n) gripped him by the hair, making his eyes meet hers,”Vox is my boyfriend, and so help me I’ll let him tear you limb from limb just because I said pretty please, now fucking do it.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He said, as she let go of his hair, he scrambled to the back room to give her a lavish tie. Instead of the navy blue one he had previously, it was near black with bright blue strips adorning the sides of the fabric where it curved in on itself.

“Hmm, this will do.” (Y/n) said, snatching the box before walking away.

“W-Wait, aren’t you going to pay?”

“Pay? You should be dead where you stand for messing with me today. This is your pay.”

And with that, she walked out of the store, leaving the man shocked.

————

8:00pm

Walking into Vox’s office, (Y/n) looked around to see Vox nowhere in sight.

“Ah right,” (Y/n) muttered to herself, despite the fact that very action got her in a tight situation with her boss earlier that day,”Meeting with Valentino. I’ll just set his stuff down here.”

(Y/n) looked around once more, before setting his clothes neatly on the desk. Patting it down to remove it of any lint that couldn’t accrued on the bag, before setting the nicely wrapped gift atop of it, adorning it with a letter signed to him.

————

9:00pm

Vox groggily walked back into his office, after his “productive” meeting with Valentino on his public image. Not a word went to that moth’s head. One ear and out the freaking other.

He closed his eyes, plopping down unceremoniously into his chair, not even bothering for the brooding dramatics this time.

Rubbing his eyes, he really contemplated calling it quits early tonight. But alas, Vox never does, that’s the mantra of a workaholic.

His digital eyes fluttering open once more, he gazed upon the clothes neatly laid there for him. Smiling he looked at it before his smile turned into confusion. Why was there a box? Wrapped with a ribbon…?

He slowly and gently grabbed onto the small box, unwrapping it like an inpatient child on Christmas morning, only to reveal a new bow tie, the one he ached for the entire day.

This one was nicer though, how she scrounged up some money to “buy it”, he didn’t know, but he was eternally grateful.

His eye caught the letter that was now sitting beside where the box was, it fell off when Vox took the box. He held the envelope and slit the seal with his claw like a letter opener.

“Dear Vox,

I sincerely apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I just don’t really know how to process everything. I feel like you’d understand being mechanical and all, but I don’t know how to process emotion.

Normally, I feel nothing towards anyone, but there’s something weird going on. This strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you, and you specifically.

Feel free to ignore this, but here’s my number. Contact me if you are willing to help my predicament. Enjoy the gift regardless, you deserve it. Also, stop coming to work at 5 in the morning. You’re not sneaky, I see when you’ve clocked in on your schedule.

-(Y/n) (L/n)”

Vox was beaming, a pure genuine smile. He might be a lovestruck fool, but she’s ignorantly in love.

————

Word Count: 2,540

(Part 3?)

TAGLIST

@burningfishkidlamp

@koji-akeme

@callmechito

@neito327

@chocolat3pudding

@yellowsubiesdance

[foreingersgod]

Can you write kate Martin x reader that she’s completely whipped by but they get into an argument and Kate says something she didn’t mean?

Wedding Planning . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: kate says something she doesn’t mean and it puts your relationship at risk.

A/N: guys i think this is my favorite kate fic so far

my masterlist

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

it had felt like you’ve known kate for a lifetime, having been together for 5 years. so naturally, when she proposed to you on your anniversary, you could hardly contain your excitement. there were tears, kissing and laughing (and the best engagement sex ever). it was the absolute best night of your life.

since you were a little girl you had dreamed of your wedding. you were obsessed with wedding dresses and falling in love, constantly imaging what your life was going to look like. when you’d play outside you’d make wedding bouquets out of wild flowers, or when you would draw portraits they’d always depict you walking down the isle. now that you were grown and engaged to the love of your life, you couldn’t wait to get started on planning the wedding.

kate, although she was equally ecstatic to get married, wasn’t as keen on wedding planning. she was more laid back with decisions and didn’t have any particular opinions on how she wanted it to look. ‘just as long as you’re happy, babe’ she would say. you didn’t mind all that much, in fact it made your life easier. you had full reign to make your wedding exactly how you had pictured it.

on the downside, it felt like you were doing this all alone when you really wished it was something you two could do together. you just wanted to sit down, after kate came home from practice and you from work, and look through different flowers and centerpieces. you wanted to do cake testings and pick out color schemes. but kate’s answer was always the same when you asked: ‘whatever you like, i like’.

you knew that possibly couldn’t be true. kate was an open book and you knew literally everything about her. there had to be at least one cake flavor she despised or one flower she didn’t like, there’s no way she was fine with anything. sometimes you felt irritated that there weren’t any disagreements about the wedding, she accepted any ideas you threw her way and it really bothered you. planning a wedding, throwing a party in honor of your love for one another, should be about what both of you want.

it had already been months since your engagement and the wedding was rolling around quicker than expected. within days, you became stressed and overwhelmed. there were still so many decisions to make, so many people to call, so many things that still needed to be made perfect. these past few weeks have been incredibly hectic, and to no surprise, you felt isolated and alone. perhaps it was just typical bridal anxiety, or maybe it was the fact that your fiancé wanted nothing to do with helping prepare for your big day.

one late night, around 12 am, you sat on the floor of your shared living room. you had came home late from a night shift at work, waiting up for kate to come home from a night out with the team. with the wedding being so close you decided to spend the extra time tying loose ends and checking things off your to do list. you always waited for kate when she was out late, it was near impossible to sleep without her, so you didn’t mind.

there were folders and binders spread on the coffee table in front of you. little scraps of color samples and inspiration pictures took up every square inch, various phone numbers and addresses also scattered every which way. to any outsider, it’d seem like chaos, but you enjoyed the sweet moments of wedding planning.

not long after you organized the floral section of your wedding binder, you heard the lock of the front door click open. it was followed by the creak of the hinges and heavy footsteps. you looked over from your spot on the ground, seeing kate drop her bag at the door and kick her shoes off. she was tired, you could tell, but still buzzing from hanging out with her teammates.

“hey, baby! you’re home!” you smiled as she approached you. she leant down to press a chaste kiss to your lips before setting down on the couch that you sat against.

“hey,” she was slightly out of breath. she was leaning over your shoulder now, eyeing the mess on the table “wedding stuff? this late?”

“yeah, i wanted to keep myself busy while i waited for you”

“gotcha” with a monotone response, she was already dismissing you and pulling out her phone. she didn’t ask about what you were arranging or what folder you were working on, but instead she was checking instagram?

it made your blood boil slightly, the way that she was completely clueless to anything wedding related.

“want to help me?” you asked, looking back at her “if you’re gonna be up for a little longer, i’d like the help”

“you know me, babe. i’m really not good with that, you’ve got the eye for all of it” she didn’t even bother to make eye contact with you.

“really?” you choked back a scoff, torn between wanting to be mad and confront her or letting the matter roll over.

“what do you mean ‘really’?” now she was paying attention, typical.

“don’t worry about it, let’s just go to to bed” you pushed yourself off the floor, putting on your slippers and heading for the stairs. before you could move, however, kate had grabbed your wrist gently to keep you in place.

“well i am worried,” her face contorted to any angry frown “why are you mad all of the sudden?”

“because kate, you’re pissing me off”

“what the hell did i do?”

you wanted to scream, the emotion starting to build up inside of you. for months you had been annoyed with how she left all the wedding stuff for you to do. how she didn’t even want to be involved in this made you feel like you weren’t doing this wedding to proclaim your love, that you were really just doing it for yourself.

it wasn’t your intention to pick this fight tonight, but oh god did you just want to get it all off your chest.

“i’m pissed because you don’t even want to help with this wedding, kate! you can’t even sit down with me for 5 minutes and help me organize a fucking folder”

“that’s not true i-”

“no it is!” you didn’t even want to hear the bullshit that was bout to spew from her mouth. she remained on the couch, jaw clenched in anger as you cut her off “every time i ask you to do something, you blow me off and leave me to do it by myself! you have no interest in doing any of it with me”

“babe, i’m just not good at that stuff. i thought you wanted to plan this?” she was chewing at the inside of her cheeks now, you could tell she was trying to avoid this conversation.

“with you! i want to plan this with you! but for some reason you want no part in it! i have asked time and time again for a little help in hopes that you’d become interested in it. because in all honesty, kate, i don’t even care about the wedding being perfect. i just want to do it with you! i want you to care and to go to run wedding errands with me, i want you to want to do it with me, but you don’t even give a shit!”

her face started to turn red with annoyance, eyes pressed shut. her large hands covered her face as the ran down her cheeks. she was practically huffing as she sat there listening to you completely hound her for her disinterest.

“you haven’t even asked me about what flowers i decided to go with or shown any fucking interest in my god damn dress. my dress, kate, the part that i’m most excited for. you don’t even care about that and it hurts. and you dont ev-”

“jesus, i don’t care about the fucking wedding, YN!”

she could have just punched you right in the face, it probably would have hurt less than hearing her say that. your heart dropped, noticing how she was seething in rage. jaw still clenched, hands tugging at the roots of her hair, trying to calm herself down.

your eyes welled with tears, body frozen as you tried to process what just happened. she she really not care at all? it didn’t take long for the tears to start spilling, running down your cheeks in heavy cascades. a sob struck your body, you tired to bite your lip to hold it back but it was no use.

“great,” you muttered. she finally looked up at, body softening when she realized what she said “glad i know how you feel”

“baby…” she stood up abruptly, trying to come over to you.

“save it, it’s clear that you don’t care about the wedding” more sobs took over you, it killed kate to see you like this. she was kicking herself internally for even thinking that. why did she say that?

“if it’s really that big of a deal” you stepped back when kate tried to reach for you hand to apologize “then let’s just call the whole thing off”

“YN, no” she begged, tears of her own building up “baby come on, i didn’t mean it, don’t say that”

“why not? i mean you don’t have any interest in it. like at all, not even enough to spend time with me to do it. so let’s just call it”

“i don’t want to call it off” her lips contorted to a frown “i wouldn’t have proposed if i didn’t want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. honey please, i don’t want to call it off”

“you’re not acting like it” is all you could say, you were truly speechless at this point. “why scream at me that you ‘don’t care about the wedding’ when i’m trying to express my feelings to you if you don’t want to call it off”

“because i’m a fucking idiot” her voice wobbled as she began to cry. the pattern of her tears mimicking yours “i don’t know why i said that, it’s not true even in the slightest. i’ve just been so stressed with everything recently and stuff with the wedding has just been so overwhelming, but at the end of the day i just want to marry you, baby. that’s no excuse, i’ll admit that i haven’t been a very good fiancé”

“no you haven’t” you crossed your arms, wiping away some of your tears “i know things are stressful…and i get that, but you don’t even seem interested. like you don’t want to do this with me”

“i do,” another wave of sadness washes over her “i think i’m just scared. things are happening so quick and change makes me nervous…our life is so perfect and i’m worried that i’m gonna fuck it up somehow. whether it’s planning the wedding or being a shitty wife, i feel like im going to fail”

“kate…” you swallowed deeply. it sent another pang to your heart knowing that this is how she felt all along “is that really how you feel? like you’re going to fail?”

she nodded, sniffling as she looked down at her feet in embarrassment. you ran over to her in an instant to pull her into your arms. she collapsed into your body, arms wrapping around your waist, chin sitting atop your shoulder as she cried to you. your hands rubbed her back smoothly, letting her get all of it out.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry that i’ve been so shitty” you could feel your shirt dampen with teardrops “you don’t deserve any of this. i can’t believe i said i don’t care, i never meant it, i swear”

“hey hey hey,” your hand now finding the back of her head, running your fingers through her hair “it’s going to be ok, i get it, we can work past that. but the last thing i want is for you to feel like you’re going to be a shitty wife. baby, i don’t think you could be a bad wife even if you tried”

“you’re just saying that”

“i’m not! i mean it! you’re the love of my life and i think you’re perfect inside and out. i wouldn’t have said yes if i didn’t accept every part of you. we’ll have ups and downs like everyone does, but that doesn’t mean i don’t still love you and it certainly doesn’t make you a shitty wife”

she released you from the hug when you took ahold of her shoulders. you ran your palms up and down her biceps before moving to her face, fingers grazing her cheekbones.

“it’s going to be ok, alright?” you cracked a smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead as you got up on your tip toes.

“i’m sorry, i love you so much” she pulled you in for a real kiss, this time, lips coming into contact with yours.

“i love you too”

after that night, kate made it her mission to change. she started helping out more, like you had asked, but she was also doing things on her own. kate picked out her suit, called the wedding photographer, and a handful of other things on your list. it was clear to you now that she just needed reassurance. it was going to take sometime to recover from what she had said to you, but you knew none of it was true and it was something you could work past.

you just wanted to marry your girl.

and marry her, you did.

[reiding-writing]

may i request getting stuck in an elevator with early season Spence after hours at the BAU and the lights go out and obviously him being terrified of the dark he starts panicking and reader has to comfort him until he eventually explains his fear of the dark in relation to something happening in his childhood. just some angst and hurt/comfort ig? I live and breathe your content <3

malfunction [ s.r ]

Summary:

You and Spencer end up staying late to finish some paperwork after a case, when you finally vacate into the elevator to leave it breaks down, revealing some secrets harboured by both of you and strengthening your relationship in the process.

WARNINGS: claustrophobia, nyctophobia, arachnophobia, mentions of spencer’s bullying

pairing: s1!spencer x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

masterlist!!

a/n: glad i’ve curated an audience of angst and hurt/comfort enjoyers <33

It was late.

12:06AM to be exact.

Silence riddled the bullpen, making the usually bustling office stand completely still.

You might’ve found it a little disturbing if not for Spencer sat a few desks down from you, his mere presence stopping your mind from running rampant with irrational fears of ghosts or demons that might lurk in the dark corners of the room.

It was a little stupid sure, your lanky book-genius of a coworker held no chance of being able to physically protect you from whatever your brain could conjure up, but the mind works in wonderous ways, and he offered you an unintentional blanket of security nonetheless.

You could hear the loose papers of his files rustle as he closed the manilla folder, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses with a sigh.

Looks like Spencer was done for the night. And by that logic, so were you.

You mirror Spencer as you shut your file, packing it away in your messenger bag and tucking your chair under your desk as you stand, the two of you silently acknowledging each other’s presence as you reach the elevator.

You could practically feel the fatigue surrounding the both of you as you stepped inside, your tiredness bouncing off each other and making you more desperate to crawl into bed and knock out for the night.

It didn’t last for very long.

A loud clunking sound echoed through the metal walls of the elevator, followed by it jolting to a stop, and you had to grip onto the metal bar lining the wall so you didn’t lose your balance.

Your eyes turn first to the small screen above the door, flickering between the numbers 2 and 3 as if it can’t decide what floor you’re currently on.

Then they turn to Spencer.

Spencer's breathing is uneven and his body tense, eyes darting around the tiny enclosed space with a distinct air of panic.

“Reid? Are you alright?” You raise an eyebrow at him, your expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"N-No, no! I am not alright! This is my worst nightmare come to life." Spencer presses himself against the far wall, as if plastering himself to it will make him part of the elevator and therefore unable to be injured if something goes wrong.

“You do know how unlikely it is to actually get any sort of injury from an elevator accident right?”

"One out of ten point five million. I know that. But this isn't about logic this is about fear." He turns away as he speaks, taking a few breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. "I'm-I'm claustrophobic. And this is not helping."

“Okay- okay- let’s just calm down for a second,” You hold up a hand in Spencer’s direction. You never took him as somebody to have irrational fears like this. You always figured that he’d just use his knowledge to rationalise what was happening and move on. Apparently not.

Spencer looks back at you and nods, taking in another deep breath.

“I'm trying. It's just-“ The elevator makes a rumbling sound that elicits what you can only classify as a whimper to leave his throat. “I can't do this. I can't be stuck in this tiny space for an unknown amount of time. I can't. I just can't. Please. Please, someone. Someone has to know we're in here. They have to.”

“Reid- Calm down.”

You let go of the bar you were holding onto to walk over to Spencer, placing your hands cautiously on his shoulders.

"I-I'm trying. I'm trying."

But he doesn't actually seem to be any better than he was before. His body is shaking, his breaths shaking and uneven.

He's getting very close to having a full blown panic attack.

“Sit down,” You push gently against his shoulders to encourage him to sit, following after him yourself to sit in front of him with your legs crossed underneath you.

Spencer lets out a trembling breath. "What if we die in here? What if no one comes? What if something goes wrong?"

“We’re going to be fine,”

You hold out a hand palm up in your lap as open invitation for him to take it if he needs to.“just take slow breaths Reid,”

"I-I'm trying." He looks down at your hand and almost reaches out for you, but hesitates before yanking his hand back.

He looks away and forces his breath to slow down again. "What if we're in here for hours?"

“Elevators have failsafes Reid, it’ll sort itself out don’t worry,”

Spencer takes a shuddered breath in through his nose, closing his eyes as he repeats your words in his head.

It’ll sort itself out. He doesn’t need to worry.

He meets your eyes with a small nod and you sigh, giving him a sympathetic smile that reassures him he’s going to be fine.

Unfortunately, all of your efforts to calm him down are quickly reversed as the lights cut out, sending the elevator into complete darkness.

His sudden blindness brings a startled cry from Spencer, his body instinctively trying to protect himself and in that split second of shock he grabs your hand.

He clutches at it tightly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Everything’s fine-“ You return his startled grip with a light squeeze of your own.

The grip around your hand feels firm and shaky but the contact helps to ground him, bringing some of his panic down a notch or two.

“It's not f-fine. It's dark. I don’t like the dark . I hate it.”

“You’re scared of the dark?” You sound more surprised than you mean to, and although you can’t pinpoint all of his features in the shadows, you’re sure you can see his eyebrows knit together.

“11% of the US adult population is afraid of the dark.” His tone carries an air of defensiveness through his fear, although he doesn’t seem offended enough at your comment to sacrifice the physical comfort that your hand is offering in his.

“Oh- no- I didn’t mean it as a bad thing-“ You shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you, tightening your hold on his hand as an offer of reassurance. “I just- didn’t see you as somebody to have a fear of the dark is all-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You can hear the slight waver in his voice as he speaks, clearly trying to distract himself in your questions so he doesn’t have to think about his current situation.

You’d also wager he has his eyes shut, as ironic as it is.

“I just meant- you know- your brain rationalises everything so quickly that I figured you just wouldn’t have fears like this?”

He chuckles nervously, the sound echoing in the darkness. "Well, even the most rational minds have their quirks, I suppose. Fear doesn't always follow logic." The tension in his voice begins to ease, and he opens up a bit more.

“Is there a reason you have a fear of the dark?” You could understand his claustrophobia to a certain level, but nyctophobia wasn’t something very common in adults, especially ones who work as field agents for the FBI.

“I uh- it was just something that happened when I was younger, it’s stupid really-” Spencer skirts your question with a half-truth, not divulging any details of his seemingly irrational fear of the dark.

He shifts slightly, adjusting to find a more comfortable position on the floor, his hand tugging yours and in the process forcing you to change your seating position as well.

You squeeze his hand gently. "Do you wanna talk about it? People usually find it easier to rationalise their fears if they voice them to another person,” You use Spencer’s own intelligence against him in the hope that it’ll get him to open up.

As much as you had learned about him in the past two years, you still knew surprisingly little about Dr. Spencer Reid and his life outside of the office.

You knew all about his academics, how he liked his coffee with as much sugar as humanely possible, how under normal circumstances he would rather lick a toilet seat than shake someone’s hand.

But you didn’t really know him; And you figured this might be a good place to start.

“I… It’s not something I like to dwell on,” He tries to shut down your questioning once more, clearing his throat to try and rid of the lump that forms when he thinks back to the origins of his fears. “It’s not exactly a nice thing to remember,”

“I get that, some of my childhood memories aren’t the best either,” You let out a breath that could almost constitute as a laugh of exasperation. “But it might help, and i’m sure that just getting it off your chest will give you piece of mind nonetheless,”

You can hear Spencer take in a breath through his nose, and through the small adaptation your eyes had made to the darkness you could just barely see his lips purse into a line, debating whether or not to divulge his childhood to you.

It’s not like he didn’t trust you with it. Quite the opposite. He’d come to enjoy your presence over the time you’d spent working together.

You didn’t judge his intelligence, nor did you reduce him to it. You just saw him as another person and it was something that he was incredibly grateful for.

He knew you wouldn’t make fun of him if he told you, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was worried that you’d pity him.

That you’d treat him like some fragile object that would break if you spoke too loudly in its presence.

That’s something that he’d never want.

“I- don’t want you to think of me differently…” His voice was still laced with fear as he spoke, but this time it wasn’t a fear of the dark metal box he was trapped in; It was a fear of how your view of him would change.

“Reid…”

“I don’t want to be pitied or have people walk on eggshells for the sake of hurting my feelings…” You can practically feel his apprehension through the way his hand tenses in yours.

“Reid-“

“I’ve just managed to get people to treat me normally and I don’t want all of that to go down the drain-“

“Spencer.”

You can see his eyes snap upwards towards yours as you raise your voice, and you pull his left hand into your own to hold both of them in your lap, eyes chasing his in the darkness to maintain eye contact. “You’re human. Humans have fears and they have bad memories, and it’s not going to change anything about how I treat you.”

“Tell you what,” You give his hands a squeeze, leaning forwards slightly towards him to try and get a better look at his face. “I’ll tell you one of my childhood tragedies if you tell me yours, deal?”

He goes silent as he ponders your offer, ending with a small nod that you can only half see. “Okay…”

“Okay,” You return his nod with your own, running your thumbs over the backs of his hands. “So, i’ll go first,”

“When I was eight, my cousin thought it’d be a good idea to let his pet tarantula crawl all over my face whilst I was sleeping, and I woke up with it half in my mouth,” You practically shudder at the memory. “Needless to say I developed arachnophobia after that,”

You laugh breathily, shaking your head slightly. “It was not very fun,”

“Why would he do that?”

You shrug slightly, arms moving enough that he can feel it where your fingers connect. “He was a bit of a bully if i’m honest, but he’s matured since then thank god,”

“Are you- still afraid of spiders?” Spencer’s eyes practically shine in the darkness, big, round and glistening with curiosity as they scan your face from beneath his glasses.

“Promise not to make fun of me?” Your question is answer enough, but he still nods softly nonetheless. “I think they’re terrifying,”

“Almost 20% of the US population has arachnophobia, it’s a very common fear to have,”

“So is a fear of the dark,” You bring the conversation back to Spencer’s fear once more. “Willing to tell me its origin story yet?”

Spencer sighs, his shoulders slumping and his head leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “It’s-“ He exhales through his nose, his eyes diverting from yours to stare at your interconnected hands.

“When I was in school I was bullied a lot…” He purses his lips and you nod. As sad as it is you’re not exactly surprised.

Someone as insanely intelligent as him was unfortunately bound to be tormented by those who were academically inferior to him, it’s a by-product of jealousy.

“They uh… stripped me down and tied me to a goal post, and- then they just left me there-“ Spencer’s throat catches as he speaks, and you can see through the way his eyes flicker around that he’s replaying the memory in his head.

“I- managed to untie myself after a while, but I spent over an hour searching for all of my clothes and ended up walking home in the dark half dressed…” Spencer’s lip quivers as he reaches the end of his explanation.

“I don’t think i’ve ever been more scared in my life…”

“I’m so sorry they did that to you…” Your eyebrows furrow with sympathy, and you shift your hold on his hands to intertwine your fingers with his. “Nobody should have to experience that…”

Spencer exhales, and you can hear the shake in his breath. “I thought if I just buried it that i’d forget, but I still remember it like it happened yesterday…”

The curse of an eidetic memory you suppose. Destined to remember every detail of the worst experiences you’d ever had.

Although you’re sure that Spencer wouldn’t need an eidetic memory to have what happened to him burned into his brain.

“Spencer…”

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer shakes his head, attempting to pull his hands out of yours. “I told you it was stupid-“

“Hey. No.” You close your hands around his to stop him from pulling away. “That is in no way stupid at all.”

“You went through something awful and developed a fear because of it. That is the furthest thing from stupid Reid,”

“I just-”

You cut off Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal with a pull of your hands in his, separating them only to wrap your arms around him in a hug. “No excuses.”

Spencer is stiff in your embrace, unsure of what exactly he should be doing. Should he hug you back? Should he pull away to regain his personal space?

He wasn’t exactly sure. He did however, feel like he was going to cry.

He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from falling down his face and hiding his face against the curve of your shoulder so that you wouldn’t be able to see the shadow of his expression.

God he was pathetic.

Sat in his coworkers embrace because he was scared of the goddamn dark.

On the verge of tears because of something that happened twelve years ago.

A twenty four year old man. A fully grown adult.

His shoulders begin to tremble as he thinks about it, and you can feel the way his breath catches in his throat as you bring your hand to the back of his head to hold him closer to you.

“This is pathetic i’m sorry…” He shakes his head against your shoulder, hindered slightly by the way his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.

“Shhh,” You shake your head in tandem with his, leaning your cheek against the side of his head as you rub your hand over his back. “Don’t be silly,”

"You're not pathetic, Spencer," You reassure him, your voice gentle. "Everyone has their own fears and struggles. It takes strength to open up about them."

He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself. "I just never thought I'd be so affected by it for this long."

"Trauma doesn't have a set expiration date," you say softly. "It's okay to still be working through things. And you don't have to face it alone."

Spencer finally relaxes a bit in your embrace, allowing himself to accept the comfort you're offering. "Thank you," he mumbles, his voice barely audible against the fabric of your shirt.

“No problem-“ You don’t finish your sentence before the lights come back on, causing you to squint from the sudden brightness.

The sudden light flooding the elevator exposes the position the two of you had found yourself in, your legs tangled together as Spencer sits in your embrace with your arms around his torso and his hands resting limply by your waist.

“See?” You pull his face away from your shoulder gently, leaning back to finally get a fully clear view of his face. “Nothing to worry about,”

“Yeah…” He nods softly, eyes still a little red from holding back his tears, and he sniffles as he pulls away from you properly when the elevator starts moving downwards again.

“Do you want a ride home?” Your invitation is obvious as you two of you pick yourselves up from the floor, your eyes silently encouraging him to accept your proposal.

“I-“ The elevator came to another halt, this time thankfully opening its doors on the ground for the two of you to leave.

He had his train ticket in his pocket, but he was willing to forget it for now.

“That would be great, thank you…”

“No problem Spencer, let’s get outta here,”

He tries to brush aside the way he feels when you call him by his first name, nodding softly with pursed lips.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here…”

[shuahoonie]

unspoken words | jeon wonwoo

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo (svt) x fem!reader

notes: office!au (kinda?), fluff, suggestive jokes, swearing, idiots 2 lovers. alcohol consumption, jeonghan the matchmaker. the one where reader and wonwoo’s paths kept missing each other until they didn’t. loosely based on the song unspoken words by mxmtoon.

word count: 5.1k

summary: you and wonwoo always had a complicated relationship— no matter how hard you two tried, your lives had a funny way of getting intertwined.

and stubborn may you both be, wonwoo will always admit his feat when it comes to you.

part of the to x, with love mini series

shuahoonie's masterlist | to x, with love masterlist

“i never asked you to stay,” wonwoo muttered as you helped him clean up after the info session that your work had conducted for a group of students.

“this is ridiculous,” you sighed more so to yourself “there’s no way you could’ve done this by yourself.” you said while you held the blue recycling bin, gathering all of the leftover flyers and other papers that had writing on them. you also had a separate bin for the coffee lids and cup sleeves to put in the recycling as well.

“you could’ve just left,” wonwoo was watching you the entire time, making a mental note that you were serious about putting away your trash. “i know seokmin is waiting for you in the lobby.”

“it’s okay.” you replied, not even bothering to look him in the eye. instead, you gathered everything in a neat pile.

“you shouldn’t keep him waiting,” the words came out so harsh when he said it. even wonwoo was surprised, he wasn’t usually like this.

“he’ll be fine,” you said dismissively, not really in the mood to argue with him.

“yn,” wonwoo calls your name as if he hated doing it. “go.”

it took everything within you to stop yourself from yelling at him. “your anger will mean nothing,” seokmin’s words would ring in your ear. so you took a deep breath, dropped what you were doing and left without another word.

“oh, seok, i was ready to pounce him.” you grumbled, stabbing the lettuce on your salad a little too aggressively.

"what, like sexually?" seokmin realized it was a bad joke. the way you were practically throwing daggers at him made it painfully obvious that you were not in the mood to kid around. "i'm sorry, yn, but you really need to lighten up."

"if there's anyone who needs to lighten up, it's him," you argued, munching on your greens. "in fact, maybe i should light him up."

"i still don't understand how you two got off on the wrong foot," seokmin points out, hoping a proper explanation will emit from you.

you shrugged because you didn’t know what to tell your friend. the first time you properly met wonwoo was at your workplace. you even thought he was cute— quiet, had the nicest smile. your other coworkers were even raving about how polite and kind he was.

imagine your surprise when the ‘polite’ cutie from the editorial floor practically threw daggers at you as soon as you stepped into the office with the cerulean blue folders. this threw off wonwoo as he did the preparation for the meeting.

“in my defence, i saved both our asses when i replaced the folders during that important meeting with the new york office,” you grumbled.

unbeknownst to you, wonwoo kept a close track of your encounters. the first time wonwoo met you was through university.

you were the president of the school’s undergraduate publication journal and you were only in your second year. wonwoo was one of the new student recruits, he was a third year. he actually thought you were cute until you had assigned him to deal with international relations— wonwoo had applied for the editorial layout section. wonwoo was not happy.

you probably don’t remember him, wonwoo knew it. how could you? you were running around, trying to figure out the logistics, gather and have people review these submissions, edit and have it all printed before the next term starts. meanwhile, wonwoo was stuck somewhere, trying to solve things on his end. you only left notes on his work, you two barely met during meetings. you two had no direct contact.

once you were in your third year, you had to step down as president and become a casual editor instead. wonwoo became the publication journal’s president that year. you two still had no direct contact.

you unintentionally beat him for that librarian assistant position that wonwoo was gunning for as it'll boost his resume.

somehow, for wonwoo, you were always one step ahead of him and he doesn't like that one bit.

so the day you pranced into the office with your signature bright smile, wonwoo felt territorial over a place where he felt like he finally was one step ahead of you.

wonwoo didn't even like that seungcheol served you the last chocolate cake the day he stopped by at heaven's cloud cafe.

"how could you, cheol?" wonwoo huffed, his arms crossed, as cheol placed the iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on wonwoo's table.

"it's just a slice, dude," seungcheol looked at him weirdly. "and you don't even like chocolate.”

“yeah, but i wanted a chocolate cake today.”

“jeon wonwoo, quit being weird and eat your cake,” jun comments as he appears behind seungcheol, dropping his things on the floor and sitting on the opposite of wonwoo.

while jun waits for his order to arrive, he worked on the monthly report that his boss has been pressuring him to do. as jun went on rambling about how much he hates his job, wonwoo is occupied with the idea of you. how you were always a step ahead of him.

from then, jeon wonwoo declared a one-sided competition against you.

your idea of jeon wonwoo was simple— he was the cute guy from the editorial team who hates your guts. why? surely, you don’t know.

one rainy afternoon, seokmin made sure to tell you that he won’t be able to give you a ride home, so he gave you the spare umbrella that he had.

“please be kind, ynnie, and let someone stand under your umbrella if they don’t have theirs,” seok reminded you.

“you know damn well i’m always kind,” you huffed with a pout— in which seok just gave you a pointed look before he handed you an umbrella and your lunch.

it seemed that your words had come to haunt you because here you were, walking under the rain using seok’s tiny umbrella, passing by wonwoo who was waiting in front of the office building— probably waiting for the rain to stop as he had no umbrella.

“he’d be waiting all night,” you thought to yourself. you had a long internal battle whether you’d just ignore him but seok’s words were ringing in your ear.

taking a deep breath, you asked “do you want to share an umbrella?”

wonwoo’s startled eyes looked at you and your umbrella. “i’m calling a cab,” he answered. wonwoo wasn’t exactly lying, he’s been trying to get one but the rain has made it extremely difficult to find one.

“well, you’d be calling all night. cabs are extremely hard to find especially at times like these,” you answered. wonwoo hated that you were right. again, always one step ahead of him. “subways are still running, do you want to walk together?”

wonwoo stared at you for what felt like an eternity before you rolled your eyes and pulled him under your umbrella. “we’re walking, stop overthinking it.”

you two were walking quietly in the rain. you’ve been coworkers for almost a year now and you can’t remember the time you and wonwoo had a proper conversation— one that you two didn’t end up bickering about senseless things. you didn’t even know why you two were always butting heads when you two were always working closely together. 

as you tried to squeeze the two of you under seok’s tiny umbrella, you noticed that his shoulder was practically soaking wet. of all the umbrellas that he’d give you, he had to choose the tiniest one he owned. this prompted you to hover the umbrella more on his side, allowing the rain to soak your exposed shoulder instead. 

wonwoo noticed how you moved the umbrella towards him, making him raise an eyebrow. you were wonwoo’s greatest puzzle— he can’t guess your next move and what’s worse is that you’re always one step ahead of him. “what are you doing?” he asked with furrowed brows. 

you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how tall he is. no wonder your arms were getting tired from holding that damn umbrella up. “what do you mean?” you asked, confused by his question.

wonwoo grabbed the umbrella from you— your hands touching for a brief moment. you ignored whatever was forming in the pit of your stomach. maybe you’re just hungry? wonwoo hovered the umbrella closer to you, fully aware of the fact that his shoulder was getting wet from the rain. “you’re getting soaked,” wonwoo replied curtly. 

“so are you,” you pointed out as you held the umbrella and tried to move it closer to him. however, wonwoo resisted it. 

“i’m fine,” he says. 

“whatever you say,” you huffed “it’s not like you intended to have annoyingly broad shoulders anyway,” you grumbled more to yourself, hoping he didn’t hear it. however, wonwoo heard your frustration over his shoulders and he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. 

it was the first time he could openly admit to himself that you made him smile. it was also the first time you caught him smiling.

“oh, how adorable,” mingyu grinned upon hearing the umbrella-sharing story from wonwoo. “and you said you weren’t one for office romances,” he teased earning a glare from wonwoo. 

"because i'm not," wonwoo rolled his eyes "and i don't like her," he said almost defensively.

mingyu snorted "yeah, as if i haven't heard that line before." he said while setting up the living room for a movie night between him, wonu, jun, and chan. jun and ichan were running a little late as they were buying drinks.

"well, it's true," wonwoo crossed his arms "there's something about her that makes me feel like..." wonwoo trailed off, finding the right words to say.

"like?" mingyu sat on the couch, turning towards wonwoo— clearly invested.

"like... fuck, i don't know..."

mingyu lets out a dramatic gasp. "dude," he stares at wonwoo in complete awe. "you swore..."

"and?"

"you never swear unless you're completely frustrated," mingyu pointed out, a teasing look glimmering in his eyes. "you like yn, huh?!"

before wonwoo could even answer, mingyu's doorbell rang. saved by the bell, wonwoo thought.

"oh, this is not over, jeon wonwoo." mingyu said with a smirk, making wonwoo groan.

"seok, quit looking at me like that," you whined as you hugged the pillow tighter, placing your chin on top of the pillow.

"what?" seok grinned "it's nice to know that your beef with your coworker is slowly coming to an end."

"he was probably thinking how ridiculous i sounded for mentioning his shoulders," you grumbled. "why did i even mention his shoulders?!" you groaned.

seokmin couldn't help but laugh at how adorable you were being. "oh my sweet, ynnie," he cooed, ruffling your hair.

"here you go, yn," vernon said as he handed you a pint of ice cream. you were hosting a sleepover with seok, vern, and kwan. you three were waiting for seungkwan to arrive with the rest of the snacks.

you initially thought that you'd have the ice cream later but vernon thought that you might need it sooner than later. "thanks, nonie," you smiled at him.

"for what it's worth ynnie, he finally smiled at what you said." vernon said before taking a bite of his ice cream.

"and now yn is acting up because she thought he was cute," seokmin said teasingly, making vernon laugh.

wonwoo believes that the universe is out to get him. he kept complaining that you were always one step ahead of him and now, the universe is starting to retaliate.

"take yn," his manager tells him, making wonwoo clutch tighter on his notebook.

"sir?" wonwoo must be hearing things. there's no way that his manager actually asked him to take yn, right?

"take yn ln," his manager stresses your name. "didn't you two work on the last summit?"

"yes, but sir—"

"then it's final," his manager dismisses wonwoo "you two did a wonderful job with the last summit, i'd like you two to work on this year's professional development sessions."

"you two make a wonderful team," was the final thing that his manager said. without another word, wonwoo left the office feeling defeated. how can wonwoo be one step ahead of you if the universe is making him walk alongside you?

it was no surprise that wonwoo was everyone's office crush in the editorial department. people would often turn their heads whenever he walked by. this time was no exception.

the people on your floor knew the budding tension between you two. so when wonwoo was walking towards your desk with two coffees and a bag of dessert in hand, heads definitely turned and people were bound to talk.

"here," wonwoo hands you an iced americano and a bag of what you assumed was a slice of chocolate cake, catching you off-guard. your desk computer was showing the available job listings in the other departments. "are you thinking of transferring?" he asked as he leaned closer to your monitor— closer to you. his cologne was easily filling your nostrils. you hate that he smells good. how are you supposed to despise a man who smells good?! you thought. wow, the bar is literally on the floor.

"i'm keeping my options open," you answered as you crossed your arms, snapping yourself to reality. "it's not like you're making my life any easier here," you muttered the latter sentence, though you did hope that he heard it.

it's been a month since you and wonwoo started working on the company's professional development sessions. it's also been a month of torture. you've gotten frequent migraines that you started looking up if taking tylenol frequently will kill you. you didn't like the results.

wonwoo heard the latter sentence. while the month has been torture for you, wonwoo didn't mind your company at all. sure you were butting heads most of the time, but he noticed how much you were willing to compromise just to settle a conclusion between you two. wonwoo liked pushing your buttons. he found you cute even if you wanted to bite his head off.

"is this a peace offering?" you motioned to the coffee and the cake that was sitting on your desk.

"for what?" wonwoo smirked, playing coy. "you agreed to the after-session event, fair and square."

"bitch?!" you stared at him as if he's gone mad "if anything, you made it your life's mission to annoy me into agreeing that going to an escape room is what we need after overloading our brains from the sessions."

"yn ln, you know i can go to HR because you cursed at me, right?"

"jeon wonwoo, you know we're banned from that floor unless there's a serious allegation," you said, massaging your temples. "now humour me, what's with the coffee and cake?"

"oh, i stopped by at heaven's cloud café earlier and jeonghan practically insisted that you have these," wonwoo said casually, looking away.

you stared at him suspiciously, "thanks, i guess." you haven't spoken to jeonghan in a while since you've always been swamped with work. but maybe that's why you got free coffee and desserts?

before you could even ask wonwoo another question, he quickly left without even looking back at you. deciding to ignore it, you snapped a quick picture of the coffee and the cake, shooting jeonghan a quick text, "thanks for the coffee & cake, hannie! miss u! ♡"

"jeon wonwoo, is there a reason why yn sent me a text earlier, thanking me for the coffee and cake that i didn't give her?" jeonghan asked wonwoo, who was busy typing away on his laptop. wonwoo stopped at jeonghan's place after work as their other friends will be dropping by later as well.

"i don't know what you're talking about," wonwoo mumbled, not looking at han in the eye.

jeonghan was having none of it. "i'm texting yn that you gave those things to her," he threatened, pulling out his phone.

knowing jeonghan is probably going to commit to it, wonwoo sighed and threw his hands in defeat. "fine."

“and so the plot thickens,” jeonghan smirked, crossing his arms. “so is there a reason why?"

"she was having a rough day," wonwoo explained, closing his laptop. that report will be dealt with tomorrow. "i felt bad."

jeonghan raised an eyebrow at him. "i thought you didn't like her?"

"i don't."

"funny, because that's an odd way of expressing how you dislike her," jeonghan said, making wonwoo roll his eyes.

“i can at least recognize all the work she’s been doing in planning the pd session,” wonwoo replied, defensive.

jeonghan smirked because he knew. he knew that wonwoo was walking on a thin line. in fact, jeonghan was 100% sure that his friend has gone soft for you. “okay, whatever you say.”

“ynnie!” seungcheol calls your name as he spots you, busy choosing what kind of juice you are going to buy. you decided to stop by at the grocery to grab a couple of things for the fridge.

you gave him a small wave, smiling. seungcheol, however, was eager to give you a hug. you, cheol, and han shared a couple of classes back when you three were in university. you were always supportive of their endeavours that’s why cheol & han always had a soft spot for you— they considered you like a little sister that they always had to take care of.

“how was the cake from earlier? you know i’ve been taking a lot of baking lessons recently,” cheol said with a proud smile.

“oh, it was great, cheol!” you said sincerely “i sent jeonghan a text earlier, saying thanks.”

“thanks for what?”

“for the cake…?” you trailed off, a bit off-guard by the confusion plastered on seungcheol’s face.

“why would you thank jeonghan?” seungcheol asked, even more confused.

“jeonghan wasn’t there?”

cheol shook his head no. “unless jeonghan told wonwoo, but i assumed wonwoo bought it for you. i was teasing him about it too, since he doesn’t like chocolate that much.”

“ah,” was all you could say as you felt your cheeks burning, surprised by cheol’s sudden information. is that why jeonghan hasn't replied to your text at all?

cheol suddenly felt like he just triggered a bomb. oh, he fucked up. as if on cue, his phone started ringing. mingyu was calling. "okay, i'm heading off, ynnie."

you just nodded and waved goodbye, feeling confused. it was a good thing that you won't be seeing wonwoo during the weekend otherwise you would've gone mad.

heaven's cloud café was buzzing with people when you came in.

you spent a lot of time debating if you had to improvise how you would spend your sunday morning. you would usually stop by the heaven's cloud café and spend a good chunk of your time there— reading or chatting with jeonghan and seungcheol.

however, knowing that wonwoo might stop by at the cafe, it left you questioning if you wanted to derail your usual sunday routine.

and yet, your pride got the best of you. no matter how much you didn't want to see wonwoo, you weren't going to derail your sunday routine especially if it involved coffee.

although the café was usually busy on the weekends, today was unusually busy— you wondered if there was a special promotion taking place. jeonghan hasn't even acknowledged your presence yet as han is busy manning the till while also preparing the drinks. cheol is probably in the kitchen, preparing food.

you settled on the last empty table at the very back— dropping off your things, deciding to order a bit later once the line from the till calms down.

while you were busy scrolling on your phone, someone placed a tall glass of iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on your table.

"you should try this, it's a house favourite," someone with a deep voice said. you looked up and saw jeon wonwoo with slightly messy hair, wearing your favourite black specs and a white button-up, smiling at you. fuck, he looks good. is hell officially frozen?

"are you perhaps a twin of jeon wonwoo?" you asked, completely boggled.

"yn, what the hell?" wonwoo laughs at your incredulous take, making you even more confused. why is this wonwoo variant laughing and smiling at you? most of all, why are they bringing you food when you haven't even ordered?! "what made you say that?"

you reached out your hand and poked his cheek, making him laugh. "are you really wonwoo from sector17 press?"

"yn, seriously, what makes you think that it's not me?"

"why are you so smiley all of a sudden," you cried, weirded out. "and why are you serving me food?"

"my, do you like it when i give you a hard time?" wonwoo said, teasingly "is that a kink of yours?"

"you're fucking weird, jeon wonwoo," you smacked his arm. "i've never met the weekend version of wonwoo and i don't think i like it," you cried quietly to yourself.

"cute," wonwoo says quietly, still smiling at you. "i'll talk to you later, okay? i'm helping cheol and han for the day and i feel like they'll beat my ass if they see me slacking off." wonwoo gently ruffled your hair and walked away, leaving you flabbergasted.

you felt that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. oh god, what the fuck just happened?

the friday night that jeonghan found out that wonwoo used jeonghan’s good name to protect his image, was the same night that seungcheol bumped into you at the grocery store.

drinks were getting passed rather at a rapid speed. for them, this night was a gem among other nights. most of jeonghan’s friends were at his place, enjoying the night away.

“ya, wonwoo,” cheol suddenly calls wonwoo, who was barely drinking— as per cheol’s opinion. “i thought tonight was the night that you were going to get loose.”

wonwoo chuckled, “i’m pacing myself.”

jeonghan snorted. “cheol, you’re talking to the guy who still cannot admit his high school crush on our ynnie.”

this earned a couple of laughs from the group, mainly from mingyu and jun.

“yoon jeonghan, just because you’re in a happy relationship—” wonwoo threw a balled up napkin at him, obviously not knowing how to reply.

“oh, wons, that reminds me…” cheol started rubbing the back of his head “i told yn that it was you who gave her the food and not jeonghan.”

as soon as the words left cheol’s mouth, it’s as if wonwoo felt annoyingly sober. he downed the tall shot of bacardi that was supposed to be mingyu’s shot.

“i don’t get why you’re tiptoeing around your feelings for her,” mingyu pointed out, filling the shot glass again. “it’s not like there’s a company policy against dating your coworkers.”

“isn’t there?” joshua asked. wonwoo shook his head no. “lucky bastard.” shua muttered, taking mingyu’s shot.

“you guys, what’s the point of doing rounds when you’re taking the shots as you please?” mingyu whines.

“i thought you didn’t like yn?” jun asked wonwoo, taking a bite of the kimchi jeon. “or is that like a weird defence mechanism against your feelings?”

"oh please," mingyu rolled his eyes "wonwoo had a huge crush on yn ever since our uni days," he pointed out, prompting wonwoo to hit him.

"weren't you two in like a school publication together?" jeonghan asked, taking the shot from mingyu.

"oh, right! you had like a one-sided beef with yn," jun's eyes lit up briefly, then proceeded to smirk at wonwoo, "ya! is that how you show your affection?"

"obviously not," cheol grins "our wonwoo is the type to show his affection through actions, not words."

"what are the chances that they'd end up working under the same company though," joshua commented with a fond smile.

"and in the same department too," jeonghan added.

wonwoo groans, before taking a shot, "i hate all of you."

"you two have a deep history, have you two never talked?" joshua asked, now invested.

wonwoo shakes his head, "we only talk about work."

"if they talk about work," mingyu laughs, "all they do is argue."

"how do you know all of this, gyu?" cheol asked in disbelief, laughing, "you work at a different company."

"i work with seokmin," mingyu replied "and seok likes to tell stories about yn."

"ya, didn't we invite him tonight?" cheol suddenly remembers, looking at his phone to check his message thread with seok.

"he's probably with yn," wonwoo muttered before taking another shot. this gets attention from the rest of the group— a series of teasing smirks and playful looks being exchanged.

like a kid on christmas morning, a bright smile appears on mingyu's face. "won, are you perhaps jealous?" he teased, with the new-found information.

wonwoo scoffed but didn't answer the question. wonwoo swore he wasn't the jealous type. but for some reason, he can't get over the fact that his friend was closer to you.

wonwoo knew that there was nothing going on with you and seok.

however, seok was your person, wonwoo would always think. you felt happier around seok. if wonwoo didn't know any better, he would assume that you liked seok. maybe she does, wonwoo can't help but think.

"you know they're just friends, right?" mingyu reminded wonwoo.

wonwoo doesn't say anything. he was just waiting for his friends to butt into the conversation. wonwoo's eyes caught jeonghan's. jeonghan smiles, that mischievous smile of his, leaving wonwoo confused.

"won, do you wanna know who she likes?" jeonghan instigates, leaning forward.

wonwoo waits, does he really wanna know?

jeonghan smiles, then says "you."

wonwoo didn't believe in signs— for him, every little decision a person makes is pulled by the desired outcome. however, you were his only exception.

"if ynnie stops by at the café on sunday, will you finally talk to her like civilized beings?" jeonghan's words rang loudly in wonwoo's ear.

"i don't believe in signs," wonwoo states simply.

"and you can't make an exception for yn?" jeonghan knew how to play the game. he's just waiting for wonwoo to swallow his pride and address his suppressed feelings.

"maybe." wonwoo answers, making jeonghan smile mischievously. and so, it begins, jeonghan thinks.

it was ridiculous— waiting for something to happen when he could've just started a conversation with you. but it's so hard when it's you. god, it's so hard for wonwoo when it's you because you make him feel things that he thought were only exaggerated by films.

wonwoo didn't know if jeonghan's revelation about you was a lie, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't affect him— because it did. it felt like he was back in high school and he's not sure if that's something he liked.

jeonghan and seungcheol were very much aware of your routine. every now and then, you would visit the café every sunday— even during the morning rush. they were most definitely aware of what's waiting for you and wonwoo.

the two owners had tasked wonwoo to help with serving the orders as more people flooded the café. "make yourself useful while you wait for your girlfriend!" was all jeonghan said as he handed wonwoo an apron.

and so when you entered the café, wonwoo gathered all his strength to talk to you casually, even if it sent him through an overdrive.

while you were walking towards the washroom, you bumped into jeonghan who was grinning at you. you knew that man long enough to know that he's hiding something when he's smiling like that.

"ya," you pulled jeonghan to the side. "what are you hiding?"

"what do you mean?" han answers, blinking at you innocently.

"why is wonwoo being nice and smiley," you asked him with a huff, crossing your arms. wonwoo being smiley was something you didn't know would affect you this bad. "he's being too cute for my liking," you muttered the latter part.

jeonghan laughs at your dilemma. "isn't that what you wanted?"

"what do you mean—" you were confused with jeonghan's comment until it dawned on you. you remembered the time you went out for drinks with jeonghan and seungkwan. "yoon jeonghan!" you slapped his arm, making him yelp but he was still laughing.

"what?" he looks at you, acting confused as he rubs his arm. "i'm being supportive here!"

"you promised me you wouldn't tell him," you pouted.

"oh please, he was jealous of seok, i had to throw him something."

"so you told wonwoo about the time i got drunk with you and professed my undying feelings for him instead?!"

"no," jeonghan replies. his eyes moved past yours, looking past your shoulders, and smiled. "but i think you already did." jeonghan says, patting your shoulder before he left.

wonwoo was sitting across from you with a smile on his face. you've never seen this man smile at you this much, it was starting to freak you out.

"don't look at me like that," you grumbled, glaring at wonwoo.

"i can't help it," he looks at you almost tenderly. "you look adorable even when you're sulking like that."

you felt the familiar sensation in your stomach. how can jeon wonwoo just say things like these to you? does he not care about your well-being?! how you'd feel?

"that was a long time ago, by the way," you said in defence— as if the damage hadn't been done. wonwoo waits for you to continue your sentence. "you know, me having a crush on you," you continued, your tone getting quieter after each word.

"i'm sorry, what was that?" wonwoo leans closer, as if he didn't hear what you just said. you knew he was just teasing you as you noticed that he was trying to fight off a smirk.

"i don't like you, jeon wonwoo," you whispered, prompting wonwoo to only focus on your lips.

"that's too bad because," wonwoo paused briefly and leaned even more, "i like you."

his face was dangerously close to yours— wonwoo didn't care if half of his body was practically hovering over the table. he wanted to lean closer to you.

you felt frozen in your place. a part of you wanted to lean back and smack him, but there's also a part of you that just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it.

"ya!" jeonghan suddenly appeared beside your table "if you two are going to make out in my café, can you move to cheol's office? i'm planning to keep this place family-friendly," jeonghan snickered.

maybe you should just kiss wonwoo and smack jeonghan instead.

hello hello friends! i wrote this while i was sick in bed & was high on buckley's flu meds, so this is v cheesy. i hope you are all well & healthy! ♡

[w1w2]

If You

Kim Chaewon x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: After a breakup, Y/N and Chaewon navigate the lingering ache of lost love, each weighed down by memories and regrets. “If you’re struggling like I am, Can’t we make things a little easier?”

For better experience listen to IF YOU by BIGBANG

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Rain fell steadily against the windows, the sound a soft rhythm that filled the stillness of the apartment. Y/N sat hunched over her desk, her fingers brushing absentmindedly against the screen of her phone. Her bedroom, usually alive with warmth and color, felt muted tonight. The fairy lights strung along the walls barely flickered, and the soft hum of the heater failed to chase away the cold she felt deep inside.

Her thumb hovered over a photo album labeled Us. She hadn’t opened it in weeks, telling herself she’d moved on or at least trying to believe it. But the quiet pull of nostalgia had a way of finding her, especially on nights like this. With a heavy sigh, she tapped on the folder.

The first image was a selfie of her and Chaewon, their cheeks pressed together, grinning under the golden haze of a setting sun. Chaewon’s fingers had been loosely wrapped around Y/N’s wrist, a bracelet glinting against her skin.

Y/N smiled faintly at the memory, but the ache in her chest quickly followed. The weight of the silence in her room pressed down harder, and she swiped through the photos slowly, each one unraveling pieces of the past.

There was one of them at a café, Chaewon holding up a latte with a heart-shaped foam art and a playful wink. Another at the beach, their feet buried in the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly behind them. And yet another of Chaewon asleep on Y/N’s shoulder during a late-night movie marathon, her face peaceful and angelic.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she locked her phone and set it down. This was a mistake, she thought. Letting herself drown in these memories always left her feeling emptier. But tonight, she couldn’t stop herself.

She turned to her desk drawer and pulled out a small, velvet-lined jewelry box. Inside, nestled against the soft fabric, was the bracelet. Silver, delicate, and simple. Chaewon had chosen it carefully, telling her it reminded her of Y/N “elegant and understated but beautiful in a way you can’t stop noticing.”

Y/N traced the cool metal with her fingertips, her mind pulling her back to the day she received it.

Flashback

It had been their first anniversary, and Y/N had expected nothing more than a quiet dinner together. They had agreed to keep it simple, both claiming they didn’t need grand gestures.

Chaewon, however, had a way of surprising her.

They were walking home after dinner, Y/N laughing at a story Chaewon had told about one of her members accidentally locking themselves out of their dorm room. The streetlights cast warm pools of light around them, and the crisp evening air carried the faint scent of blooming flowers.

“Wait,” Chaewon had said suddenly, stopping in her tracks.

Y/N blinked, confused as Chaewon rummaged in her coat pocket. “What are you doing?”

Chaewon looked up with a sheepish grin, her cheeks slightly pink. “I said no big gifts, but…” She pulled out a small box and held it out. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Y/N’s heart had skipped a beat. “Chaewon…”

“Just open it.”

Inside was the bracelet. The delicate design caught the light as Y/N lifted it from the box, her breath catching in her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Chaewon took it from her hands and gently fastened it around her wrist. Her fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against Y/N’s skin. “Now you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

Y/N had stared at her then, struck by how much love Chaewon could pour into the simplest moments. She threw her arms around her, holding her tightly, their laughter mingling with the quiet hum of the city around them.

End of the Flashback

The memory was so vivid that for a moment, Y/N could almost feel Chaewon’s arms around her again. But as she opened her eyes, reality crashed back in. The bracelet was still there, cool and unmoving in her hand, but Chaewon was gone.

The emptiness in the room felt unbearable. Y/N clenched the bracelet tightly in her fist, her knuckles whitening.

“What happened to us?” she murmured into the silence.

Her mind spiraled with questions she’d asked herself countless times before. Had she taken Chaewon for granted? Had she missed the signs of her growing unhappiness? Or had the weight of their lives—Chaewon’s demanding schedule, the secrecy of their love—become too much to bear?

She placed the bracelet back into the jewelry box and closed it gently, as if sealing away the memory. But the ache in her chest remained, sharp and persistent.

This was her routine now—revisiting their past in quiet moments, replaying every detail until it felt like she was living it all over again. It was both a comfort and a torment, a way to feel close to Chaewon but also a reminder of how far apart they’d become.

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the window like a heartbeat. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the raindrops racing down the glass. Somewhere out there, Chaewon was living her life, moving forward, maybe even smiling again.

Y/N wondered if Chaewon ever thought about her, if she too had a box of memories hidden away. Or maybe she had already let go, the way Y/N couldn’t seem to.

Her throat tightened as tears blurred her vision. “If you…” she whispered, the words trailing off into the quiet room.

For a moment, she allowed herself to hope—just for a moment—that Chaewon missed her too.

But that hope carried her back to the moment she couldn’t stop replaying in her mind, the moment everything fell apart.

Flashback

The park was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional laughter of children playing in the distance. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, as if the universe had decided to wrap the day in beauty, completely unaware of the storm brewing between two hearts.

Y/N sat on the edge of a weathered wooden bench, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The coolness of the wood seeped through her jeans, grounding her in a reality she didn’t want to face. Chaewon stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her figure was silhouetted against the setting sun, but the tension in her posture betrayed her calm façade.

The silence between them was deafening.

Finally, Chaewon broke it. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Y/N turned to her, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might drown out the words she didn’t want to hear. “Just say it,” she urged, though every fiber of her being wanted to run.

Chaewon took a deep breath, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything.” Her voice wavered, and she paused, struggling to find the right words. “And I… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Y/N blinked, the words not registering at first. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Chaewon turned to face her fully, and for the first time, Y/N saw the pain etched on her face. Her eyes were glassy, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“It’s not you,” Chaewon said quickly, taking a step closer. “It’s everything else. The pressure, the schedules, the constant hiding… I thought I could balance it all, but I can’t.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “So, what? You’re just giving up? Throwing us away?”

Chaewon flinched, her eyes darting to the ground. “I’m not throwing anything away. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.”

“Then don’t make it!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she stood, her emotions spilling over. “We can figure it out, Chaewon. We always do. I can wait for you. I’ll be patient. Just… don’t do this.”

Chaewon looked up at her, tears now brimming in her eyes. “You deserve more than waiting, Y/N. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, their whole life. And right now, I can’t do that.”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut. She staggered back, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. I choose you, Chaewon. Isn’t that enough?”

Chaewon stepped forward, reaching for her, but stopped herself halfway. Her hands fell limply to her sides. “It’s not enough for me,” she whispered.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and rustling the leaves above them. Y/N stared at Chaewon, her vision blurring with tears. “You’re lying,” she said, her voice hollow. “You’re just scared. Scared that I’ll see you struggle, that I’ll know you’re not perfect. But I already know, Chaewon. I know, and I still love you.”

Chaewon turned away, her shoulders shaking as she bit back a sob. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” she said, her voice breaking.

Y/N took a step closer, desperate to close the growing distance between them. “Then tell me you don’t love me,” she demanded. “Say it, and I’ll walk away right now.”

Chaewon froze. The words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. She turned back to Y/N, her face streaked with tears. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Say it,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

“I can’t,” Chaewon admitted finally, her voice barely audible. “Because I do love you. More than you know. But love isn’t enough.”

The finality in her tone shattered something inside Y/N. She sank back onto the bench, her body numb. The coolness of the wood beneath her felt sharper now, almost painful.

Chaewon crouched in front of her, their faces inches apart. “You’ll be okay,” she said softly, though her own expression betrayed the words. “You’re strong, Y/N. Stronger than me.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend this is for my sake when it’s killing both of us.”

Chaewon reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek. For a moment, they stayed like that, frozen in the fragile space between holding on and letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Chaewon whispered, her voice breaking. She stood, her hand slipping away as if it physically hurt her to let go.

Y/N watched her take a step back, then another. Her silhouette blurred as tears filled Y/N’s eyes again. Somewhere in the distance, a bird took flight, its wings slicing through the golden sky.

“Chaewon…” Y/N called out, her voice small and desperate.

Chaewon stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’ll always love you,” she said softly, the words carried away by the wind.

And then she walked away.

Y/N sat there long after Chaewon disappeared from view. The sunset had faded, the sky now tinged with the deep blues of twilight. The sounds of the park grew distant, muffled by the weight of her grief.

The bird circled overhead before flying out of sight, leaving Y/N alone with the emptiness.

End of the Flashback

The memory faded, but the ache it left behind was as sharp as ever. Y/N rubbed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, the faint hum of rain against her apartment window grounding her in the present. It didn’t matter how many times she revisited that day—it always felt as raw as if it had just happened.

She let out a slow, shuddering breath, running her fingers through her hair. The stillness in the room was suffocating, so she grabbed her coat and keys, deciding she couldn’t stay here any longer. Maybe a change of scenery would help, though deep down she knew better.

Moments later, she found herself standing outside the café, her hand resting on the door handle.

The café smelled of roasted coffee and freshly baked pastries, a comforting blend that had once been a backdrop to Y/N’s happiest moments. She pushed open the glass door, the small bell overhead chiming softly. The sound felt familiar, like an echo from a distant memory.

The barista greeted her with a polite smile, but Y/N barely noticed. Her gaze instinctively went to the corner booth near the window—their booth. It was empty, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight. For a second, she hesitated, considering sitting elsewhere. But her feet carried her there anyway, as if her heart couldn’t resist the pull.

She slid into the seat, running her hand along the polished wooden table. The grooves and scratches, so subtle to most, felt like a map of memories. Chaewon had once doodled on a napkin here, sketching a caricature of Y/N that had them both in stitches. Y/N had kept that napkin, tucked away somewhere she couldn’t bear to look now.

The barista brought over her usual—a caramel latte, the same drink Chaewon had loved. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said casually.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice quiet. “I’ve been… busy.”

The barista nodded and left her alone. Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, staring into the swirls of foam. She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering, from pulling her back to a time when this seat across from her wasn’t empty.

Flashback

“Is it weird that I like dipping my croissant into my latte?” Chaewon asked, breaking off a flaky piece of pastry.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not weird, just… very you.”

Chaewon pouted, pretending to be offended. “You’re saying I’m weird?”

“You’re adorable,” Y/N corrected, leaning forward to steal a bite of the croissant.

Chaewon grinned, her eyes crinkling in that way that made Y/N’s heart race. “Good save.”

They sat there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Chaewon’s dreams, her fears, her struggles as a leader. Y/N had listened intently, holding her hand across the table and promising her that she’d always be there, no matter what.

End of Flashback

Y/N blinked, the memory dissolving like sugar in hot coffee. She glanced at the seat across from her, and her chest tightened. The space felt too vast, too empty.

She took a sip of her latte, the sweetness doing little to ease the bitterness in her heart.

Later that day, Y/N found herself walking aimlessly through the streets. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but her feet seemed to lead her toward the park. It wasn’t the same one where they’d broken up, but it held the same quiet serenity, the same crisp air that felt too sharp against her skin.

As she passed a group of teenagers laughing and taking selfies, a voice called out to her. “Hey, aren’t you Y/N?”

She turned to see a young girl, probably no older than 16, looking at her with wide, starstruck eyes. “I think you’re Y/N! You used to… you were close to LE SSERAFIM, right? I saw pictures of you with Kim Chaewon a while back.”

Y/N forced a smile, though she felt her chest constrict. “Yeah, I know them,” she said softly.

The girl’s face lit up. “That’s so cool! Chaewon is amazing, isn’t she? I just saw their new performance. It was incredible.”

Y/N nodded, her smile faltering. “She’s… she’s really talented.”

The girl didn’t seem to notice the sadness in her tone. She waved goodbye cheerfully, leaving Y/N standing alone on the path.

The tightness in her chest grew heavier. Chaewon was amazing, and she always had been. Y/N had known it from the start. But had she done enough to make sure Chaewon knew how much she believed in her?

Back at home, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the open journal on her lap. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls.

She picked up her pen, hesitating for a moment before pressing it to the page.

Chaewon,I don’t even know where to start. Every time I think about you, it feels like there’s this weight in my chest that I can’t get rid of. I miss you. I miss your voice, your laugh, the way you always knew exactly what to say when I was feeling lost.

Do you ever think about me? About us?

I’ve been replaying everything in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. I keep thinking about all the times I could’ve done more, been better for you. Like that night you called me after your concert in Busan.

Flashback

The call had come late, long past midnight. Y/N had been half-asleep, but the moment Chaewon’s name lit up her screen, she’d answered.

“Hey,” Chaewon’s voice was soft, but there was a tremor in it that made Y/N sit up immediately. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Y/N lied. “What’s wrong?”

There was a long pause before Chaewon spoke again. “I don’t know. I just… everything feels so heavy sometimes. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said firmly. “I’m here, Chaewon. Always.”

Chaewon had sighed, a shaky sound that broke Y/N’s heart even more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

End of Flashback

Y/N closed her journal, her hand trembling. She had been there for Chaewon in that moment, but had it been enough? Had she done enough to make Chaewon feel like she wasn’t alone?

Her gaze shifted to the window, where the rain had started again, soft and unrelenting. She placed the journal on her nightstand and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The silence in the room felt unbearable, but it was a silence she’d grown used to.

“Chaewon,” she whispered into the stillness. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air, unanswered, yet Y/N couldn’t stop herself from hoping they would somehow reach her. Somewhere out there, in a different room under different lights, Chaewon was living her life—perhaps moving on, perhaps not. Y/N couldn’t know for sure.

But Chaewon felt it too, the weight of the same silence.

The steady thump of the bass reverberated through the rehearsal studio, punctuated by the sound of sneakers scuffing against the polished floor. Chaewon moved in sync with her members, her every step sharp, her every turn precise. Yet her mind wasn’t on the choreography.

Her focus wavered as a familiar melody filtered through the speakers. The upbeat tempo and bright vocals felt out of place against the storm brewing in her chest. She froze mid-movement, her heart lurching as she recognized the song. It was Y/N’s favorite—something they used to sing along to during long car rides, the windows down, laughter spilling into the wind.

The music blared on, but Chaewon’s breath hitched. Her chest tightened, the walls of the studio suddenly feeling too close, the air too thin.

“Chaewon, are you okay?” Sakura asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Chaewon forced a smile, nodding quickly. “I’m fine. Just… need a minute.” Without waiting for a response, she hurried out of the studio, the sound of the song fading as the door closed behind her.

In the quiet hallway, Chaewon leaned against the wall, her hand pressed to her chest as if that could still the ache. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Y/N, but the memories clung to her like shadows, surfacing when she least expected them.

Back in her dorm room, the glow of her phone screen illuminated Chaewon’s face. She lay curled on her bed, her knees tucked to her chest, scrolling through her photo gallery.

There was one of Y/N asleep on her shoulder, her face peaceful and soft in the dim light of Chaewon’s living room. Another of Y/N laughing mid-bite during a makeshift dinner date at her apartment, the kitchen behind her a chaotic mess of half-prepped ingredients.

Chaewon’s thumb hovered over a video. She hesitated, then tapped play.

The video started with Y/N holding the camera, pouting playfully. “Say hi to your fans, Chaewon!”

Chaewon appeared in the frame, her cheeks pink as she groaned, “Y/N, I’m off-duty.”

“But you’re so cute!” Y/N teased, leaning in to kiss Chaewon’s cheek, earning a shy laugh from the idol.

The video ended, and Chaewon set her phone down, staring at the ceiling. The quiet of her room was deafening, filled only with the faint hum of the city outside.

Chaewon rubbed her eyes, willing the tears away. She had thought walking away from Y/N was the right choice. Her schedule was relentless, her responsibilities as a leader unyielding. Being with Y/N had started to feel selfish, like she was holding her back from the happiness she deserved.

But now, lying alone in her dorm, Chaewon wondered if she had been wrong.

She had everything she had ever dreamed of—fame, success, adoration from fans across the world. Yet none of it filled the emptiness Y/N had left behind.

Her fingers brushed against her nightstand, where a Polaroid of the two of them rested, tucked into the corner of her mirror. In the photo, Y/N was smiling brightly, her arms draped around Chaewon’s shoulders. Chaewon was looking at her, her expression soft, as if she couldn’t believe someone like Y/N had chosen her.

Now, all Chaewon could see in the mirror was the shadow of the person she had been in that photo.

Flashback

It had been a rare evening off, and Chaewon had done something she almost never did: she broke the rules.

She had slipped away from the dorms, her cap pulled low over her face, and made her way to Y/N’s apartment. Y/N opened the door, her surprise melting into a delighted smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” Chaewon admitted, stepping inside.

Y/N pulled her into a hug, and for the first time in weeks, Chaewon felt the tension in her shoulders ease.

They spent the night cooking together, though “cooking” was a generous term. Y/N was terrible at following recipes, and Chaewon wasn’t much better, but they didn’t care. Flour dusted the countertops, and burnt garlic wafted through the air, but their laughter drowned out every mishap.

When they finally sat down to eat their poorly made pasta, Y/N raised her glass of soda dramatically. “To us, the culinary disasters.”

“To us,” Chaewon repeated, her voice warm.

Later, as they sat on the couch, Y/N leaned in and kissed her softly. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

Chaewon’s heart swelled, and she held Y/N close, wishing the moment could last forever.

End of Flashback

Chaewon blinked back to the present, the memory lingering like a ghost in the room. Her eyes drifted to the corner of her dorm, where a small plant sat on a shelf. It was drooping, its leaves pale and dry.

She frowned, realizing she had forgotten to water it—again. She got up and carried the pot to the sink, running water over the parched soil.

The plant looked pitiful, and Chaewon couldn’t help but see herself in it. With Y/N, she had thrived, her life full of color and light. Without her, she felt like she was wilting, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

She placed the plant back on the shelf, her hands lingering on the pot. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unsure if she was speaking to the plant, herself, or Y/N.

The next morning, Chaewon was back on stage, the spotlight blinding, her voice steady as she greeted the cheering fans. To them, she was confident, radiant, untouchable.

But as she danced and sang, her heart felt heavy. She wondered if anyone could see the cracks beneath her polished exterior, the vulnerability she worked so hard to hide.

Behind the scenes, when the music stopped and the lights dimmed, Chaewon sat alone in the dressing room, her fingers brushing over the Polaroid tucked into her bag.

For all her fame and success, she had never felt so alone.

That night, she returned to her dorm, her mind heavy with thoughts of Y/N. Sleep didn’t come easily, the memories of their time together playing on a loop in her head.

The next morning dawned gray and quiet, the city blanketed in clouds that promised rain. Chaewon sat by the window of the dorm’s common area, watching droplets streak the glass as they started to fall. Her schedule for the day was mercifully light, but the free time only left more room for the ache in her chest to grow.

Y/N sat in a café. It was as quiet as Y/N had ever seen it, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the gentle patter of rain against the large glass windows. She sat in their favorite corner, her hands wrapped around a warm mug. Outside, the rain blurred the world into watercolor streaks, the kind of scene that always felt more like a memory than reality.

She stared at the rain, her thoughts tangled with images of Chaewon. No matter how many times she tried to bury the memories, they always found their way back to her. The sound of a bell chiming above the café door barely registered in her mind.

Until she saw her.

Chaewon.

The world seemed to slow as Y/N’s eyes locked onto her. Chaewon stood just inside the door, shaking rain from her umbrella. She looked different—tired, maybe—but no less radiant. Her damp hair clung to her face, and her oversized sweater made her seem smaller than Y/N remembered.

Chaewon’s gaze swept over the room, and when their eyes met, her breath caught. For a moment, neither moved, the noise of the world around them fading into nothing.

Y/N’s heart raced, the sudden rush of emotions leaving her lightheaded. Should she wave? Smile? Say something?

Before she could decide, Chaewon stepped forward.

Chaewon approached slowly, her steps hesitant as if she were still deciding whether to stay or turn back. “Y/N,” she said softly when she was close enough to be heard.

Y/N set her mug down, her fingers trembling slightly. “Hi, Chaewon.”

It was such a small exchange, but the weight of it made Y/N’s chest tighten.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Chaewon asked, gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chaewon slid into the chair, setting her umbrella against the table. They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.

“You still come here?” Chaewon asked, her tone soft, almost hesitant.

“Sometimes,” Y/N admitted. “It’s… familiar.”

Chaewon nodded, her gaze dropping to the table. “I haven’t been here in a while.”

Y/N wanted to ask why, but she already knew the answer. This place held too much of them, their laughter and shared dreams woven into the fabric of the walls.

Their conversation began cautiously, like walking on fragile ice. They talked about the café, the rain, even the lattes. Safe topics. Neutral ground. But beneath the surface, the weight of everything left unsaid threatened to pull them under.

It was Y/N who finally broke the delicate balance.

“Chaewon,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I… I’ve missed you.”

Chaewon’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and for a moment, Y/N saw every emotion Chaewon tried to hide—pain, longing, and something that looked dangerously like hope.

“I’ve missed you too,” Chaewon admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “More than I can put into words.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the honesty in her tone. “Then why?” she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. “Why did you let me go?”

Chaewon looked away, her jaw tightening. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t want you to feel trapped in a relationship where I couldn’t give you everything you deserved.”

“I never felt trapped,” Y/N said softly. “I felt loved.”

Chaewon’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “I know,” she said after a long pause. “But I didn’t know how to balance everything. The group, the fans, my responsibilities… I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I’ve done is hurt you. Hurt myself.”

The rain outside grew heavier, the rhythmic tapping against the glass filling the silence that followed. Y/N stared at her hands, her mind racing.

“I’ve been struggling too,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “I keep wondering what I could’ve done differently, if I could’ve been more patient, more understanding.”

“You were more than enough,” Chaewon said quickly, her voice firm. “Y/N, don’t think for a second that this was your fault. It was me. I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Y/N looked up at her, and for the first time in weeks, she saw the Chaewon she fell in love with—not the idol, not the leader, but the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve when she thought no one was looking.

“Then why does it still hurt so much?” Y/N asked, her voice cracking.

Chaewon reached across the table, her hand hovering over Y/N’s as if unsure whether she had the right to touch her. “Because we both care too much to let it go,” she said softly.

Y/N hesitated, then turned her hand over, letting Chaewon’s fingers intertwine with hers. The warmth of her touch was both familiar and foreign, a reminder of everything they’d shared and everything they’d lost.

The rain continued to fall, blurring the world outside the window. To Y/N, it felt like a reflection of her own heart—cleansing, yet heavy with the weight of the past.

Chaewon’s thumb brushed gently against the back of Y/N’s hand. “I don’t know if we can fix this,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her chest tightening with a mix of relief, sadness, and hope. She wanted to say yes, to take the leap and trust that they could find their way back to each other. But fear held her back. Fear of repeating the same mistakes, of reopening wounds that hadn’t yet healed.

“I don’t know if I can go through losing you again,” Y/N said quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You won’t,” Chaewon said, her voice steady despite the tears in her own eyes. “I won’t let that happen. Not this time.”

They sat there for what felt like hours, their hands clasped together, the rain outside a steady backdrop to their tentative reunion. The storm inside Y/N’s heart hadn’t cleared entirely, but for the first time in a long while, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope.

And for now, that was enough.

Eventually, the café grew quieter as the few remaining patrons began to leave. Chaewon glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at Y/N. “We should probably go,” she said softly, though her tone carried a reluctance to let the moment end.

Y/N nodded, her hand slipping from Chaewon’s as she reached for her coat. The warmth of their connection lingered, even as they gathered their things and headed for the door.

The rain had eased by the time they stepped outside, but the sky still hung heavy with gray clouds. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of wet pavement. Y/N and Chaewon stood beneath the café awning, sharing a single umbrella.

For a moment, neither spoke. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the soft patter of rain and the faint hum of distant traffic.

Y/N shifted the umbrella slightly to shield Chaewon from the drizzle, her fingers brushing against Chaewon’s hand on the handle. The touch sent a familiar spark through her, a sensation she hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

“Do you want to walk for a bit?” Chaewon asked, her voice tentative.

Y/N nodded, and they began to move down the quiet street, the umbrella hovering between them like a fragile truce.

They walked in silence at first, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing as if they’d never been apart. Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Chaewon from time to time, taking in the way her damp hair clung to her face, the way her shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.

It was all so familiar yet distant, like looking at an old photo through a foggy window.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” Chaewon said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the rain.

Y/N hesitated, her grip tightening on the umbrella. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to,” she admitted, her words heavier than she intended. “It hurt too much.”

Chaewon stopped walking, and Y/N paused a step ahead, turning to face her. Chaewon’s expression was open, vulnerable in a way Y/N hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I know,” Chaewon said. “I hurt you. And I’ve been hurting too.” She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “I thought I was doing the right thing back then, letting you go. I thought it would make things easier for both of us.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “Did it?”

Chaewon shook her head, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Not even a little.”

They resumed walking, slower this time. Chaewon spoke again, her words hesitant. “I’ve thought about you every day, Y/N. Wondered if you were okay, if you hated me, if…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“If what?” Y/N prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If you still cared.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Chaewon’s tone. She stopped walking, turning to face her fully. “Of course I care,” she said, her voice trembling. “How could I not? You were everything to me.”

Chaewon looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “You still are to me,” she said softly.

The confession hung between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N’s breath caught, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her all at once.

“Chaewon…” she began, but she didn’t know how to finish.

Chaewon took a small step closer, her gaze searching Y/N’s. “I still love you,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I always have. But I won’t ask you to come back to me, not if you’re not ready. Not if you’re not sure.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The words she wanted to say were tangled in her throat, caught between her heart and her fear.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said finally, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can go through it again, Chaewon. I’m scared.”

Chaewon nodded, her expression filled with understanding. “I know. And I don’t want to hurt you again. But I also don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been if we tried one more time.”

The clouds above them began to shift, a faint ray of sunlight breaking through the gray. It fell across the sidewalk, illuminating the rain-soaked world in a soft, golden glow.

Chaewon stepped back slightly, giving Y/N space. “I’ll leave the choice up to you,” she said quietly. “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”

Y/N watched her for a long moment, her heart warring with itself. Part of her wanted to reach out, to take Chaewon’s hand and hold on as tightly as she could. But another part of her—tired, cautious, and still nursing old wounds—held her back.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustling of the umbrella in the breeze.

Finally, Chaewon smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Y/N,” she said, her voice filled with quiet affection.

She turned and began to walk away, the umbrella no longer shielding her from the light drizzle.

Y/N stood there, clutching the handle of the umbrella, her fingers trembling. Her gaze fell to her other hand, where she had instinctively reached into her pocket and pulled out the bracelet Chaewon had given her so long ago. The delicate silver chain glinted in the faint sunlight, a tangible reminder of everything they’d shared.

She looked up again, watching as Chaewon’s figure grew smaller in the distance.

“If you…” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as the words trailed off.

She didn’t finish the thought, but it hung in the air, heavy with the possibility of a future yet unwritten.

[lovelytsunoda]

does he take care of you? // george russell

does he take care of you? or could i easily fill his shoes, but you say 'no'. yeah you said 'no'... and i'm not trying to stop you love, if we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck

summary: they had always been walking a fragile, tender line between friends and lovers. they were bound to cross it at some point.

pairing: george russell x bonnington!reader

warnings: an attempt is made at angst, people can't properly deal with their feelings. minor drug use, insinuations and non detailed sex (but bestie bonnington can’t deal with her feelings properly so she bails when things get serious-) one small little insinuation that someone might jump off a building. loosely inspired by the song 'sex' by the 1975

it was dark outside, nearing ten pm at the track when peter bonnington came to find george. george was in his drivers room, looking over printouts of race data, trying desperately to figure out where he could improve the following weekend.

“I hate to bother you, mate.” peter started, “do you have a moment?”

thankful for the reprieve from straight line speed and throttle graphs, george folded the printouts back into their legal folder and turned to look at the engineer. “what do you need?”

there were lines furrowed on bonnos brow. the man looked stressed, and george had a feeling that it wasn’t due to the cars subpar performance.

“I need you to talk to y/n. she hasn’t been doing well these past few months and I’m starting to get really worried. she won’t talk to me and she won’t talk to her mum. toto tried to ask her about it and she threw her drink in his face. something is wrong with my little girl and she’s shutting me out.”

george frowned (although he had to admit that the mental image of babe bonnington throwing the icy remainder of her pink starbucks refresher onto the great toto wolff made him laugh). “when did all this start?”

“when she came back from wales a few months ago, that big work trip. I think it has something to do with that wanker matthew she was dating, he hasn’t been around the house since before she left.”

“do you know where she is?”

“the roof, I think.”

at the look george gave him, bono sighed, shaking his head. “she’s not gonna jump. she just wants peace and quiet. I think the inside of her head is too loud. besides, the motor home isn’t high enough off the ground for anything serious to happen if she falls.”

“still, why would you let her be on her own right now?”

“she didn’t give me a choice.”

after a bit of floundering (and a trip back down the stairs after he realized he’d forgotten a coat), george found his way to the roof. from here, he couldn’t quite see the track, but he could see the lights and hear the sounds of the paddock, watching the last few stragglers exit their team homes and head for the front gates.

y/n sat at the edge, feet pulled up under her and a halo of smoke around her messy hair. her clothes were baggier than normal, darker than usual. when she turned to face him, the driver could see that her eyeliner was smudged, a single mascara tear running down her cheek. in her hand, she shakily clutched a lit joint, the embers at the end glowing orange in the night.

“I thought you quit that?” george asked, concern evident in his tone as he moved to sit next to her.

“fucking mattys fault.” she grumbled, taking a long drag of the fragrant plant. “he’s set my anxiety issues back about five years, figured it was time to go get my cbd prescription refilled.” she stopped, taking another drag before exhaling the smoke and offering it up to george. “it won’t get you high, but if we share it, it will make this look less sad.”

george frowned, taking the joint from her hand and taking a shaky drag, choking in the smoke as it filed his lungs. “what did he do? did he touch you?”

she laughed sadly, defeat in her eyes as she looked over the paddock. “nope. what he did hurt a whole lot more. when I got back from wales I went over to his apartment to surprise him, since my flight had gotten in a few hours early. he was in bed with another woman. and this wasn’t the first time, either. he’s been seeing her almost as long as he’s been seeing me. apparently she didn’t know I existed, and he was thinking about marrying her. I was fucking humiliated, george.”

“I’m so sorry.” he didn’t know what to say as he passed the joint back. she took a long drag, refusing to meet his eyes until he had reached over to shake her gently by the shoulder. “you did nothing wrong. you are pretty and funny and smart and most of all worthy of love. if matty couldn’t see that, then he didn’t deserve you in the first place, y/n.”

it happened so suddenly it almost knocked the driver on his backside. they were just talking, sitting comfortably in the marijuana smoke and then suddenly the engineers daughter is kissing him. soft, guava lips pressed to his, pillowy from all the tropical lip balms she can’t seem to put down. her hands are hungry, extinguishing the joint against the metal motor home roof before pawing at george’s broad frame.

they had been friends for years, yn considered him one of her closest. it must have been the part of her that needed reassurance that said ‘it’s okay, cross the line’ because soon enough, he was kissing her back, tongue exploring her mouth with reverence, hands gripping her waist through her mom jeans, then slipping into her back pockets to cop a feel.

“is there anyone left inside?” she panted, resting her forehead against george’s, hand splayed against his clothed chest.

the driver shook his head.

“good. I want you.”

and then they were in his drivers room, everything happening so fast that it felt like a fever dream. and then it happened, her jeans and panties on the floor, stripped down the lacy camisole she’d had on under her sweater, back on the massage table as she wrapped her bare legs around george’s hips, his hands gripping thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into her, sweat dripping off the tips of his brown hair.

“god, fuck, george, please!” none of the words leaving her mouth were coherent. it didn’t matter. this was about avoidance, a mere distraction, if you will.

she needed to be fucked so hard she couldn’t think about all the bullshit matty was putting her through.

when all was said and done, her mind blissfully clear as she lay prone on the massage table, feeling the sweat dry on her flushed skin as she watched george tuck his cock back into his jeans, all she could find it in her to say was “god I needed that.”

and from there, it was all too easy to fall into a dangerous pattern that didn’t help anybody. one that tord a line so fragile it might as well have been made of salt, intended to keep the deeper feelings out.

the night in george’s drivers room turned into a quickie the next morning in the airport bathroom, bent over the vanity in front of a mirror, panties around her ankles and a massive hickey tucked into her turtleneck as they sat across from each other on the private jet, sharing a glance and smiling at the secret they shared,

eventuakly, back on home soil, the driver became her coping mechanism. when she wanted to go out but her friends were busy, george was the first person she called, pulling up to his house in her toyota corolla, synth-heavy music that was popular on tumblr in 2014 shaking the frame of the car. she turned it down as george opened the passenger door, giving her an odd look as the guitar solo played quieter in the background.

“how can you think when it’s that loud?”

“that’s the point. I can’t. it keeps the thoughts at bay.”

that night had ended in the back of an empty parking garage, movie theater popcorn and a takeout box left abandoned on the passenger seat, y/n on her knees with george’s rock hard length in her mouth. hearing him moan her name was its own kind of drug, and hearing him call her ‘good girl’ was enough to have her clenching around air.

or when george would come over, and they would make a new recipe together, criminal minds playing in the background. how many nights did the dinner end up burning while george had y/n's legs spread wide on the dining room table?

and while the act itself brought him nothing but pleasure, it was the aftermath that left him feeling like shit. he knew this was never going to go any further, that y/n was just looking for a rebound. something to take her mind off just how fucked her last relationship had been.

george would never be anything more than a friend, someone she could fuck when she needed it and be platonic with when she didn't.

she deserved better, someone who could take care of her in teh way that her heart ached for.

someone like george william russell, he thought.

but who was he to decide what was best for her? maybe he could show her, treat her right and change her mind somehow. but he wasn’t sure how to do it.

it was a night like any other, over a game of uno and a bottle of white wine, reruns of coronation street playing in the background, the smooth jazz of the intro and outro music only adding to the atmosphere.

and of course, as nights like these do, the cards ended up discarded on george’s living room floor, bodies mushed together in a heap in front of the soft blue glow of the tv. he picked her up bridal style, deftly lifting her weight as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the master bedroom.

the bedroom. a place so intimate and so forbidden. their relationship had subsisted on having sex anywhere but a bed, for a bed would make it too real. there would be too many feelings involved.

and yet here he was, taking a massive leap into the unknown, uncharted waters as he laid her down against the linens, caging her body in with his as he kissed her.

a kiss so different from all the others that they shared, this one soft and tender. no teeth and no tongue, just the soft caress of a man’s chapped lips, done with reverence, as if her body was a treasure.

he trailed his soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck, no words exchanged between the two as his hands began to slide up her black t-shirt, over her belly-button piercing and then coming to rest over the padding of her bra as his lips traced her collarbone. he was in tune to her every movement, every whine and gasp.

he kissed down her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with her every breath. listening to the way that her breath caught as he popped open the button in her skinny jeans, dragging them down her legs and watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“george,” she hummed as he kissed and nibbled at her inner thigh, so close yet so far from what she needed.

“george!” it was a shout this time, paired with her small hands aggressively pushing him away. “I can’t do this. what are we doing here?”

“what?” george was wide eyed an confused “I’m treating you like a decent fucking boyfriend would! I like you yn, and you mean a lot to me. you deserve more than some cheap fuck in the backseat. you deserve to be treated like a treasure.”

she shook her head, standing up from the bed and pulling her jeans back on, refusing to meet georges eyes as she faced the firestorm of thoughts in her head, each one telling her that she had made a horrible mistake.

“we can’t. there was a line, and we crossed it.” her voice was shaky, bottom lip quivering. she was doing the right thing, or so she kept telling herself. putting that boundary back.

because they were friends. nothing more, nothing less.

george laughed. an awful, grating sound in this context. “you weren’t worried about crossing lines when you let me fuck you on my massage table. or when you had my cock down your throat.”

“please don’t take that tone with me!”

“I know matty hurt you. and I know you needed a rebound, but I want all of you, yn. I want your good days and your bad. I want to take care of you.” he was getting desperate. they both knew that there was no such thing as ‘just friends’ after this.

“I can’t be what you need, and I can take care of myself.” she tucked her hair behind her ear before storming last george and back into the living room.

george would always regret letting her leave. somehow, as he watched her grab her purse and her leather jacket and the keys to her fucking toyota, that this would be the last time he saw y/n bonnington.

and he was right.

he didn’t see her start to cry when she got into her car, driving to an empty space of road so she could pull over into the shoulder and let it all out, the radio tuned so loud that she swore it was shaking the frame of the car. and that’s when she decided it was time to reevaluate her life.

george didnt see her again for months. he heard from bonno that she quit her job, moved out to the coast. somewhere on the water. brighton or blackpool or bournemouth. a new group of friends, a new job, a fresh start.

she sold the toyota, bought herself a mini cooper countryman, a car she’d wanted since she was a little girl. she stopped wearing tight, dark clothes and starting seeking out florals, pastels even. flowier clothes that made her feel good.

and she was happy. from time to time, she still thought about that night at george’s. in a way, she was thankful. it had forced her to change, to become a better person. a healthier one. but she hated that she had hurt him. played with his feelings and then stomped on his heart. but deep down, she knew she had done the right thing. she could never have been the girlfriend that george needed. she was too broken.

george saw her again a year later, in the paddock at silverstone. he hardly recognized her: new hair, wide smile. mom jeans and a floral crop top that looked straight out of the seventies. she looked good. happy. healthy.

but there was something else he saw that hit him like a knife to the kidney.

it was the man on her arm. he was conventionally attractive, if you liked surfers. his dark hair flopped around his face the same way hugh grants did in ‘notting hill’ and his sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his striped resort shirt, left open for the top few buttons of course. she looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and he held her like she was the most important thing in his life, always having an arm around her shoulders, tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

his name was colin. of course his name was fucking colin. like he was a character in fucking love actually, and not the man dating the woman george had so vulnerably bared his heart to.

he’d pulled out his phone, open to her number even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d delete it but he never did.

the text was right there in the message box, waiting to be sent.

does he take care of you?

but when he looked over at them again, his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder as she was pointing out different things on her dad computer monitor, george knew the answer.

colin took incredible care of her, and he seemed to be exactly what she needed.

and how could george fault the other man for doing exactly what he would if y/n had been his?

he deleted the message without sending it, quietly slipping out of the garage, with the intention of working out until he couldn’t feel the pain any more.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @userlando @httpiastri @clemswrld @thatsdemko @diorleclerc @cartierre @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck

[joocomics]

xdinary heroes taking dirty pictures

tags: nudity, mentions of sexting, masturbation, phone sex | mdni

a/n: just some loose interpretations on what exchanging dirty pics with xdh may look like

♡ gunil

some of them may look like photoshoots so be prepared

many pics of him relaxing in bed, most times naked under the sheets

lots of selfies while laying down with one arm behind his head flexing his biceps

loves lowering the sheets down his torso a little too much.. revealing his abs but also giving you a glimpse of something else

you’re texting and when you ask what movie he’s watching he sends you a picture of the tv

but the only thing you can see is his naked body barely covered from the bed sheets

abs pics!!

abs pics from the gym when he’s sweating

dick pics while he’s sitting cause he gets to show off his fit thighs - they deserve attention too

loves if you respond with a dirty pic before he’s asked for it

he finds the not too revealing photos more arousing - gunil’s the type to like it when you leave some things to the imagination, making him crave you even more

often responds to your photos in audio format ~

♡ jungsu

doesn’t do nudes often but it’s fun when he does

he’s cheeky - he calls you aiming for a long dirty talk knowing damn well you’ll both end up touching yourselves

during that he sends you several teasing pics

shots of his bulge, abs, a clip of his hand slowly stroking his erection through his clothes

just so he can hear you begging to see his cock on facetime

he finds your reactions far more exciting than the actual taking of the photos; it works like a confidence boost

videos > pictures

many pics of his hand over his boner while he’s still wearing underwear

sometimes he would grip it through his jeans too ~

when he feels inspired and horny he makes himself cum in his pants so he can show you the mess he made for you

♡ jiseok/gaon

tons and tons of tummy pics!!!

but before we begin lets note the fact he asks for nudes first before thinking of sending his own

he’d be like “take a pic”, and when you make him send one first he’d be like fair enough

and he ends up having a little too much fun

now that we have that out of the way …

loves showing you his abs painted with cum

“thinking of you” the message says

he photographs your scratches on his abs after you leave his place

the hickeys you left him too

lots of pics with different pulled up shirts or him lifting his hoodie with his teeth

sometimes he unbuttons his pants too just to tease you even more

doesn’t mind lifting his tee up even if the members are around he actually enjoys their teasing

regularly sends you bathroom pics from random hotels where he wears a towel around his waist just to see if you’re gonna ask him to take it off

pics of his leaky tip poking through the waistband of his sweats >>

♡ seungmin/o.de

so much mirror pics duh

he definitely does the mirror shots where he’s got his t-shirt lift up with one hand - that’s the first one he sends you

the pics gradually get more and more revealing and kinky

and by that i mean naked full body pics cause that’s seungmin we’re talking about

him wearing only his accessories >>>

sometimes he’s sitting on a chair facing the mirror

or down on his knees with his erection on full display for you

another one of the group that loves bathroom shots, so he’ll use the foggy mirror to make even more erotic and aesthetically pleasing shots for your collection

cause we all know you end up creating a folder just for the pictures he constantly sends you

selcas while he’s hugging the pillow in a way that flexes his biceps

♡ hyeongjun/junhan

i can see him go really bold with sending you nudes cause you cannot see if he’s flustered or not

he loves showing off his black nails and new fancy accessories by holding his erection ~

lots of after shower pics!!!

sometimes when you text him how’s he doing he showers first and then replies just so he can send a pic with his chest and hair all wet

he doesn’t feel guilty about making you wait

nor will he ever tell you that he’s done this multiple times

shots of the imprint of his boner showing through his sweats >>>

morning nudes!!

nothing proves more how much he misses you than a pic of the mess he made in his bed after his morning jerk off session

he shows you the sticky strings of cum by spreading his fingers in front of the camera

♡ jooyeon

straight up pic of his dick

cause i don’t see him being very creative with this tbh

he’s not very into taking nudes, he much rather receive them

he takes one only if you ask for it

if he takes seductive pics they’re lazy, casual, not too revealing and just for the funsies

most likely to send you a funny face when you ask for a nude

most of the fun he gets from sexting/phone sex comes from the fact you can’t see each other - it builds a type of tension that nudes do not so i don’t see him doing this often

jiggles his cock in front of the camera almost every time

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (20)

***

At the end of the month, Silco forgoes a day's pay to line up with Vander and withdraw money. It's the same as always: a long snaking queue across the courtyard, two Piltie bookkeepers sitting with their piles of folders and the cash box between them; six bored looking enforcers standing behind them, with their masks and goggles, hands loose on their guns.

It's the same as always, but Silco keeps his arms crossed and his scowl grows meaner with every shuffling step forward. He looks like he's about to start ranting about the unfairness of having to beg for wages they've already earned.

"Stop looking at me like that," Silco hisses at him, which feels unfair given that Vander hasn't said anything. "I'm not stupid enough to say something in front of enforcers."

"I'm well aware you're not stupid," Vander says gently, but it doesn't work. Silco only glares at him. "I mean it. Sharp as a fish hook, my Ma would say."

"She really was a riversider," Silco mutters back and Vander will happily take the edge of mocking rather than that tightly-held anger.

"Got something against riverside? Going to tell me we all smell like chum?"

Silco raises an eyebrow in challenge. "That you can't walk straight on land unless you're drunk?"

"That a freshly washed riversider only has silt between their toes?"

Silco snorts in amusement as they shuffle forward another step. "And the only way to get their attention is to dress in canvas and bring rope?"

Vander laughs at that one. It's such a stupid fisherman joke, but it's not the sort of joke anyone makes around a guy Vander's size. "Yeah, that's us. If it doesn't float or have fins, we're not interested."

Silco tilts his head, his expression becoming thoughtful. "Why didn't you join a boat? Better than being here."

"I get seasick," Vander says, like stepping onto a boat doesn't make him think of his father every damn time. Wonder if he should be mourning or fuming.

"You grew up by the river. How can you get seasick?"

"It's a skill."

"Not a very good one," Silco replies and they shuffle forward another step.

It takes another hour of standing in the electric lights of the courtyard, but eventually they get to the bookkeepers. There's no true privacy in the mine – too many people and not enough space. From his spot in line, Vander hears Silco requesting a balance, and pulling out his notebook. A large folder is opened on the table, the bookkeeping looking up Silco's name.

He reads out the figure and Silco copies it down, while Vander looks on, stunned. It's over twenty thousand bronze. Vander has to cunt on his fingers to translate that debt to gold, but two thousand four hundred gold sounds even worse. Three hundred gold is an impossible figure. Ten times that…

But Silco doesn't even blink at that figure. He just nods and then says, "I want to withdraw coin. How much am I allowed to withdraw on credit?" He withdraws the maximum amount and then asks for half of it in silver.

Vander gets waved over to the other bookkeeper as the coins are counted out.

Vander has nearly eight hundred bronze owed to him. He withdraws most of it, even takes some out in gold just to hold the sparkle in his hand.

He finds Silco waiting for him with a pouch of coins. "Sixty. We didn't agree on interest, but five seems fair."

"For the wood?" Vander stares at the pouch, at the seven bronze lect in Silco's palm. "You don't have to pay me. I don't need–"

"There's nothing free down here," Silco talks over him. "You pay now or you pay later. I don't like building up debts."

"You owe them over twenty thousand!"

Silco looks up at Vander, not backing down an inch. "To be precise, twenty-one thousand, five hundred and eighty. I won't owe you as well."

"Look," Vander says, wrapping a hand around Silco's arm and tugging him away from the others. "I'm sleeping there too. Every night, I'm saving money because I don't have to pay for a bunk. If we're both gaining from it, we should go halves in the costs."

Through narrowed blue eyes, Silco considers it.

"And no interest," Vander adds. "Not between us. We're better than the damn company."

Silco gives one sharp nod to that. "Fine. Halves. That's twenty-seven bronze."

Vander hands him back the pouch. "And the bed too. We should go halves in that."

Silco glances down at his coins, and quickly realises he'll have just enough. "I could have waited until next month, Vander. I don't need charity."

"The isn't charity. This is us working together and improving life for both of us." Vander leans down, low enough that he can whisper right into Silco's ear. Boice pitched carefullylow, he adds, "And this way I don't have to wait to fuck you in a real bed."

***

[youflowerr-youfeast]

Lavender Haze (NH13) - Chapter Two.

a/n: HIIII! I am so sorry it has taken so long - but!! Welcome to chapter two!!! I am so sorry if there are any mistakes - it was defs proofread after a few wines. and ALSO thank you so bloody much for all of your kind word and support! Inbox is always open!! Let me know what you think! Also - I know it's giving slow burn, but you gotta be patient with our Sofia, she's - healing -

** Content warning: death, grief. **

7.6k words

May 15th. 

The morning light streamed through her bedroom window as Sofia ran a hairbrush through her hair, the golden glow highlighting the stubborn baby hairs she couldn’t tame. Her thoughts drifted as she worked, fingers combing through her hair in an attempt to make it sit just right.

She hadn’t seen her neighbor in over a week.

It wasn’t like she’d been looking for him. But then again, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking for him either. His absence felt more noticeable, especially after the flowers. She’d left them on her counter for days, unsure what to do with them until the petals began to wilt.

Eventually, she’d come to terms with tossing them, though their soft lavender hue seemed to linger in her mind, along with all her unanswered questions. Was it normal for him to disappear like this? Where did he go? What did he do when he wasn’t here?

Sofia sighed, placing the hairbrush down with a soft clink. She caught her reflection in the mirror and tried to redirect her thoughts, focusing instead on the day ahead—anything but her tall, dark, and handsome neighbor, who had seemingly vanished.

She grabbed her bag from the chair by her dresser, double-checking it for her essentials: wallet, keys, and the stack of lesson plans she’d thrown together late last night. A stray folder stuck out awkwardly from the side pocket, and she tucked it in with a sigh, mentally adding “organize paperwork” to her ever-growing to-do list.

Her lunch sat waiting in the fridge, neatly packed in a reusable container. She plucked it from the shelf and dropped it into her bag before grabbing a banana for the road. As she moved through the small kitchen, her eyes drifted to the living room wall she now knew she shared with him—a habit she hadn’t quite shaken over the past week.

Sofia shook her lingering thoughts loose and sipped her coffee, the warm bitterness grounding her as she glanced at the clock. “Okay, ten minutes,” she muttered to herself, finishing her drink before setting the mug in the sink.

Shoes on, coat in hand, she made one last sweep of the apartment. Her gaze lingered on the lavender flowers in her trash bin, petals crumpled and faded, before she turned toward the door, ready to embark on the day ahead.

By lunchtime, Sofia had cycled through reading time, snack break, and a minor clean-up effort after someone decided their applesauce worked better as finger paint. She leaned against the edge of her desk, sipping lukewarm coffee while scanning the room to ensure no one was trying to sneak their uneaten carrots into the rubbish.

Amelia popped her head into the room with her signature grin having snuck across the hall from her classroom. 

“You surviving?”

“Barely,” Sofia replied, laughing. “If I have to broker another dinosaur versus robot treaty, I might lose it.”

“Oh, c’mon. There’s no debate. Dinosaurs every time,” Amelia quipped, her tone light but teasing as she stirred the pot.

Sofia rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t let them hear you say that. The robot faction might stage a rebellion.”

Amelia laughed, “You’re probably right. Preschool politics are no joke.”

She leaned herself against the doorframe of Sofia’s classroom, arms crossed and a teasing smile on her face. “By the way, did you end up seeing your mysterious neighbor again? You know, the one you embarrassed yourself in front of?”

Sofia groaned, shooting her a look. “Why are you bringing that up now? I’m trying to forget about it.”

“Because it’s my job as your best friend,” she said with a smirk. “And let’s be honest, the mental image of you standing in his doorway, yelling at him for being loud - it’s too good to let go of.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” Sofia said, narrowing her eyes. “I was just being… firm.”

Amelia snorted. “Sure, firm. Whatever you say. So, have you run into him since then?”

“No,” Sofia admitted, letting out a little huff she didn’t mean to. “It’s been over a week, actually. I haven’t seen him at all.”

Amelia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Weird. What do you think he’s up to?”

“No idea,” Sofia said with a shrug. “I mean we don’t know each other. He could be traveling for work or visiting family. Or maybe he just doesn’t spend much time at home.”

“Or,” Amelia said, smirking, “maybe he’s just hiding. Maybe he’s afraid after his big scary neighbour yelled at him to pipe down.”

Sofia rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s terrified of the girl who knocked on his door once and then burst into tears simultaneously.”

“You never know,” Amelia teased. “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Guys that leave your favorite flowers on your doorstep don’t just disappear into thin air.” With that, she smirked and made her way back across the hall to her classroom.

The day wound down in the usual blur of chaos—parents arriving, kids running out the door, and Sofia answering last-minute questions about forgotten lunchboxes and art projects. By the time the building emptied, her classroom was quiet again, except for the faint sound of a vacuum somewhere down the hall.

Sofia locked up her classroom and slung her bag over her shoulder, pausing for a moment to check she had all of her belongings before making her way down the hallway and out of the school. 

Stepping outside, she pulled her coat tighter against the crisp evening air. It wasn’t far to her apartment, just a few blocks, and she always enjoyed the quiet walk after work.

The fading sunlight painted the streets in warm amber tones as she strolled past rows of townhouses and small shops.

The familiar brick façade of her apartment building came into view as Sofia rounded the corner, her bag weighing heavier on her shoulder after a long day. She adjusted the strap and exhaled, savoring the quiet of the early evening. The streets were lined with parked cars, their windshields glinting faintly in the last of the daylight, and the faint scent of someone grilling dinner drifted through the air.

She climbed the front steps slowly, digging into her coat pocket for her keys as she pushed through the main door. 

As Sofia ascended the stairs to her floor, she let out a soft sigh, already anticipating the small comforts of home—kicking off her shoes, pouring a glass of wine, and pretending she didn’t have a million things to do before tomorrow.

But when she reached the landing, she froze.

Nico.

Her heart gave a small, unexpected jolt. He was standing in front of his apartment door, his shoulders tense and his hands fiddling with something in the lock. Around him was a chaotic pile of luggage.

She paused mid-step, her first instinct to retreat before he noticed her. But then he cursed under his breath, the sound carrying in the silence, and she realised he was struggling with his key.

“Everything okay?” Sofia asked, her voice cutting through the silence as she stepped closer.

Nico straightened, startled, and turned to face her. His expression was a mix of frustration and embarrassment as he held up the broken key. “Not exactly,” he admitted.

Sofia’s gaze flicked to the lock, where part of the key was still lodged. “Oh,” she said, wincing. “That’s not ideal.”

“You’re telling me,” Nico replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been at this for fifteen minutes, and it’s not budging.”

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between the broken key and the lock. “Do you have a spare?”

“Inside,” Nico said with a dry laugh. “Which is just about as helpful as this.” He held up the useless half of the key in his hand.

Sofia smirked faintly. “Right. So, what’s the plan? Are you going to fight the door until it gives in?”

“That was my first idea,” Nico replied, leaning against the wall. “Plan B was to stare at it until it feels bad and opens itself.”

“Solid strategy,” she said, her tone wry as she reached for her phone. “Or—and hear me out—we could call a locksmith.”

“Probably smarter,” Nico admitted, crossing his arms. “But only slightly.”

Sofia shot him a look with a small grin. She tapped the screen of her phone, looking up a number to dial. She put the phone to her ear. The conversation was quick, but as she listened to the locksmith on the other end, her brow furrowed. When she hung up, she turned back to Nico, her lips pressed together in a sympathetic line.

“Bad news,” she said with a sympathetic frown. “They can’t get here until tomorrow morning.”

Nico closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course. Perfect.”

“Do you have anywhere else you can go?” she asked, hesitating slightly, her voice soft.

Nico let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking to his pile of luggage before meeting hers. “I mean, I could probably crash at a friend’s place, but…” He trailed off, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m exhausted. The thought of hauling all this around again tonight just… no.”

Sofia nodded, her chest tightening at the sight of his tired expression. She didn’t know him well, but it didn’t take much to see that he was drained—physically and probably mentally.

“Well,” Sofia started, her voice hesitant, “if you don’t mind a couch, you can… stay here.” She pointed towards her door. 

Nico blinked, clearly caught off guard. His tired gaze softened as he straightened slightly. “You’re serious?”

Sofia nodded quickly, though her cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not ideal, but it’s better than staying out here with all your stuff. Unless you’d rather—”

“No, no,” he interrupted gently, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s… really nice of you. I just don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not,” she said, her words rushing out a little too fast. “I mean, it’s just for tonight, right? So it’s not a big deal. Totally fine.”

Nico chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “You sure? You seem a little… unsure.”

Sofia swallowed, gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just, uh… unexpected, I guess.”

Her words felt clumsy, and she hated how self-conscious she sounded. But she wasn’t used to this—to being in close quarters with someone like him. Someone who's easy confidence felt foreign compared to the awkward, brittle experiences she’d had in the past.

Nico studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “I don’t want to put you out,” he said, his tone quieter now. “I can figure something else out if it’s too much.”

“No,” Sofia blurted, shaking her head quickly. “It’s not… I mean, it’s fine. Really.”

Her cheeks burned, and she turned toward the door, fumbling with her keys just to have something to do. “Let’s just get you inside before someone complains about your luggage blocking the hallway.”

“Alright,” Nico said gently, the hint of a smile returning. He picked up one of his bags and followed her into the apartment.

Sofia pushed open the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Nico. “It’s, uh, not much, but make yourself at home,” she said softly, her voice carrying the faintest edge of nervousness.

As Nico stepped through the threshold, his expression shifted. The hallway outside, dim and utilitarian, was immediately forgotten as he took in the space. It was small but radiated warmth, the kind of place that made you feel like you could sink into it and stay for hours.

The living room was the heart of the apartment, bathed in the soft glow of a few different antique lamps, their warm light casting a cozy ambiance over everything. The furniture was an eclectic mix that somehow worked together perfectly: a blush-pink armchair sat near the window, its velvet upholstery slightly faded but loved. The couch, a muted sage green, was piled with pastel cushions in different textures—knitted, embroidered, and quilted—each one seemingly chosen with care.

A coffee table, made from a repurposed vintage trunk, sat in the center of the room. Its surface bore the scuffs and scratches of a long history, now softened by the addition of a lace doily and a small collection of items: a few well-loved books, a glass vase holding dried lavender, and a half-burned candle in a ceramic holder.

The rug beneath it all was a faded blue with intricate floral patterns, worn just enough to feel soft underfoot. A stack of neatly folded blankets, all in muted tones, were piled in a small woven basket.

The walls were alive with art. A gallery of mismatched frames showcased botanical illustrations, photographs of places and people, and among them was a small canvas, tucked into a quieter corner, that Nico couldn’t help but think Sofia might have painted herself—soft brushstrokes of pastel pinks, blues, and yellows that looked like a sunrise or a dream.

Bookshelves flanked one side of the room, crammed with novels, cookbooks, and a few vinyl records stacked haphazardly next to a vintage record player. 

A pair of terracotta pots, each cradling leafy green plants, sat on the shelves, their vines trailing down like lazy rivers.

The kitchen, just visible through an arched doorway, was tiny but spotless. A small round table with two mismatched chairs, adorned with a floral tablecloth and a single candlestick. The counters were clutter-free, save for a light blue kettle and a ceramic jar labeled coffee.

Nico realized he was smiling, charmed in a way that was new to him. He had been expecting something ordinary—stark walls, a bland sofa—something similar to his apartment, but instead, he’d stepped into a place that felt soulfully lived-in. She had created an environment that whispered of patience, kindness, and quiet afternoons spent reading, painting, or just dreaming. It was a reflection of her, he realized: soft around the edges, graceful without trying, and utterly unpretentious.

He turned, and there was Sofia, standing a few steps away, her posture slightly hesitant, as if unsure what he’d think. In the lamplight, he saw her as part of this tapestry: someone who preferred faded pastels to bold statements, who gathered objects with sentimental value rather than uniform style. It made him want to know her better, to hear the stories behind the chipped teacup on the shelf or find out where she’d picked up the watercolor of that sleepy seaside town.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. A soft hum from the refrigerator filled the pause, and somewhere outside, a distant siren faded into the quiet. Nico finally turned fully toward her, letting the spell of the apartment settle into his voice as he said, “It’s really beautiful. Your place, I mean.” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to spook the subtle, cautious energy she carried.

Sofia’s eyes briefly darted around, as if double-checking her own home through his gaze. “Thanks,” she managed, her voice a touch shy but steady enough. “I’ve collected things over time… just stuff that makes me happy.” She shrugged lightly, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from the front of her sweater. “I guess it’s a bit… cluttered.”

Nico took a careful step forward, scanning the layers of texture and color without judgment. He didn’t see chaos. He saw care. “I don’t think that’s the right word,” he said gently, taking in more of the room. “It feels more like it’s all been gathered here for a reason. Like every piece matters.” He paused, catching her eye. “It’s got your personality. I can tell you love what you’ve collected.”

Sofia’s cheeks warmed, and her shoulders lowered the tiniest bit. “That’s… nice of you to say,” she murmured, fingers grazing the arm of her pink armchair.

“I’m really glad you shared it with me.” Nico’s voice was quiet, almost as if he were worried about disturbing the calm warmth drifting through the room. 

Sofia swallowed gently, her throat tight with a blend of uncertainty and resolve. She wanted him to feel welcome—that was the point, wasn’t it? The sincerity in his voice, the way he held her gaze, it all worked at untying the knots inside her chest, one by one.

 “I’m… glad, too,” she managed, her voice softer than she expected. Her cheeks still felt warm, and the subtle scent drifting from the dried flowers on her coffee table seemed suddenly more pronounced. 

She took a step closer to the kitchen’s threshold, as if to anchor herself to something solid. “If you… need anything,” she began, then hesitated, her fingers twitching nervously at her side, “I mean—are you hungry? Or thirsty?” She added the questions in a gentle rush.

Nico took in the delicate pattern of the tablecloth he could glimpse beyond her shoulder, the mugs arranged in neat little rows. All of it spoke of care, of a certain softness she carried inside her.

“I could go for some water, if that’s okay,” he said, not wanting to overwhelm her with demands, not wanting to trample the careful peace she’d built here. He offered a reassuring half-smile. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

Sofia’s expression shifted, a slight frown of mild reproach crossing her features. “It’s really not trouble,” she insisted, her voice gentle but firm. The blush on her cheeks deepened as she realized she might sound a bit assertive, but she pressed on before the moment slipped away.

Moving toward the kitchen she flicked on the light and filled a tumbler with cool water from her fridge.

As she turned back, she caught the subtle lines of weariness on Nico’s face. He looked as though he’d been running on empty, and she found her heart softening at the thought of him standing in that hallway, unable to enter his own home. Offering the glass, she managed a slight smile. “Here you go.”

But before he could take a sip, a new question rose to her lips, surprising even herself with its directness. “Have you eaten?” she asked gently. “Dinner, I mean. I can put something together, or I think I have some leftover pasta?” 

Nico paused, the glass still hovering near his mouth. Her offer took him by surprise, and for a second he considered his options. He wasn’t starving, exactly—he’d grabbed a sandwich hours ago—but her tone was so earnest, so genuinely caring, that refusing outright seemed almost rude.

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” he said softly, lowering the glass. A faint, playful smile touched his lips. “I mean, I’m not going to say no to leftover pasta.” 

She tipped her head just enough so he couldn’t see the small smile curving her lips, as if taking a moment to steady her nerves before speaking again. “Alright, leftover pasta coming right up,” she said, voice more assured than before. She moved back toward the kitchen and he slowly followed her so he could assist if she needed him to. The mint-green cabinets and mismatched plates on the open shelves had never seemed like a big deal to her, just part of her everyday life. But now, knowing he’d be eating something she’d prepared—even if it was just reheated dinner—made her notice every detail of her kitchen: the soft hum of the fridge, the subtle scent of basil lingering from the last time she cooked. As she opened the fridge, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Nico hadn’t moved much, his tall frame still near the counter, water glass in hand. He looked more at ease now, no longer quite so wary, and the smallest crease of a smile lingered around his mouth. Something about that eased her own nerves. He wasn’t here by choice, not exactly—locked out and stranded—but at least he didn’t look unhappy about how the night was unfolding.

She found the leftover container, popped it open, and transferred a portion into a small saucepan. A quiet hiss sounded as the burner clicked on and the metal warmed beneath her hand. With a wooden spoon, she stirred slowly, letting the sauce loosen with a bit of water and a drizzle of oil.

“Hope you don’t mind penne,” she said over her shoulder, her tone light, “It’s nothing gourmet, but it’s edible and a hot meal.” Her lips twitched at her own self-conscious joke, and she turned slightly so he could see the shy humor in her eyes.

“Edible and hot works for me,” he responded with a sweet smile, his dimple popping ever so slightly at her dry attempt of humour. The scent soon began to bloom—warm and herbaceous. It wasn’t much, just a leftover meal made modestly appetizing, but it felt meaningful in its own small way. After all, what was hospitality if not trying to make someone’s night a bit better than the hallway they’d been stuck in?

Nico shifted slightly, leaning a hip against the counter, his gaze skimming over her space as if trying to memorise the comforting details of her world.

She reached for a bowl—a shallow one with a faint floral pattern swirling around its edges—then spooned the pasta in, topping it with a whisper of grated cheese. Perfectly imperfect, she thought, cradling the bowl for a moment before passing it over. When Nico took it, their fingers didn’t quite touch, but the closeness felt charged all the same.

Their eyes met briefly and Sofia wondered if he could sense the quiet tremor beneath her calm exterior. The hush of the apartment stretched between them, filled not with awkwardness, but with a kind of gentle expectancy.

Nico lowered his gaze to the steaming pasta, then looked back up with a small, genuine smile. It wasn’t a grin of politeness or formality—rather, it carried the warmth of someone who truly appreciated her gesture. “This looks great,” he said softly, and the low timbre of his voice made her heart dip and rise in an odd, fluttery way.

“Not too fancy, I know,” she murmured, stepping back to let him settle. A touch of self-consciousness crept into her tone, but not enough to overshadow the earnest kindness she offered. “I hope it’s okay.”

“I’m pretty sure leftover pasta never looked this appealing,” he replied, lightness dancing in his eyes. His sincerity felt tangible—no forced compliments, just the honest appreciation of a man unexpectedly comforted by a stranger’s kitchen.

Sofia folded her hands together at her waist, then remembered her manners. “Feel free to sit,” she said, her voice a shade quieter. She gestured toward the small wooden table. A half-burned candle and a tiny succulent inhabited the tabletop, tiny guardians of many solitary evenings. To invite him to that table felt like offering him a glimpse of her routine—the place where she sipped tea and read after long days, where she planned lessons and wrote grocery lists.

Nico nodded, taking the few steps needed to reach it. He settled into one of the chairs, setting the bowl down carefully. When he lifted his gaze again, she was still watching him, her posture a delicate blend of readiness and uncertainty. There was a softness in her expression he found comforting—no demands, no assumptions, just a gentle willingness to make him feel at home.

“Thank you,” he said again, the words simple but weighted with more than just gratitude for a meal. His voice bridged something unspoken in the space between them, acknowledging the unusual nature of this encounter. He lifted the fork, tasted the pasta, and nodded with quiet approval. “It’s perfect.”

Sofia hovered near the counter a moment longer, watching him settle into the quiet rhythm of his meal. He didn’t seem uncomfortable; in fact, he appeared focused on the simple act of eating, as though savoring each bite. There was a contented look on his face, something close to relief. The sight made her smile softly, and for the first time since he stepped into her apartment, she felt less like a bundle of nerves and more like someone who could just… be.

Still, the energy of the day weighed on her shoulders and the back of her neck, and she was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she’d had a moment to herself. “I, um,” she began, catching her reflection in the window’s faint glass. The blush in her cheeks lingered, her hair a bit mussed from running her hands through it too many times. “I’m going to hop in the shower, if that’s okay,” she said, the words emerging in a gentle rush. “It’s been a long day, and I… well, I could use it.”

Nico looked up from the bowl, pausing mid-twirl of his fork. He nodded understandingly. “Of course,” he said. No questions, no odd glances, just the same calm acceptance he’d shown since entering her pastel world. “Take your time. I’m good here.”

She offered a timid half-smile, relieved he hadn’t found the request strange. “There’s more water in the fridge if you need it,” she murmured, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head toward the kitchen. “And I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.”

Sofia slipped away, her footsteps quiet as she made her way down the short corridor. In her small bathroom, she flicked on the lights. They illuminated a delicate shower curtain—pale pink, patterned with subtle green leaves—and the neat row of bottles along the tile ledge. She turned on the water, testing it with her hand until it reached that perfect, soothing temperature. Her clothes came off and she stepped under the stream, letting the warmth and steam envelop her. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, rinsing away the day’s tension.

Soon she emerged from the hallway in a set of pale blue pajamas scattered with tiny daisies, the soft cotton clinging gently to her fresh-from-the-shower warmth. Her hair, still damp, lay in loose waves around her shoulders, and though she tried to appear casual, there was a shy set to her posture—arms held close, hands lightly clasped. She paused near the doorway between the hall and the living area, as if double-checking the atmosphere before stepping fully into it.

Nico was on the couch, the now-clean bowl resting upside down on a folded dish towel he must have found beneath the sink. He’d taken the initiative to tidy up, and something about that small kindness made her heart beat a little faster. 

His gaze lifted when he sensed her presence, and for a brief moment, he struggled to keep it respectful and level. Her pajamas were cute, undeniably so, and seeing her in them brought an unexpected feeling to the moment. He refocused quickly on her face, noting the gentle flush in her cheeks that matched the faint rose hue of the lamp’s glow on the wall. Something about the way she carried herself—the timid half-step into the room—tugged at a protective feeling inside of him. 

“I, um… you all good?” Sofia asked softly, crossing the final steps into the living area. Her voice still held that careful politeness, but under it was a warmth that felt more natural now, as if layers of formality had been gently peeled back over the evening. She glanced at the cleaned bowl and then at him, eyes brightening with pleased surprise. “You cleaned up?” she noted, her tone both grateful and a little impressed.

Nico nodded, his own smile deepening. “Seemed fair,” he said quietly.

He wasn’t sure what else to say for a moment, so he let the silence stretch, comfortable enough not to fill it right away. Sofia took a cue from that silence and moved toward the armchair near his spot on the sofa, the lamplight catching on the subtle patterns of her pajama fabric. 

She tucked one leg under the other as she settled down, maintaining a careful grace. Nico kept his eyes anchored on her face, determined not to let his curiosity roam lower. It wasn’t that he was blind to the pretty picture she made—it was simply that he respected her too much, especially after all her quiet generosity.

“Do you want any help making the couch into a bed?” she asked, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicked to the cushions, then back to him. “I think I have a spare quilt and some blankets I can bring out.” She paused, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek before adding, “And—um—if you’d like some tea… I’ve got peppermint, chamomile, or just regular black tea with honey.”

Nico’s heart gave a small, unexpected twist. It wasn’t that she’d asked anything extraordinary—it was her tone, the caring simplicity of her questions, and the way she sat there, folded softly into her armchair, that had him feeling as though he were seeing something delicate and lovely. She looked so at ease in this space, her space, making an offer that was both practical and undeniably kind. The scent of her shampoo still lingered faintly in the air, and he wondered how anyone could be so naturally gentle.

He had to remind himself to answer. Clearing his throat quietly, he leaned forward just a bit, willing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not let them wander, not get lost in how well the pastel hues complemented her skin, how her features were softened further by the soft glow of lamplight. “You don’t have to fuss,” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to break the hush they’d settled into. “Really. Just being inside, having a place to rest, that’s already more than enough.”

He watched her expression carefully. There was a sincerity in her face that made him want to accept everything she offered, no matter how small. “But… if you don’t mind,” he continued gently, “a cup of tea would actually be nice.” He almost smiled at how modest he sounded—him, who usually had no trouble asking for what he needed. But here, he wanted to tread lightly.

“Peppermint?” she asked softly, the corners of her mouth lifting.

“Peppermint sounds great,” he replied. He watched her unfold herself from the armchair, moving with that same gentle grace toward the kitchen. He let his eyes follow her only briefly, but quickly looked away once he realised he was staring. 

Sofia returned with two steaming mugs. Nico straightened a bit on the couch, watching her approach with quiet appreciation, and accepted one of the mugs with a grateful nod. She curled back into her armchair, legs tucked under her comfortably, her free hand stroking the armrest’s worn fabric.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a cautious sip. The warmth of the tea rose up to his face. “This will definitely hit the spot.”

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “Good. I’m glad.” A lull passed, not awkward, just a gentle pause in the rhythm of the evening.

“So,” Sofia ventured, cradling her mug close to her chest. She studied him a moment, noticing how he seemed more at ease now than when he first arrived. “You said work keeps you on the road a lot?” Her voice was soft, curious. She’d avoided prying too much before, but now it felt natural to learn a bit more about the unexpected guest in her home. 

Nico nodded, resting an ankle over his opposite knee. “Yeah, I travel pretty often,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “It comes with the job.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows lifting slightly. “What kind of work do you do? If you don’t mind me asking.” Her lips curved into a reassuring half-smile, as if to say: You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know.

He hesitated, not out of secrecy, but because he rarely had to explain himself to someone who didn’t already know. “I play hockey,” he answered simply. “Professionally.”

Sofia’s fingers tightened slightly around the mug of tea she’d just set in her lap. His answer—“I play hockey”—should have been simple enough, but those words nudged a memory she normally kept tucked away, pressed between the pages of her past. She swallowed, working to keep her expression neutral as she tilted her head and offered him a small, polite smile.

“Professionally,” she repeated softly. There was a hint of awe in her tone, but beneath it a subtle shift: something a bit more distant, as though her thoughts had taken her elsewhere. 

“So you’re traveling a lot, playing… what, in the NHL?” She asked it gently, her voice kept even, as if bracing for an answer that might sting more than it should.

Nico nodded, and something about his posture, the practiced humility in his eyes, suggested he was used to people knowing exactly who he was. But here, in front of Sofia, he had to explain. “Yeah,” he said, settling his tea on the coffee table. “I’m with the New Jersey Devils.”

He seemed poised, prepared for some reaction—recognition, excitement, maybe a flurry of questions about his fame. But Sofia’s reaction was subtle: her gaze dropped to her hands where she fiddled with the rim of her mug. She knew enough about hockey—more than she cared to remember—to understand how big that was. But the memories it stirred made her heart twist.

“My brother…” she began, voice almost too soft. She paused, forced herself to breathe. Nico’s eyes were on her, patient and curious. She lifted her gaze, offered a small, tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “He played hockey too. He was the captain of his college team.”

Saying it aloud brought an ache to the surface. She hadn’t expected to share this detail with him. 

Nico leaned forward slightly at her words, intrigued but slightly oblivious to the sadness pooling behind her eyes. “Really? That’s great,” he said gently, his tone warming with genuine interest.

Sofia pressed her lips together, fighting the familiar sting in her chest. She had said it so simply: he was the captain. She hadn’t explicitly said he was gone, and Nico’s calm, encouraging expression told her he’d taken the statement at face value—that her brother still walked somewhere under stadium lights, still taped his stick before every game, still pulled on a jersey with a “C” stitched into its fabric.

“That must’ve been amazing, growing up and watching him play,” Nico said, making a small gesture as if passing an invisible puck between them. He tried to imagine her in the stands, cheering with family, maybe wearing her brother’s college team colors.

Sofia’s hand tightened around her mug. She forced a weak smile to cover the jagged ache in her chest. How easily he assumed a living present tense—do you watch him, must’ve been proud—and how hard it would be to correct him. A shiver of memory moved through her: her brother’s last game, the way he’d grinned at her afterward and ruffled her hair like always, the stands emptying as he lingered on the ice, making excuses to savor every second. And then the accident that tore that future away.

She swallowed, the peppermint scent of her tea suddenly too sharp. Her voice, when it came, was quiet and carefully measured. “I used to go to all his home games,” she said softly, truth and omission twined together. “He loved playing. I think wearing that ‘C’ on his jersey meant everything to him. He wanted to go further…” Her eyes flickered down, as if searching the floor for some steady ground.

Nico nodded, his smile soft with admiration. “Captains usually do. A lot of them dream about going pro, just like I did.” He paused, considering her brother’s path. “Where is he playing now? Did he keep going with it after college?”

The question hung in the warm air. It was such a simple inquiry—an innocent assumption that the story moved forward, that her brother stepped from college hockey into some next phase. Nico’s earnest interest made it harder to respond, but she knew she had to clarify.

Her heart beat thickly in her throat. She pulled in a slow breath, mustering courage. “He… he didn’t get the chance,” she managed. Her gaze lifted, meeting Nico’s eyes. The gentle lamplight caught unshed tears there, making them glisten, and Nico’s soft curiosity faltered into sudden concern.

Sofia cleared her throat, voice almost a whisper. “He passed away before he could try.” The words felt heavy on her tongue, and she offered them with as much calm as she could.

Nico stilled, the weight of her revelation settling immediately in the hush of the apartment. His breath caught, and his shoulders sagged slightly, as if absorbing the shock for her sake. He realized, with a pang of regret, that he’d pressed on too lightly, that his questions might have scraped at old wounds he didn’t know were there.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he said, voice low and full of quiet apology, understanding now the ache that underpinned her every word about her brother. He held her gaze, hoping to convey that he understood this was not just a story, but a piece of her heart that still hurt. He didn’t look away, offering no empty platitudes, just honest sorrow and respect for her loss.

Sofia’s tight smile trembled, then steadied. Her gaze drifted to the patterns on her rug.

“The night I, um…” She paused, took a careful breath. “The night I knocked on your door and yelled at all of you to keep it down—it was the anniversary of his death.”

Her words settled into the quiet space, their weight palpable. Nico’s eyes softened with understanding. He didn’t move, didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, he let her speak at her own pace, sensing that this was something she needed to say aloud.

“I’d been holding it together all day,” she continued, her fingers curling around the fabric of her pajama sleeve. “Trying to pretend everything was fine, going through the motions, doing my job, smiling for the kids at work. And then I came home to a silent apartment. And it felt so empty. I opened a bottle of wine, told myself I’d have just one glass.” She gave a shaky laugh, humorless and soft. “One turned into a few, and then the noise started next door. Loud voices, laughter… I just snapped. Something about all that life and sound and celebration was too much to bear that night.”

Nico’s heart twisted. He remembered that evening so clearly: her face flushed with anger, her words slurred slightly by the wine, but beneath the frustration and annoyance he now saw the grief. He wished he could have understood then what he knew now.

Sofia glanced up, meeting his gaze. The tears in her eyes didn’t fall, but they glistened, held in place by her quiet strength. “I’m not proud of it. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you or your friends. But I guess I was angry. Angry that the world keeps spinning, that people keep laughing and having fun, while he can’t. Angry that my life would never be the same.”

Nico leaned forward, setting his tea down, carefully trying not to break their fragile connection.

“I’m so sorry.” He wanted to say more, to tell her that her anger made sense, that anyone faced with such pain might lash out when confronted with reminders of what they’d lost. But he let the apology stand, simple and honest.

She offered a small nod, her expression distant for a moment as she wrestled with old memories and fresh regrets. “I remember thinking, after I went back to my apartment, that I’d embarrassed myself. But I was too raw to care that much. I just… I missed him. I still do, every day. The anniversary just makes it harder to pretend everything’s fine.”

The clock ticked softly, and the art covered walls seemed to hold them both in gentle sympathy. 

Nico finally spoke, voice low. “I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” he said. “But I get it now. Why you were upset. Why that night mattered so much.” He hesitated, wanting to reassure her without sounding trite. “Your brother—he mattered. He still does. It makes sense that losing him on that day would stir up everything.”

Sofia’s lips curved into the faintest, sad smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. It wasn’t just gratitude for his understanding words, but for the space he gave her to be honest, for not turning this into a moment of pity or awkward apologies. “I don’t usually talk about him with… well, with people I don’t know well. But something about tonight, and about you—I don’t know, it feels safe. Like I can share this without worrying you’ll judge me.”

Nico’s chest tightened again, that gentle pull of empathy and admiration he’d been feeling all evening. “You can,” he assured softly. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.” He wanted to offer comfort, but he also knew she was strong on her own. Maybe just hearing her words, acknowledging her pain, was enough for now.

They fell quiet once more, letting the hush settle. Sofia’s eyes drifted to the picture frame on the shelf, the one containing her brother’s photograph. The memory still hurt, but tonight it hurt a little less—maybe because someone else knew and she wasn’t alone. 

“You probably don’t know much about me,” Sofia said, speaking up, her voice a touch steadier now. “I mean, beyond the fact that I had a rough night and a brother who meant a lot to me.” She offered a small, self-conscious smile, fingers brushing the rim of her mug. “I’m a preschool teacher, actually.”

Nico’s posture shifted slightly, interest lighting his features. “A preschool teacher?” he repeated, a note of admiration in his tone. He set his own mug down carefully, as if savoring this new piece of information. “I can imagine that takes incredible patience.”

Sofia allowed herself a genuine smile. “More patience than I ever thought I had,” she agreed, a soft laugh following the admission. It felt good to move into this gentler territory. “But I love it. The kids—oh, they’re amazing. They’re curious about everything, and each day feels like a chance to show them how wide and wonderful the world can be.” She paused, warmth creeping into her voice. “They remind me that there’s still so much hope out there, even when things are hard.”

Nico nodded, absorbing her words. He tried to picture her surrounded by small children, helping them tie their shoes, guiding them through finger-painting, reading stories with animated voices. He could imagine how that environment might offer a kind of healing—an antidote to the heaviness she carried. “I respect that,” he said softly. “Finding a path that lets you make a difference and feel connected… it’s not something everyone manages.”

She dipped her head slightly, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. It wasn’t exactly planned,” she confessed. “I ended up teaching after a lot in my life changed. I guess I needed something that felt meaningful, something that helped me move forward rather than staying stuck in old pain.”

Nico’s gaze flicked to the photograph on the shelf, then back to her face. He knew enough now to understand the subtext without pressing. “It sounds like it’s given you that,” he said simply. “You have this calm energy that I’m sure helps them feel safe.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. There were many times she questioned her abilities—wondering if she was patient enough, kind enough, if she truly made a difference—but hearing it from someone who barely knew her gave it a unique weight. “I try,” she said, her tone modest.

After a few unhurried moments, Sofia shifted in her chair. The day’s emotions, along with the late hour, had settled into her muscles, reminding her that she needed rest. She gave a small, apologetic smile and rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her pajama top as she did so.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” she said quietly, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful mood they’d found. Her eyes found his across the modest space. “It’s getting late, and tomorrow morning will come too soon, as always.”

Nico nodded, understanding perfectly. He leaned back against the couch, his posture easy, trying his best to keep his gaze respectful. “Of course,” he said gently. “You’ve had a long day.”

She took a step toward the hallway, then paused, turning back as if remembering something important. “Before I go…” Sofia hesitated for a heartbeat, then gestured toward a small cupboard near the bathroom door. “There are fresh towels in there if you want to take a shower. Soap and shampoo are on the shelf inside. And, well, the couch is all yours. Make yourself at home, okay?”

Nico looked at her, gratitude flickering in his eyes. It amazed him how thoughtful she continued to be, even after all they’d shared tonight. “Thank you,” he replied, voice soft. “I appreciate everything. Really.”

Sofia nodded, accepting his thanks with a faint, genuine smile. She pressed her lips together as if holding onto a last piece of kindness and, finding it unnecessary to say more, offered him a quiet “Good night” that was warmer than any drawn-out farewell.

“Good night,” Nico echoed, his voice carrying through the hush as she retreated into the dim hallway.

The soft click of her bedroom door eased into the silence, and he let out a slow breath. He wouldn’t intrude on her space more than he needed to, but the invitation to shower and settle in was a kindness he didn’t take lightly. He rose from the sofa to find the towels, and perhaps, a small measure of peace in the quiet hours before morning.

@bratbarzal @xaexaesworld @lhughes43

[regretmedaisy]

i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part II

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

summary: She had always fancied Tom Riddle. It was an infatuation that bordered on love and obsession, that she had secretly grown and cared for, content with indulging in her fantasies and never bold enough to try and make them become reality.

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, she's a bit anxious, a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, woman is on top.

please note that mc has a crush on tom, therefore the way she refers to him could sound a bit cheesy and exaggerated. i edited this last night and didn't read it again before posting. i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes i missed.

bear with her in this one, she's a little anxious.

words: 6.7K

you can find part I here, I strongly recommend you read that one first.

this is me crawling out of my hole of shame to post this chapter.

i'm really sorry for this very late update, but the smut chapter is finally here after many days of writing (but still in time for smutober lol).

it's not crazy smut, but i hope it was worth the wait.

Part II: And I could see you up against the wall with me

She tapped her foot, pursing her red lips as she jotted a few numbers down on a parchment. She sighed, taking another folder from the pile on her side and checking if the reports corresponded. 

When Serena, her boss, had showed up that morning with two delivery men in tow, she already knew her day was going to take a detestable turn.

Serena had dropped three boxes full of last year's reports in the office and sprinted out of the door before they could say anything and try to stop her.

Apparently she had hired a cheap accountant to save money and now she had to review everything before the Ministry noticed and demanded an audit. Or rather, Serena had asked her to do it.

She was now holed up in the backroom while Will had taken her place in the main office, since Serena didn’t pay her enough to care about customers and save her from bankruptcy at the same time.

She glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for her usual break. She chewed the inside of her cheek and returned to the reports.

She wasn’t in the right mindset to meet Tom.

The day she had gone to see him had been like the calm before the literal storm. In the past week it had rained so heavily that she had had to give up on going out and he hadn’t come to post his letters. What had happened between them had been left unresolved.

She had replayed it so many times in her mind, at night and during idle moments in the office, picturing different ways in which it could have ended, desperately wishing she could indulge in his warm lips again.

The first few days she had fretted about it, but as the week had gone by without a word from him, she had just started to accept it as the normal course of things. Perhaps it had just been an extraordinary event, a moment that wasn’t going to repeat itself and that she needed to find contentment in. Perhaps it was supposed to be one of those memories she was going to return to in twenty years, thinking about everything she could have had, or it will sour in her mind, turning into regret while her lamenting soul grieved the possibilities of youth, the chances she had been too scared to take.

It didn’t matter that she was conscious of the anxious butterflies leading her decisions, she still didn’t want to find out if what she saw in him was just a product of her infatuated imagination.

She immersed herself in numbers, refusing to go down that rabbit hole again.

Fifteen minutes after the end of her break, a customer walked in. A beat of silence followed and then Will said, “She’s in the back.”

She almost jumped out of her seat, her heart rate picking up. She quickly smoothed her hair and sat straighter, crossing her legs.

Tom appeared in the doorway, his arm half raised as if he had wanted to knock. She pretended she had just noticed him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hello, Tom.” She gave him a mellow smile.

He was so good-looking, with his perfectly styled curls and black coat in the muted light of the cloudy morning. Her heart fluttered painfully.

He looked hesitant as he made his way to her and handed her a folded magazine. It was the weekly crossword.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it as her gaze met his. The way he was looking at her was so compelling it was impossible for her to divert her eyes.

He had been thinking of her, she realised, he had noticed her absence, perhaps even missed her.

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.” His gaze trailed to the numerous papers scattered on the table.

“Not at all, a distraction is more than welcome.” The distraction of his presence was most desirable.

He drew closer, reading through them as he casually rested his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Maths mostly,” she replied, fiddling with the parchments to hide her nervousness.

He reached out over her shoulder to grab a folder but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s still work.”

He dropped his arm. “You’re right, I apologise. I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s fine.”

He stepped to the side, tickling her neck.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from grinning.

“Of course.” 

She watched him with desirous parted lips as he left. He said goodbye to Will and she heard the door closing. It was only a matter of minutes before Will came to pry.

She grabbed the crossword, flipping through the pages. He had bought her her favourite one.

As she got up to put it next to her bag, a small note fell to the ground. It was a plain piece of parchment. But as she picked it up, ready to throw it on the table with the rest of the documents, words started to appear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew to whom that elegant and neat handwriting belonged.

She read the note. Then read it again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. 

“I hope to see you more often in the future.

You look stunning with that lip colour.

T.R.”

She brought her fingers to her mouth, staring at the words until each swirl of ink etched into her mind, terrified they might disappear.

Instead his message remained there, visible, tangible, real. He had taken time to write her a note, to think about something he knew she’d appreciate.

Something warm diffused in her chest, a new version of a familiar feeling, and a giggle escaped her as she realised the ridiculous effect he had on her. 

She was so engrossed in her reverie that she didn’t notice Will standing in the door until he cleared his throat. 

She quickly hid the message in her purse and  he was so considerate not to comment on it.

“How is it going?” he asked.

“Awfully slowly, these numbers are all over the place,” she huffed, returning to her chair.

He dragged a chair and sat across from her. He started bouncing his knee. “I know you’d prefer not to talk about this, but how are things between you two?”

She stopped twirling her quill. “What do you mean?”

Will shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you but I’d hate to see you hurt.”

She tilted her head to the side, disliking the territory the conversation was heading towards.

He was struggling with his words. “He never- I never saw him interested in a girl. I just want to be sure you know what you can expect from him.”

She averted her eyes. “I have considered all the options.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Will!” she bursted out. 

Her flare of annoyance suddenly deflated, making room for embarrassment for what he probably saw as naivety.

“I know I’m probably getting ahead of myself.”

“You are smart, I just can’t stand watching you smile at the things he writes to you.”

She feigned offence and threw a balled up paper at him. 

“When you find someone, you’ll be just as ridiculous.”

He laughed and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I’m curious to know, when did it start?”

She scrunched her eyebrows, thinking about how much she wanted to reveal. “I don’t remember exactly. It was more like a sequence of events, until one day I was anxiously waiting for him to sit at his usual spot at breakfast,” she replied with a smile. Will was smiling too.

“You and half of Hogwarts,” he said.

She chuckled. “I miss those years sometimes. Everything was simpler.”

“I used to worry about everything,” he admitted. “But fears always seem so big.”

They really did.

“What do you like about him?” he asked after a beat of silence.

It was her turn to be at a loss of words. “He’s handsome…and always so mysterious. I think I always liked him because it was easy to imagine him being exactly what I wanted.” She looked at him hesitantly, fearing judgement, but he was just listening. “But I think it’s impossible for me to dislike the real him.”

They shared a small moment of closure. She had always wished for someone she could confide in, someone that could help her see beyond the fabrications of her wary heart, and perhaps she had finally found them.

The bell chimed and Will got up. 

“Do you want to come for lunch on Sunday?” she asked.

“I’d love to. I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze shifted between the door and her. “Just make sure you both want the same thing.”

He went back, leaving her at the mercy of her insidious brain and foolish heart.

Throughout the afternoon she had opened the note at least three times, giggling like a schoolgirl everytime she read his words.

Her mind kept straying to what he had said.

“I’ll see you later.”

She wasn’t sure what he had actually meant. Was he just going to stop by or was he going to wait for the office to close? She wasn’t even sure she could see him today, since she expected to stay late to solve Serena’s mess. 

Will popped in. “I have to check something at the owlery. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

The door opened and closed and then she was submerged by stillness. It was soothing almost.

She had found out long ago that she enjoyed being alone, it freed her of any kind of expectation.

She turned up the heating with her wand and took off her jacket. Since they couldn’t light a fireplace in a room full of paper, they had refined a spell that kept the room warm and the humidity away.

It was a few minutes after the usual closing hour that the door opened again. She knew who it was.

He walked in, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and his lips reddened. 

“Are you still working?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while before I’m free to go.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, grabbing her crossword and a quill and sitting down on a chair, bending one leg so that his ankle rested on his other knee.

Her face heated as she watched him but she didn’t say anything.

As she returned to her work, she realised that silence was a strange assistant. It felt like every sound was heightened and she was becoming keenly aware of everything that was happening. The scratching of their quill on parchment, paper being flipped as she checked the numbers or he looked for a crossword he liked, his soft breath threatening to pull her close like a magnet, her absentmindedly chipping her nail polish.

She kept throwing glances in his direction and she could feel his eyes on her from time to time.

An unspoken craving was growing between them again. She had waited long enough.

She slowly got up, gathering her reports and stacking them in a neat pile. She then took them and walked over to the shelves, conveniently passing by Riddle in doing so. 

As she stored them, his chair scraped on the ground and she felt him draw closer. She deliberately turned around, meeting his eyes.

His gaze was deep, like he was trying to read every thought that crossed her mind just by looking at her. She wasn’t going to lay them bare for him. 

He raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she replied, stepping forward and trailing her fingers down his suit jacket, feeling the fabric. “You keep mentioning it but this is the first time I’ve seen you all week.”

“It was storming all week,” he pointed out.

She tilted her head, finding his eyes again. His eagerness was palpable. “Still,” she said.

He grabbed her waist, pressing her body flush against his. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

She had thought about that moment since then.

“Tell me what you desire the most.”

What could she tell him? That she had been pining for him for so long she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else? That she was jealous of even thinking about him with someone else? Will’s words played in her mind.

She leaned closer, murmuring against his ear. “Not until I know why you’re here, Tom.”

She left a kiss on his jaw, phantom lips brushing against his flawless skin.

“It’s a really uncomplicated answer,” he said, caressing her back.

“Explain it to me, then.”

Tender amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you really think I came here because I don’t own an owl?”

His words pulled at her heartstrings with raw delight and her mind went blank. Adrenaline was rushing through her as she listened to her impulses. It was enough, at least for now it was enough.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her hand in his hair, involuntarily tugging at the strands as she leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath as he pulled her in, gripping the silky fabric of her blouse.

She met his lips halfway, the burning touch consuming her as he pressed her against the shelves, one hand lost in her hair, the other splayed around her ribcage. 

She bit his lower lip, smiling as it elicited a groan from him and the kiss became more demanding.

It was a moment frozen in time, where she wanted to stay forever, like the scenery in a snowglobe.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice abruptly pulled them apart. She was breathless as she realised she had forgotten to lock the door. Was this a conspiracy? 

Tom was slightly panting and she left a small kiss on his neck.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

She used a finger to fix her smudged lipstick and went to see who had just dared to interrupt them.

There was a man standing in the office.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“But I saw the light on.”

There was a twitch in her jaw. “We are closed to the public. I must ask you to come tomorrow morning.”

He rolled his eyes and she ignored his grumbling as he left, locking the door behind him. When she went back, Tom was leaning against the table.

He turned his head towards her as she languidly got closer. She forgot pleasantries, immediately grabbing his face to kiss him again. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around her.

His mouth trailed down, kissing her cheek, her jaw and then pressing against her neck, soft lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth. 

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, flattening her back against his chest and brushing her hair away from her neck to bite and lick her skin. His hands travelled down and he started gathering the fabric of her skirt. 

Merlin, it was finally happening. 

He caressed her inner thigh, tracing patterns and snapping the nylon of her stockings as his fingers moved excruciatingly slow.

Finally he pulled her underwear to the side, feeling the wetness between her folds with his fingers as his other hand cupped her breast.

She threw her head back against his shoulder as he stroked her clit, eliciting a sigh out of her, and she grabbed his thigh for support.

“I won’t drop you,” he murmured, amused, against her ear. He rubbed his palm over her clothed breast, the friction causing sparks to jolt through her body.

None of her fantasies came even close to what she was feeling right now.

“Should I trust you?” she asked, biting her lip to suppress a moan as he sunk one finger inside of her, his thumb still applying pressure on her clit.

“Such a great timing to ask me that,” he replied. She felt him smile on her skin.

“We don’t really know each other, Tom.” She dug her fingers into his flesh as he slipped in a second finger and started fingering her, stretching her as pleasure morphed her features. 

“And yet you are letting me do this.” He squeezed her breast, lewd wet sounds filling the room as he kept moving his fingers inside of her. 

She leaned her body weight completely on him, her legs unsteady as it was precarious the beating of her heart. 

He let out a low moan as she yanked his hair to catch his mouth, biting his lip hard to gain better access, their tongues tangling together.

He curled his fingers inside of her, an unrelenting wave of pleasure washing over her.

She stopped to imagine what it would be like if he dropped to his knees again, if he started kissing and licking her, if she could watch him at her mercy between her legs.

She realised in that moment that the fall down the precipice was inevitable. Tom had threatened to push her but she had allowed him to succeed, jumping into an abyss that felt unending but that could only allow two conclusions to her story.

What she had told Will was true. She loved the fantasy, all the glances, conversations, gestures that had never happened, that she had delighted herself with when the reality was harsher, but as she kissed him she knew that falling for the real Tom was unavoidable. Not if he kept touching her like that.

It was bound to happen, it was part of her story, the decision she was brave enough to take.

She focused on him, on the circles his thumb was drawing on her clit, on the indecent sounds falling from her lips, on his groans on her reddened skin, on him growing harder against her back. 

He pulled her hair back, tilting her head to meet her gaze. His eyes glimmered with rapture while hers were heavy-lidded, tension building inside of her. 

He didn’t take his eyes off of her, as if he wanted to memorise each detail of her, the way she looked at him, the way her lips parted slightly and the way she panted as she was nearing her orgasm.

“Just like that, darling,” he murmured, a pleased smile on his lips as he noticed she was still blushing.

She threw her head back, losing herself in the motion of his fingers, surrendering herself as blissed moans spilled out shamelessly. She squeezed his soaked fingers, and he kept moving, stroking her throughout her climax.

She panted, coming down from her apex in a flurry of emotions and flustered thoughts. He raised his wet fingers to her lips and she opened her mouth, tasting herself on her tongue as she sucked on them, never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl,” he said, holding her jaw and kissing her.

It was a slow kiss, meant to explore her depths in a different way from the breathless and unrestrained passion from before. She leaned into his palm, her hand closing around his wrist.

His arms snaked around her waist and he turned them around, pushing under her thighs to lift her on the table.

The kiss transformed again.

Teeth and tongues met with vehemence, burning urgency guiding their movements as he brought her legs around his waist and she quickly started to unbutton her blouse.

But at the third button, she stopped. 

Tom noticed the shift in her demeanour and drew back, observing her. Her eyes flew to the clock, as she had just remembered about Will.

She noticed with disappointment that they had no time.

“What is it?” he asked. She didn’t miss the urgent tone of his question.

“Will will be back any time now,” she replied, leaving a peck on his lips. 

He cleared his throat and stepped back, composing himself. She got off the table and

cool hands unexpectedly reached her again, adjusting her clothes and stockings. She shivered at the contact.

He smoothed her skirt and put his coat back on, watching her as she scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

“If you want to stop by one of these days.”

“I remember where you live,” he replied, reading the address she had written down.

She shrugged, holding out one finger to wipe away the lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have to go back to work?”

“I was supposed to meet with a potential supplier, so yes.”

“I’d stop by the bathroom before,” she advised, gesturing for him to go as she herself needed to compose herself again.

She braced herself against the threshold, leaning her head on the hard wood as she watched him unlock the door and leave. 

Then she was alone, finally finding an answer in the cluster of hypotheses that had tormented her mind.

Two days later, as she was returning from her meeting with Serena, she found Tom waiting for her.

He was talking to Will and they both turned to her as she entered, feeling tremendously self-conscious.

“How is Serena?” Will asked.

“Dim-witted as always,” she replied, earning a laugh from Will.

Her eyes trailed to Riddle, holding an unspoken question. 

Will seemed to notice because he stepped forwards.

“It’s quite late, you can go if you want, I’ll close.”

Tom didn’t wait for him to repeat himself, pushing down the handle and holding the door open for her.

She mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him and followed Tom outside. Once in the street, she huddled herself in her coat and took the arm he was offering her. 

“May I walk you home?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, a little breathy, still not immune to the chivalrous manners he always had with her.

They strolled through the streets, passing by scarcer and scarcer people as the stores emptied and everyone returned home seeking a tranquil evening.

She held his arm tightly, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of his coat.

The first time they had walked together it had felt like an accident, a singular mistake in the already waved threads of her life. This time, she yearned for so much more than she wanted for the error to repeat itself; she was willing to cut the strings herself and tie them back together, as messy as it might have looked. 

They crossed the road and he gently put a hand on her waist, pushing her away from the pavement. 

“Would you fancy dinner?” he asked. There was a foreign quality in his voice and when she turned to look at him, he averted his eyes. She blinked bewildered. Was he nervous?

“I’d love to,” she replied and she noticed his chest rising like he had just begun breathing again. “But not tonight.”

An almost imperceptible smile cleared his expression at her answer and she leaned her head on his shoulder, basking in his mere presence.

When they reached her front door, she looked for her keys with embarrassingly clammy hands. 

As she lifted her head to ask Tom if he wanted to stay, she found his eyes impatiently boring into her bag. 

“Would you-”

His gaze snapped to her, serious and scorching. “Don’t even ask.”

Something coiled between her legs at the way he was looking at her. She nodded and walked up the few stairs to her door, unlocking it.

“Second floor,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

They stepped into the building, the sound of her heels and the soles of his shoes hitting the stone ricocheting through the empty hall.

She turned to gesture to him to follow her when he grabbed her face, kissing her as he pushed her against the wall by the foot of the stairs. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it just as she suspected he loved by the way he always pressed himself harder against her. 

He curved his palm around her cheek, better angling her face as their tongues met.

“I have a nosy neighbour,” she said after they pulled apart to catch their breath. “She is probably spying on us through her peephole.”

Tom didn’t think twice about it, taking her hand and leading her up to the second floor. She stifled a laugh as she unlocked the door, Tom’s lips skimming against her neck as she did, and was left breathless when he closed it unceremoniously behind them, resuming from where they had been interrupted.

As she dropped her bag and grabbed his waist, walking backwards into her living room, she remembered there were clothes somewhere - perhaps in the bathroom but she wasn’t sure - that she had forgotten to put away yesterday.

In any case, Tom didn’t look particularly interested in how tidy she was.

They quickly took off each other's coats and discarded them on the floor.

He sat on her sofa, pulling her down with him.

She was straddling him, her knees digging into the plush cushions as his hands appreciatively caressed her back, moving up and down and occasionally squeezing. She lit the fireplace with a wave of her hand.

She rocked her hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a long awaited moan from him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, their lips collading so hard she was sure she cut him.

She helped him out of his jacket and vest and undid his tie, smoothing her hands on his white button-down.

“I’ve waited too long,” she said, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and grinding against him. Her hands disappeared under his undershirt and ran over his pale chest, lightly scratching his skin.

“Slowly, my dear. We will get there,” he replied between kisses.

His palms kept tracing her thighs and his face buried in her neck, nibbling at the thin skin.

When she was a small girl, before she discovered sex, Tom Riddle was just a boy she liked. During puberty, sharing stories and questions with her friends, she started to understand what was the sensation that passed through her everytime she was close to him, the one that made her cheeks redden and her mind go somewhere she wasn’t yet comfortable with.

As an adult, sexual relations weren’t unfamiliar to her, but this carnal longing, the need of a physicality that went beyond her skin touching his, was.

He opened her blouse, revealing her silk slip and bra underneath.

She wanted to touch his soul, to hold it and comprehend it.

Her eyes fell on the tattoo on his forearm, black tendrils of ink in the shape of a serpent slithering out of a skull.

“Does this have a meaning?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, blinking surprised at her question. “It does.”

“Am I prying too much if I say I’m curious to learn it?”

He bit his lip, opening and closing his fist as if he was scrambling for words. Or perhaps he was just determining if he could trust her.

“It’s a reinterpretation of the ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail,” he finally said. “It symbolises eternity and the renewal of the being after rebirth.”

She traced her fingers on his skin, following the outline of the snake. “And what does your interpretation mean?”

“There is time to talk about it later,” he whispered, his teeth biting her neck and sinking lower, kissing her collarbone and her sternum, moving the fabric covering her breasts to the side.

She let go of the subject. She knew what it meant not being comfortable sharing your life.

He held one breast between his fingers, latching his mouth over the other, sucking her nipple and twirling his tongue around it.

She moaned, rolling her hips faster as he revered her bosom, the cold air hitting her moist skin and making her shiver as he took her other nipple in his mouth, lightly tugging at it until she reached the point where pleasure and discomfort mixed.

“Since we are in the mood for confessions…” she said between moans. He raised his head and looked at her waiting for her to continue. She hesitated, collecting all her courage.

“Why did you pursue me?”

His eyes softened, glimmering with fondness. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Because there is something extremely valuable in your devotion.” His voice was an intimate murmur, a confession no one else could hear.

She freezed, turning her head to the side to hide her mortification.

He took her chin, searching for her eyes until she finally gave in.

“Don’t be embarrassed, darling, I respect it, I understand it. Obsession keeps us alive, it’s what drives us.”

She swallowed the lump of embarrassment in her throat. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Being the object of the desire of such a woman? Of a witch? I do,” he replied, and he was so direct and earnest that her heart swelled.

He lifted her to sit on the sofa, sliding down on his knees on the floor and taking off his shirt and vest. She remained silent as he rolled down her tights, his lips gliding down her smooth skin. He unbuttoned her skirt and helped her out of it, tracing patterns on her inner thigh as his other hand felt her damp underwear.

She tensed, something tightening in her lower abdomen and her eyes fell down to his trousers.

He kissed the crease of the thigh, like he had done that one time at Borgin and Burkes, but this time she wasn’t letting anyone interrupt them. 

He took off her underwear, his movements deliberately slow, and kissed her everywhere, except there.

His lips felt hot on her skin, searing her flesh like she had often dreamed about, carving his way into her body the same way he had done with her mind and heart, until her entire soul was consumed by him, until he could finally close that fist and feel her in a way nobody had before. 

Her breath hitched as he delicately kissed her mound, spreading her legs apart. She leaned her head against the backrest, licking her lips with anticipation, and she couldn’t contain a whimper as he felt his tongue dragging down her slit, sweet and cruel.

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking on it as his hand splayed on her abdomen to keep her still.

She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed.

“Look at me, darling,” he murmured against her folds. His breath was warm and pleasant.

She obliged, meeting his devilish grinning figure between her legs. She was incapable of looking away as he resumed his work, she didn’t want to look away. She wanted to watch him, finally allowing herself to fully indulge in him, in what he wished to do for her.

She observed his curved eyelashes, the way his perceptive eyes followed her reactions, refining his movements to please her better.

He sucked her labia and she moaned loudly, the idea of him enjoying this as much as her being exhilarating.

He threw her leg on his shoulder, resulting in her figure sliding down the cushions and him gaining better access to her. 

His tongue probed her entrance as he coated his fingers in her wetness. He slipped one finger in, working her thoroughly as she gripped his hair, keeping his head in place.

He inserted a second finger, his tongue on her clit moving accordingly to the delighted sounds she emitted.

“Tom,” she cried urgently as she tried to press herself harder against him.

He curled his fingers inside of her and her hips jolted upwards, arching her back to an uncomfortable angle as she reached her orgasm with lascivious bliss, her obscene moans matching the wet sounds he produced by licking her until she came down from her climax.

“Tom,” she said again, so breathless her voice was a raspy whisper.

“I know,” he said, kissing her leg and inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit the moment to memory.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean as she let her watch.

She gently pushed him onto the carpet, bracing her hands on his shoulder as she sat on top of him. The fire was burning, enveloping their almost naked figures in warm orange light, heating their already scalding skin.

She took off her blouse with quivery hands, his gaze tracing her naked form that was slowly revealing itself. She hooked her fingers into the straps of her slip, pulling it down and then getting rid of it altogether. His hands on her waist tensed as she did the same for her bra.

Her lips parted as he touched her breast with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, tracing her areolae. 

She undid his trousers, pulling down the fabric until they were both completely naked. She took him in her hand, her fingers closing tentatively around him. Her hand started sliding up and down, her pace getting quicker and more confident as moans escaped him. She brushed her thumb on his tip, her eyes admiring what was in front of her. His lips were swollen, residue of her lipstick still on them, his hair was tousled, curls falling disorderly on his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at her. She felt a rush of satisfaction in knowing his current state was her doing, that she had enough power over him to ruin his flawless exterior, to make him want her to do it. 

His lips caught hers and he gently pushed her hand away. 

What happened after felt like rehearsed choreography, something so familiar it was impossible to forget. Their bodies moved together, their movements responsive to each other, doing and touching exactly where it mattered.

She pushed herself up on her knees, slowly lowering herself until she sank down on him completely, shuddering breaths escaping her lips.

His jaw was tense as she placed a hand on his shoulder for support, positioning herself better.

She didn’t break eye contact as she rolled her hips, soaking in the hazy blue of his eyes, in every twitch of his jaw and emotion he was feeling as she increased her pace, in his voice murmuring her name against her ear as his hands squeezed her tights and traced her back.

Skin slapped against skin, his touch inebriating as he felt every part of her, caressing her, massaging her, kissing her until she couldn’t take it anymore. Almost.

His hand dipped between her legs again, stroking her clit as she rocked her hips, eliciting groans from both of them.

Sentiment and pleasure fused together in an exhilarating moment, seared in her mind and flesh forever.

She kissed him again - she could never get tired of that - and bit his lower lip roughly as his other hand went to her breast again, pulling at her nipple. 

She threw her head back, letting his mouth scrape over her neck and chest, leaving behind scorching wet kisses. Or perhaps those were marks reddening her skin, she didn’t particularly care.

He gripped her waist, thrusting upwards as she held onto him tighter. Her nails drew half-moons into his back and she bit his neck, the fibres of the carpet scratching her knees.

The lights in the flat fluttered momentarily.

His fingers increased the pressure on her clit as his thrusts grew in intensity with one purpose in mind. 

She bit her lip, trying to hold back, to prolong this instant of pure bliss before she inevitably plummeted onto the other side.

She arched her back, moving accordingly to his rhythm, her hips bucking erratic as she rubbed against his pelvis. 

And then she fell down, unrestrained, her walls closing around him as she moaned uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, drawing circles on her sensitive skin until her breath found a semblance of steadiness again. 

“You did so good,” he whispered against her forehead, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away.

She slumped against him, her hands grabbing onto his biceps as he chased his own pleasure, his movements turning frantic, losing his rhythm.

She found herself murmuring against his skin the same things she had never had the courage to say out loud, not even to herself. She wasn’t sure he was even listening to her, engrossed as he was, but it didn’t matter.

He squeezed her tights once and she understood, rolling to the side as he deftly touched himself, fast strokes that culminated in white spurts all over his hand. She watched him mesmerised

He turned to look at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The fire casted shadows on his gorgeous face. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing into each other, trying to guess what the other was thinking, making sense of what remained of themselves after what had just happened.

Did it have the same momentous effect on both of them? Or was it just her that knew she couldn’t go back to being acquaintances after this?

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked. Her voice sounded faint and husky to her own ears.

“I do,” he replied without a second of hesitation.

They didn’t get up, instead resting against the foot of her sofa. She curled up against him as his hand traced indistinct patterns on her skin, remaining in this haze of indiscernible unspoken feelings they were both still trying to find a name for. 

When she woke up the next morning he was gone. As she took in the cold sheets and missing clothes, her heart threatened to crack.

She got up groggily, conclusions already forming in her mind, building the most pessimistic of pictures.

She felt anxious as she wore her robe and opened the door, heading straight for the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, the sound of someone flipping through a newspaper halted her in her steps.

She stepped into the kitchen, finding Tom sitting in a chair with his legs crossed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said back, adjusting the belt of her robe. 

She noticed he had made breakfast, a steaming coffee pot, kept warm by magic, and some pastries she had never bought waiting for her on the table. 

She turned to take a mug from a cabinet so that she could hide her smitten smile. When she closed the cabinet, she found him looking at her.

There was no need for words.

“Where did you get that?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee, referring to the newspaper. 

“I stole it from your neighbour, I hope she won’t mind.”

She laughed. “So you know how to make a joke.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sat next to him, crossing her legs. She perhaps needed to rethink her choice of slippers.

“You were always so serious growing up.”

She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee. 

“That never seemed to deter you.”

“It doesn’t.”

He took a sip of his own coffee. “Good.”

“Does it deter you, knowing how I feel?”

He blinked. “It never had. It makes it more interesting if I have to be honest.”

She blushed, scared to ask the next question.

“How long have you known?”

He got up, brushing his knuckles on her cheek.

“Long enough to see you for who you truly are.” 

He bent to give her a chaste kiss. “I should go, the shop opens in half an hour.”

He put on his coat and grabbed his leather gloves from his pocket. She turned in her chair, treasuring the last few moments of him in her apartment.

“There’s still a lot you haven’t learned yet.” 

She refused to be an open book to him. There was so much about her that was still incomprehensible even to her and too much she wanted to show him on her own terms. She wanted to be enigmatic, to drive him mad.

“I know.”

Her disappointment was visible on her face as she was met with his silence. She had wanted to continue that conversation, to learn what he had observed.

Instead he opened her front door, throwing her one last glance, heavy with unsaid intention she hoped she wasn’t imagining, before leaving. 

She had almost finished her breakfast when she noticed a small note under the newspaper he had left behind. She grabbed it faster than she was willing to admit, almost knocking over her cup in the process, and unfolded it.

“Dinner tonight?

I’ll pick you up at eight.

T.R.”

the last part is a bonus scene i wanted to write to apologize for my tardiness. tom is a little different, but I hope he isn't too out of character.

i honestly had so much fun writing this short story and exploring a different tom from the one i usually read and write about. i hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

[madewithlove-sophie]

Chapter I | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Dangerous Territory | Previous | Next | Masterlist

The café buzzed softly with the murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of porcelain. Laswell sat in her usual corner, a steaming cup of tea resting on the polished wood table.

She glanced up as Price slid into the chair across from her, his cap casting a shadow over his sharp features. Without preamble, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of files, setting them on the table between them.

“General Shepherd pulled the files you asked for,” Laswell began, taking a measured sip of her tea before placing the cup down softly. “What’s this about, Price?”

Price leaned forward, his voice dropping low. “A task force.”

Laswell arched a brow, her tone skeptical. “We already have loose ends.”

Price smirked, the hint of conviction in his eyes. “And I’ll tie them.”

Laswell shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “I fund assets, not outlaws.”

Without a word, Price stood as if ready to leave, tipping his cap slightly. “Enjoy your tea, then.”

She exhaled sharply, narrowing her eyes as he turned away. “We need you to get Makarov”

Price froze mid-step, turning back slowly. His expression was unreadable as he lowered himself back into the chair, this time leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Then get me what I need.”

Reluctantly, Laswell reached into her bag again, pulling out another slim folder. She slid it across the table, her hesitation evident. “Here.”

Price opened the folder, flipping through the pages with a practiced ease. His sharp eyes scanned each detail, his lips pressing into a thin line of thought.

“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asked, studying him closely.

Without looking up, Price answered, “Sergeant Garrick.” Handing her the file.

Laswell tilted her head slightly. “Kyle?”

“They call him Gaz,” Price said, smirking faintly. “He’s sharp, adaptable, and quiet where it counts.” He slid a file across the table. Laswell glanced at it briefly, nodding in approval.

“John MacTavish, SAS sniper—demolitions expert, Goes by Soap” Price continued.

Laswell arched a brow. "Why?”

Price’s smirk widened. “That’s classified.”

Laswell chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Of course it is.”

Sliding another file across, Price’s chuckles lightly. “There he is. Simon Riley.”

Laswell picked up the file, flipping through it. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the sparse details. “There’s no picture.”

“There never is,” Price said simply.

Laswell closed the file, placing it back on the table. “You’ve got your three. What’s next?”

Price leaned back in his chair, his voice steady and commanding. “Now the rest. That’s need-to-know. Unless we have a deal.”

Laswell crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as she studied him. “What are you calling this task force?”

Price’s faint smile returned. “141.”

Laswell picked up her tea again, sipping as she evaluated him. The silence between them was filled with the hum of the café’s ambiance. Then her eyes drifted to the manila folder still resting by Price’s hand.

“And the fourth file?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and caution.

Price paused, his hand hovering over the folder.

Laswell’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t part of the General’s list. Who is it?”

Sliding the folder toward her but keeping his hand on it, Price met her gaze steadily. “Y/N Shepherd.”

Laswell froze, her expression tightening as the name sank in. “That’s dangerous territory, John. You’re talking about General Shepherd’s kid.”

Price didn’t flinch, his voice calm and deliberate. “She’s under Commander Graves right now. A Shadow soldier.” He leaned forward, his tone unwavering. “But she’s more than that—a wild card. An experienced sergeant. Skilled sniper. Quick and deadly.”

Laswell’s eyes remained fixed on him, her skepticism clear. “And she’s tied directly to Shepherd.”

“Exactly.” Price’s voice dropped, his words deliberate. “Her connection provides unique training—black ops protocols, leadership under high-pressure scenarios. Shepherd shaped her into a weapon, but she’s not his anymore. Her insight into his operations, his mindset—that’s gold, Kate. We can use it.”

Laswell’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup, her skepticism cutting through her next words. “Or she could be playing both sides. Have you thought about that?”

Price’s jaw tightened as he leaned back, his gaze unwavering. “If she wanted to stay in Shepherd’s shadow, she’d still be there. This isn’t loyalty to him—it’s survival. And if we bring her in, she’ll fight for us. Her father’s influence can be exploited—for infiltration, misdirection, psychological advantage.” His voice hardened, carrying the weight of conviction. “She’s a soldier, Laswell. Not a pawn. We can’t ignore that potential.”

Laswell exhaled sharply, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. “And her skill set?”

“Tactical intelligence,” Price continued smoothly. “She spots patterns most miss and predicts enemy movements on the fly. Psychological warfare—breaking morale or negotiating under fire. She’s got Shepherd’s training, but she uses it to outthink and outmaneuver.” He slid the file closer. “We don’t have a medic. She can stabilize a squad under fire, keep us moving.”

Laswell hesitated, glancing at the folder. “And what happens when Shepherd catches wind of this? He’ll come for her.”

Price smirked faintly, his voice low. “Then we'll see what true loyalty means”

Laswell leaned back in her chair, the weight of Price’s argument settling over her. She hesitated for a long moment before finally picking up the folder. Her eyes scanned the first page, her frown deepening as she read.

“If this backfires,” she said quietly, setting the folder down, “it’s on your head, Price.”

“She won’t let us down,” Price said confidently as he stood, adjusting his coat. He tipped his cap slightly, his voice steady. “Enjoy your tea, Kate.”

Laswell watched him leave, the folder still open in her hands. Her tea had gone cold. The child of General Shepherd, a Shadow turned soldier for Task Force 141—if she truly was a wild card, the stakes had just been raised.

[undertheorangetree]

Under the God’s Eye

The Epilogue

Summary- Everyone has adjusted back to life nine months after the God’s Eye.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Me once again having no idea how lawyers work. Domestic and work place fluff. Vaginal fingering. Handjob. P in V sex. Overstimulation.

Author’s Note- I lied before I wrote an epilogue. The idea came to me on my commute and I was feeling fluffy. Full chapter on AO3!

Series masterlist

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“I managed to find the Hill files for you,” she tells Rhaenyra as she pulls the beige folder out from under her arm. “They were buried in one of Otto’s filing cabinets. How they got there, I have no idea, but…”

Rhaenyra smiles as she takes the folder from her, flipping it over and scanning through the loose leaf pages inside before giving a curt nod. “Thank you, you’re a life saver. Have you taken lunch yet?”

“Not yet.”

Another nod. “Go take your hour. I’m not sure how long we’ll be here tonight but I imagine you’re going to need it.”

There is no need to tell her twice. With a bouncy nod, she leaves Rhaenyra’s office and makes her way down the hall, sensible heels clicking against the linoleum. There’s a line of windows that lead away from Rhaenyra’s office and she steps from shadow to shadow, the spring sunshine outside leaving warm sun spots in its wake.

Her own small office is not far from Rhaenyra's and she makes a quick pit stop to fetch her water bottle and thermos from her purse before shutting the door behind her and continuing down the hall.

She has enjoyed working at Targaryen and Hightower just as much as she assumed she would these past few months. It is difficult work, to be sure. Long hours on top of her final semester at school, countless mugs of coffee, and cups of noodles late at night when she finally trudges through the door, but it is just as rewarding as she thought it would be. Truthfully, despite the difficulties that have come from working at such a high end firm, she isn't sure she could be happier. Rhaenyra is the best boss she could ask for and a perfect role model for her to work toward. They have become reliant on each other and Rhaenyra has made it a habit to come to her for what seemed to be anything and everything. It should feel more like an assistant position she thinks, but the older woman has never treated her as anything less than an equal, often asking for her opinion and taking her advice on more than one occasion.

She does not see much of Viserys Targaryen or Otto Hightower, both too occupied with their own cases to ever give her much mind, but she doesn’t mind as there is someone else she sees far more often.

Her fist raps against Aemond’s office door, listening carefully before pushing it open slowly. He’s sitting at his desk staring at his laptop screen, one hand braced next to his good eye as he squints it, likely trying to chase away blurry vision. It darts up when it catches sight of movement and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile when he sees her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she greets, shutting the door behind her before pressing her back against it. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans back in his chair. “Looking over the sales accounts for the Westerling case. It’s melting my brain.”

“You were looking at those this morning. Isn’t it time to take a break?”

He’s shaking his head almost the moment she suggests it, leaning forward again to stare into the blue light. “No. I have to sort them out before tonight or granddad will kill me.”

She purses her lips but elects to say nothing, twisting her thermos lid open and pulling the collapsible fork from the top, straightening it before digging into her leftovers from the night before. It’s lukewarm at best but she does not mind it, watching Aemond as he blinks erratically. Though she winces in sympathy at the thought of the pain in his eye, the irritation exacerbated by the strain, she knows better than to comment on it. He will not take a break regardless of what she says and so she simply watches him while she eats.

He looks good like this, dressed in his white button up and silk tie, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It has become a routine sight, one that she more than welcomes, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Even from here, she can see the shadow of his eyelashes as they wash over his cheekbones, his lips pursed in half a pout that tells her that his frustration will soon get the better of him. There’s an empty coffee cup next to him and she takes it upon herself to make her way over to his Keurig, placing a pod in and positioning a mug beneath the spout before pressing the button.

She continues to stare at him as it brews, feeling only a little creepy for watching him so long. Whatever tan his skin had managed to soak in from the summer has long since left him, leaving him a little paler than she had gotten used to, and she wonders if he would be willing to go on a trip with her after graduation. To Qarth maybe, for the culture she knows the history buff in him will enjoy. Or maybe Dorne, to the Water Gardens. It would be nice, to go on a holiday with him again.

Read the rest here :)

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