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lustlovehart · 3 months ago

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You Gotta Kiss The One

A/n: This isn’t my usually writing, so this is more short scenario rather than actual story, so sorry if it isn’t my best. Anyways, I was in need of some fluff for the twst men so here we are. (This came out a bit cheesy honestly) Also, unfortunately no Jamil because i went through 7 drafts for his part and hated absolutely all of them.

Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Rollo x Reader

Summary: [Fluff] In a turn of events, it seems you’ve lost your voice, and it’s up to the one you love to give out the cure, a kiss from their lips to yours.

Warnings: Cheesy Fluff, Reader wasn’t meant to be Yuu but they’re friends with Grim so, 50% Yuu.

Unfortunately, making potions with Grim never goes right. One moment, you’re carefully adding in the newt that assists in projecting a beautiful singing voice to its recipient, and in the next your head gets shoved in the concoction. When you finally emerge, your throat attempts to sound out your criticisms of Grim's recklessness. But, your lips are the only thing that moves in motion, your voice not even croaking out a word.

“Why ain’t yah talkin'?” Your hands quickly grab onto the recipe book pointing at the bold disclaimer at the bottom of the page.

If the potion is consumed before the newt is added, it will have the opposite effects.

Before you can read the rest of the text, your companion snatches the book from your hands, reading the rest of it on his own. When Grim reads out the instructions, your eyes narrow when you hear a slight chuckle escape from him when he tells you your only solutions. It’s either never talk again or...

Of course, never talking again has its pros, but, if you don’t have your voice, however will you tell… Him, about your feelings…? Of course, you could just write your confession, but that doesn’t have quite the kick words spoken from your chest do—

"Uhh... seems you gotta kiss your little crush [Name]!"

…

"What."

Before you're allowed to interject, Grim is already reaching his paw up and taking you by the hand, not even allowing you to tell Crewel about your situation. You’re quite sure if you had just told him you could’ve avoided the whole dilemma. Alas, Grim’s very eager in bathing in your embarrassment.

—————

Riddle is fuming at Grim's carelessness, it’s already bad enough that you have no magic in this faraway land, but to be subjected to a potion that doesn’t have a real cure? That’s even worse. He most definitely beheads the feline after he hears about the situation, immediately sending him onto a time-off corner, prattling on about how he should’ve been listening to the rules and acting accordingly in class.

His lecture is cut short at the sound of scribbling, his head turning to look at you furiously writing down on a piece of paper. Your lips are straight-lined as you lift the words to his face.

“Grim said the cure is a kiss.”

Oh… his mouth opens to question you more about this so-called cure, though the heart shape you form with your hands, however, is all the information he needs. It’s unfortunate that it only works if you kiss whoever it is you “love”, he could’ve gotten away with kissing you under the guise of helping if it was just anyone who could kiss you—

Who’s he kidding his face is close to turning red at such a thought. Of course the cure is something so basic, true love. Ah, no not true love, just simply a crush. Yes, a crush.

A crush that can’t be him.

He stays composed externally but internally he can’t deny he’s a little disappointed, it doesn’t matter however, he’ll help you get this kiss from your mystery student, even if it hurts a little to watch. The sound of flipping paper attracts his attention once again.

“So kiss me. Please.”

… What…? What…?! What?!

His eyes widen at the words, his mouth agape at the statement, his skin quickly flushing at the thought. You. Him. You and him. Him and you.

He’s essentially frozen in place. But, the extremely quiet sound of a broken up “okay” signals to you his permission. The feeling of soft lips being placed on his own snapped him out of his trance. He blinks a few times at your face, a smile invading your mouth.

“Thanks Riddle.”

—————

Your hands are furiously shaking Leona's shoulders, despite your relentless attempts at awakening him from his slumber, he doesn't even tell you to stop.

He didn’t even show any signal of stirring when Grim practically shouts to you about getting that kiss from him to “fix yah up”. Didn’t show any sign when you threw one of his shoes at the cat either.

He might be dead, he’s pretty still, like a corpse… Nah, he’s just being a douche.

Carefully, you drop down to his level, your face smooshed into his mattress as you look at his sleeping face. He looks a lot more peaceful in his sleep, his face is less serious and a bit more softer. He does look like a prince from a fairytale when he’s asleep, actually, maybe more of a princess with how pretty he is.

If you had your voice, you’re sure there would be hushed chuckles leaving your throat as you take out your phone. Your fingers are quick to swipe open your camera, lifting the device to Leona's face. Your joy doesn’t last long though, as when you’re just about to take a picture, the sight of Leona stares back at you on your screen, the subdued expression he previously held replaced with his usual face.

“What do you think you’re doin?”

…He’s awake! You’re quick to open the notes app, ready to explain the whole thing to him, along with indirectly confessing your feelings, unfortunately. But, he seems to think differently, as your phone is swiftly snatched from your palms and placed on his nightstand. When you reach over to grab it, his arm pulls you back down, your head buried into his chest, essentially being used as a secondary pillow for him.

“That typing’s loud, i’m tryna sleep.” … and I’m trying to get my voice back.

No matter how much you struggle, he doesn’t let you go. After a few minutes of trying to get your phone back, you give up, becoming his human-sized plushie in your defeat. Maybe he’ll be in the mood when he’s awake. So, your eyes gradually shut themself, sleep taking you over as you wrap your arms around the lion next to you.

…

“Hey, quit talking in your sleep.”

“Hmm…? Oh sorry— Wait what…?!” His palm flies of your mouth as words get muffled in his skin.

Appears you missed the Leona Kingscholar, kissing you. That’s unfortunate.

—————

“Hmm…? You need my help yes? Well then just sign here and I’ll get you that kiss you need!” Azul slips the golden contract across the table, the con man smiling as you read through the fine print.

In the corner, you notice the extremely tiny text saying how you’ll be obligated to stand by his side for the next month and do whatever tasks he needed to be done from you.

You swiftly slide the paper back to him as your head vigorously shakes a firm “No”.

“Oh? Do my terms not satisfy you? Your situation sounds very similar to our princess from the Coral Sea, having to kiss her prince for her voice back. I wonder how you’ll get that princely kiss…” he shrugs his shoulders before sighing, grabbing a stack of papers along with a pen, waving you off before looking at the sales revenue from this week. “No matter, if you don’t need my help please exit, I am a busy man—“

Your hand slams on the surface of his desk, his pupils widening at the sudden outburst. He stays silent for a moment, the glimmer of his glasses covering your view of his eyes. If you had, you would’ve seen the slightest hint of longing in him.

“A very determined soul you are… I'll change your conditions if you want your voice back so bad.” His fingers snap, the old contract disintegrating as a new one forms in his hands. “No fine print, I’ll help you get your kiss, and you work for the Monstro lounge for 2 weeks. Just 2 weeks. Is that a deal?” You squint, looking to make sure there really is no fine print. When you’re assured there really is none, you take a pen from his gloved palm, writing your signature on the line.

“It’s a deal it seems, now, tell me who it is you have affections for, and I’ll make sure you get that kiss—-“The sudden pull of his collar stops him mid-sentence, your lips connecting to his own before pulling away.

He’s extremely flustered, his cheeks blushed, his hat lopsided, eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He did agree to get you that kiss, but… he truly wasn’t expecting you to kiss him…! Of all possible candidates at the school…

“Wha… I’m… Huh…!?”

You straighten your posture before rolling your sleeves up, “So when do I start Azul?”

—————

Your eyes watch Vil meticulously crush, stir, and drop different ingredients into the cauldron, each one changing the color of the liquid inside. To be honest, you’re a little disappointed he knows a cure, you’ll have to wait another time before really confessing to him. His well manicured fingers take the ladle into his hand, carefully pouring the bright drink into a bowl, handing it to you as his eyes await for you to drink it up.

When you do, you set the bowl down, ready to speak, but no sound comes out. Your eyes stare into his, confusion set in your irises.

“I thought you had a dry throat?” Oh, you shake your head, your index finger pointing toward the cauldron and signaling poorly acted-out explosions and screams. “So it was a failed potion?” You pause for a moment before remembering what unit you were on in class. “It was that singing potion wasn’t it?” He contemplates for a moment before grabbing a small vile on the shelf, a potion the was already premade.

He pops it open, ready to pour it down your throat, but before he does, he pulls it back, quickly replacing the concoction with his extremely soft lips the taste of something good invading your taste buds, you assume it to be his chapstick. He stills for a moment, letting your lips lock and exchange touches. When he releases, he doesn’t give you the chance to interject, making you chug the drink down your throat, some of it escaping the corner of your lips, his gloved thumb wiping it off your chin.

“Vi… Vil…? Why’d you do that…?”

“How did Grim tell you to lift it?” He backs away from you, putting the empty glass in the sink.

“He said I… Had to kiss someone I liked. Why?”

“That’s what he said? Huh, I see.” He takes out his own brand of chapstick, reapplying it to his lips. You stay leant on the shelf of the rooms, watching as Vil’s silhouette moves towards the door. “No reason. Now, I have to get back to filming. Take better care of your lips, [Name].” He’s already out the door by the time you work up the courage to say anything else.

As he walks in the hallway, the leather of his gloves clench. It seems Grim did correctly tell you the cure. It doesn’t matter though, whether it was his kiss or that potion that worked, all he cared about was getting you fixed. He’s an actor, he’s keen to notice the presentations of people around him. He was sure you liked him, and even Rook fed into such a delusion. But, there was always a gnawing feeling of not being fair enough to you. So just in case, if you never really did like him, he won’t know.

He’s a good actor, but even actors can’t lie to themself. He really hopes it was his lips that cured you and not that potion.

…

The next day, when Vil finishes applying his makeup, the door to his room is knocked on, albeit very quickly. By the time he finally opens it, nobody is found, only a gift basket filled with fruits and low-grade beauty care, well low grade to him. If his suspicions about who this came from are correct, he can’t blame them for not having enough money to afford proper skin care.

When he looks in, all he sees is a card with a small smiley face and a heart. But he already knows who his secret sender truly is.

—————

Your knocking on Idias door gets harder and harder with every strike. You know he’s in there, but chances are he’s too absorbed in a game to notice your frantic hits. You’re about to hit the wood one more time before the door swings open and your fist is only an inch away from his nose.

“I… I only heard you just now…”

You’ve been out there for 10 minutes.

“You didn’t text me beforehand like usual… Is… Is there something you need…?” He steps to the side allowing you in his room, immediately having you sit on his bed before shutting the entrance. You look around a moment before handing him the note you had pre-written on your phone.

“No voice. Cure is a kiss from person I like. I like you, Idia. Please kiss me.”

It isn’t exactly the confession you wished to give him, but by the time you were typing it, you had deleted so much of the text you originally had from embarrassment, and by the time you looked up, you were already at his door… and Ortho was beaming in excitement behind you, you couldn’t possibly disappoint him by just walking away again.

He essentially shortcircuits the moment he reads the words off the screen.

He doesn’t speak, not even a panicked screech. The only sign of embarrassment he shows you is the sight of his hair turning pink.

“Wha… Wha… What…?”

You expected that, so you lifted your finger, signaling him to scroll down.

“You don’t need to like me back, just kiss me and i’ll leave.”

“No no, If we were in like… like a game… that type of game… you would have… ughhh…. You would have my… affection bar… filled— not filled maybe like 110%… up…” he struggled to get the words out he didn’t even make eye contact with you once in his speech. But, you understand what he’s trying to say to you. “Nevermind, forget it…! Just find someone… someone else… you deserve like a prince of something…”

His posture is hunched over, and he’s quick to turn away from you. You’re sure if he was closer to the wall he would curl into the corner and attempt to hide from you.

You’re pretty sure he’s about to do just that, he’s already slowly making his way to the corner. He’s only narrowly stopped when he feels you tug on his sleeve, pulling his face into your own.

His mouth was slightly open from shock, so his razor sharp teeth poked you, but even then it was still a nice feeling. When you part, he stares at you for an entire minute. His hair was already pink, but somehow it must’ve gotten even pinker.

“You… You won the game…”

“Did I…? What does that mean…?”

“Forget I said that. I’m gonna die now”

—————

It’s been at least half an hour since you’ve met up with Malleus, and he seems to not have noticed you don’t have a voice to reply. But at the same time, it’s nice listening to him ramble on and on about his Gargoyle studies—

“You have not spoken.” Your head is quick to turn, your body slightly jolting at the sight of Malleus’s face mere inches away from your own. Sometimes, you forget he doesn’t have any sense of space. This point is further proven when he moves his face away but your shoulders are still in contact. “Why is that?”

Your hand reaches down to your side attempting to take out your phone, but, it only grasps air. You look back down into your pocket, not noticing any holes for it to fall out of.

What? Did… Did I loose it or something?!

“This thing…” your head flips back to the man in front of you, his gloved fingers turning the phone with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand, why not just talk to me? Would you rather use this phone than converse with me…?” You can spot early signs of Malleus’s emotional turmoils. It doesn’t take long for you to see the hint of disappointment in his eyes at the mere notion of you not even wanting to talk to him.

Along with that, clouds are beggining to form in the sky

You immediately shake your head at him, your fingers pointing to your throat while forming an x. Though your movements are so quick from the sheer panic of lightning striking, he doesn’t understand what you’re doing until you slow down.

“Ah, you did talk about that potion unit didn’t you.” You nod your head, ready to perform a collection of poorly acted-out charades to showcase your cure. You only got as far as the heart in your hands before he interrupts. “If I remember correctly, the fix to that is a kiss from the one who holds your affections… is it not?” The boom of thunder increases at an incredible rate, and even the pout Malleus holds on his face gets more obvious. “Have you come here to ask for my aide?” You can tell, it’s very obvious he’s trying to hide his dispiritedness beside a veneer of support. “Then… I will help a dear… friend.”

At his words, you shake your head the hardest you’ve probably ever shaken it to disagree with someone. You’re sure you must’ve swayed your brain too hard, by the time you stop you honestly feel a little dizzy.

“Ah, do you not want my help?” The lightning in the air starts fading, but in exchange, it’s like the clouds have gotten darker. “Am I, not allowed the see the object of your desire?” You wish you just had your phone out from the beginning, it would’ve made things so much easier. You bring your arm up, pointing at him.

Malleus is smart, he needs it if he will be Briar Valley’s ruler. Yet, he’s a bit dense in terms of human emotions and relationships.

“I thought you didn’t want my help…?” You’re sure if you could make any sound, pure screams of frustration would’ve left you. “I’m left in confusion as to how it is I can help you. I want to assist you Child of man but, I don’t wish to see you kiss anyone else—“Your hands immediately take him by the tie, dragging him into you as your lips practically smash together. If anyone saw you, such a scene would be quite the scandal for the heir. Minutes go by when you finally release him, and when you look up, the sky is the clearest it's been for the past month. “So it was me.” The look in his eyes is fond, it’s a warm sight.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner, I didn’t hide it…”

“You didn’t?”

“I confessed to you twice before this Malleus…”

—————

(This is self indulgent cuz i’m unfortunately a Rollo fan…)

Considering how far away Noble Bell is from Night Raven, you have no doubt you’d be stuck voiceless for quite awhile before you get to see Rollo again. Grim is just left to watch you sulk as your head falls in disappointment. You honestly don’t know how to tell Rollo about your situation either, you could always text him, but how do you even tell him you need to kiss him as your cure? Along with that… over text? That’s just pathetic. He’d probably shame you for being so ungraceful with your feeling towards him.

“Quit moppin’ and tell him already! I’m gettin' depressed just watchin’ ya…” with your head buried into your arms you can feel Grim practically shaking you out of your ball of shame with his tiny paws. “Come… on…! You’re not gonna get your voice back doin' nothin’!” He’s… unfortunately, completely correct.

With a soundless groan, you reach for your phone and open your contacts, drafting the text you’ll send to Rollo.

Rollo, I need to tell you something… your fingers continuing to vigorously type your paragraph.

Three knocks disperse your attention.

“[Name] are you there?” The familiar voice immediately strikes panic in your body as you accidentally throw your phone into the air, pathetically catching it as you stumble towards the door with a loud thud. On the other side, the door can be seen harshly shaking at an impact from within the room, Rollo glancing to each side of him in confusion. “Are you okay?” The lack of a reply makes worry bubble inside of him.

Before he’s given the chance to open the entrance himself, the door swings inward, allowing him to peak in through the crevice. He looks inside with initial confusion before hurriedly shuffling towards the room, the sight of your body on the floor making him even more puzzled with every passing second.

He lifts your upper body, having you sit face to face with him in such close proximity. Your eyes are dazed, looking directly into his eyes before looking around as if you didn’t even notice this was the genuine Rollo Flamme and not just a product of your imagination.

Damn you Grim… Leaving me as soon as you opened the door…

“Your room… is very disorderly [Name].” I was on the floor and you’re focused on how messy my room is? “I did tell you about how messy it was last time I was here too didn’t I?” I get it, I’m messy, so stop rubbing it in… A moment of silence passes before he quirks up an eyebrow, suspicions of his growing by the minute. “No witty comeback this time? Have you finally decided to start listening to me?” Your lack of reply Honestly worries him. Your eyes take a glance at your phone, making his tired face look over as well.

When he moves to grab it, he pauses his hand frozen in place. Your text is still displayed on your screen, as well as the current predicament you find yourself in. Realization hits you in waves as you quickly crawl over to snatch your phone from his palm. When you tried, his hand moves away in time to avoid your reach.

“It’s quite distasteful to admit such a thing through text.” I knew it… your head leans down, once more, in defeat. But, that's quickly changed when his nimble fingers take your face and lead them to his own. Honestly, it felt as if it lasted for eternity when in reality, the exchange only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was as if, Rollo finally felt the need to indulge himself in a little sin, only a little. When you finally separate, you're both left on the floor of your room, awkwardly glancing at the material.

“So… why’d you come here, Rollo? I thought after everything that happened at Fleur City you wouldn’t wanna come here again…”

“I do. I still don’t wanna be here.”

“Then why are you—“

“There’s a holiday at Noble Bell, we have a day off. I came to spend it with you.”

A/n: If anyone has like, any thoughts for the twst characters pls share them!! I may not be doing requests right now but I might write something short of you send in an ask!! Honestly, I just really enjoy when people ramble in my inbox. Also, I’m not too familar with writing Idia and Leona so i’m sorry if they weren’t written good!

#vesperwrites #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #rollo flamme x reader #twst fluff #twst x yuu #twisted wonderland x yuu

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hannie-dul-set · 5 months ago

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the breakup soup — [y.jh].

SYNOPSIS. you and jeonghan get into an argument in the middle of the meeting. the rest of your organization’s officers slowly start to realize that this isn’t just about whether the mountains or the sea would be the better venue for your event.

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x female! reader. GENRE. lovers to exes to lovers, humor, romance, tiny angst, orgmate! jeonghan, college! au, a whole lot of forced proximity, only one bed inn room, a bunch of nosy men. WARNINGS. written breakup (obviously), so much swearing, many many dumb inappropriate jokes (divorce, fucking, diarrhea, to name a few), parliamentary procedures jargon. WORD COUNT. 15k.

NOTE. after six, seven months, this this is finally out of hell (my gdocs). the soup is overcooked. holy shit. everything is written in the pov of a certain teener (excluding jeonghan and the mc. this fic is about them but no, you do not have access to their thoughts). this is super duper fun to write and i hope it’s fun to read as well HHAHAHAHA. please let me know what you think! enjoy!

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 7, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

The words robotically fall out of Seungcheol’s mouth as he turns over the pages of his clipboard, marking a precise, red dot next to the word ‘agenda’ on the page. Another day, another meeting. He can’t wait for the moment he can finally retire from this god damned position. Every single time he repeats his presiding officer script, it feels like a digit gets added to his age.

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

Wonwoo starts the roll call, and Seungcheol is desperately trying to cover his yawn with the clipboard, else Seungkwan is gonna grate at him again for dozing off in his own meeting— the aforementioned straightening himself in his seat when his position is called.

“Public Information Officer 1?”

“Present and voting.”

“PIO 2?

“Present—” says Joshua, flicking a paper clip across the table and into Vernon’s nth latte of the day. “—and voting.”

“Next. Assistant Business Manager.”

“Prese—”

“Okay, got it.” Chan brandishes a look of offense when Wonwoo cuts him off. “Business Manager?”

“Present and voting. Do we really have to keep doing this one by one?”

Mingyu has a point, Seungcheol mentally agrees. But his god damned seniors wrote in the damned constitution and bylaws that every meeting of SVT (Society of Virtuous Timetravellers. He’s in the process of renaming it because your organization that’s supposed to be for history and culture is attracting weirdos instead— and two of them are Soonyoung and Seokmin) must abide by strict parliamentary procedures, so he has no choice but to suck it up and listen as Wonwoo continues to read out the succeeding positions on the attendance list, and it’s starting to sound a lot like a lullaby.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting.” The scratch from Wonwoo’s throat signals Seungcheol that it’s to zone back in. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

“Present and voting.”

Your voice draws Seungcheol's attention. He turns his head towards you and he notices the sheets of binded up papers you have in your hands, straightened with a few taps on the table surface before you settle them back down, a swell of pride when he sees what’s printed on the topmost page.

It’s impeccably organized, the task he assigned to you only three days prior. Hell, you even have page tabs sticking out of the sides of every page. Your work ethic never fails to impress him. On top of that, you’re always so professional— able to separate your personal and org life with strict barriers in between because even though you and Junhui have been friends for ten years, your sharp glare holds no reservations when you catch him folding paper turtles with sticky notes right next to you when inside the meeting room.

“Sorry,” Jun breathes out. You retract your leg from under the table after giving him a discreet kick.

Anyway, Seungcheol has high hopes for you, and he’s eyeing you to replace him as SVT’s Chairperson next year (he’s already in the process of manipulating you into taking the job: the compliments he gives away aren’t for free). You’re perfect. You’re flawless. There’s no one else fit for the position but you.

Which is why the next course of events comes as nothing less than a shock to him.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?” Wonwoo calls out but is met with silence. He looks around. “VCI?”

No answer. You scoff.

“Alright, moving on. Mr. Chair?”

Seungcheol stiffens, second-guessing what he’d just heard, but the near-invisible crooked twitch of the corner of your mouth proves that no, that wasn’t just his imagination. You just scoffed. A sharp noise laced with derision and contempt. That should’ve been the first sign that something is off.

“Present,” he coughs out, resigning his attention back to the meeting he has to preside over. It must be nothing. Even you can get annoyed sometimes. Maybe Jun is fucking around again and you’ve just had about enough.

“There are thirteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair. We are in quorum.”

“Thank you. Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s—”

The office door swings open.

“Sorry, I’m late!”

And Mr. VCI rushes in with his white coat still hanging off his shoulders. The meeting is put to an abrupt pause as Jeonghan hastily walks up to his assigned seat, trying to explain the reason for his tardiness. “Our lab session took longer than expected,” Jeonghan huffs out, dragging out the chair next to him. “Dr. Han wouldn’t let us—”

“It’s common decency to enter the room and sit down quietly when you’re late so as to not disturb the ongoing meeting. Especially when you haven’t informed the body beforehand.”

Seungcheol flinches when he hears the interruption of your sharp tone. His head quickly snaps to your direction before gleaning Jeonghan’s reaction. His friend’s jaw tightens but he says nothing. That should’ve been the second sign.

“Mr. Chair, may we proceed with the reading of today’s agenda?”

He eyes you carefully and, with a hesitant drawl anchoring his tongue, proceeds with the meeting while Jeonghan quietly settles into his seat. “Mr. VCI, you may send your excuse letter later for record keeping. Anyhow, Mr. Secretary, please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting.” Wonwoo does as instructed. The problem is, Seungcheol can’t hear anything that he’s saying. Not when his seat is exceedingly uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s not his seat. It’s the two people cornering his seat that’s the problem.

Cold sweat breaks out from his forehead. The air is stuffy. You and Jeonghan lock eyes for zero-point-five seconds and there’s a chill in the atmosphere that only Seungcheol can feel. What the fuck is going on?

“Thank you Mr. Secretary. We’ll begin with the first agenda— SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. Alright. As you all may know, this will be our organization’s first event for the academic year, thus I am expecting everyone’s undivided cooperation in making sure that this event will be a success. We have already discussed the initial details of the event during the previous meeting, and we also distributed the tasks to the officers and committees.” He flips through a page and clears his throat. “I believe our Vice Chair External was tasked to scout for the venue. Ms. VCE, have you prepared your presentation?”

You nod, rising from your seat. “Yes, Mr. Chair. I’ve prepared a comprehensive list of all our options.” Okay, Seungcheol breathes in through nose. You seem normal now. Maybe he was just overthinking things. “I ask for everyone’s assistance in distributing the copies.”

Seungcheol looks at the text written in bold when you pass a copy to him— SVT ORYE & MT 20XX: VENUE PROPOSAL. While everyone is passing the paperclip-bound photocopies to each other, you take the liberty to start speaking. “If you look at the second page, you can see the overview of the entire document. I’ve listed five possible venues and compiled their respective addresses, rates, inclusions, menus, and of course, pictures for your reference. We’ll look at each of them one by one, starting with—”

You pause. Jeonghan is raising his hand. Your eyebrow twitches. Seungcheol gets a bad feeling. “Yes, Mr. VCI?”

“Thank you for the acknowledgement,” he says. “I’d like to ask why exactly are all of these venues located in the mountains? Don’t we have other options? It would be fine if it were just us officers, but I believe holding the event in such terrains would be far too inconvenient for more or less a hundred people.”

A very bad feeling.

“I appreciate your insight,” you respond. Uh oh. Your smile is strained and Seungcheol knows it. That’s the smile you wear when you’re about to pulverize a representative for a disadvantageous partnership to the ground. “However, I’d like to bring to your recollection that the theme of this year’s Orye is traditional South Korean folklore. That considered, I came up with the judgment that the mountainous and forested areas would be the most appropriate and immersive venue if we wish to bring this concept to life. I hope that is clear, Mr. VCI. Anyway—”

“It’s still impractical, Ms. VCE.”

Your face stiffens.

Jeonghan just cut you off.

Shit, he just cut you off.

He stands up, leveling you from across the table. “What about our members with asthma? Heart problems? What if it rains on the day of the event? Do you expect everyone to climb up a mountain trail in all these conditions?”

“If you read through my document before inadvertently interrupting me, Mr. VCI, you’d know that three out of the five venues offer uphill transportation in order to get to the accommodations. And although I understand your reservations about the possibility of inclement weather, may I remind you that it’s also the driest season of the year. You’re being unreasonable.”

Fuck. Seungcheol thinks he needs to butt in but he can’t find the timing when there’s literally an invisible fucking electric fence deterring him from reaching the both you. He catches a glimpse of Joshua’s concerned eyebrows. ‘Do something,’ his friend’s eyes say. He’s about to until you drop a sentence that shoots the tension off the roof.

“Furthermore, I’ve surveyed all of the officers through text if they agree with my venue proposal and I was met with no objections. You’d know if you opened any of my messages last night, Jeonghan.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, you called him by his first name.

You never call anyone by their first name. At least not during meetings and it’s very clear that this is a reason for alarm because everyone else’s eyes fly wide open. Except Jeonghan’s. He just looks pissed— mirroring your very own expression. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong and Seungcheol is slowly starting to realize that this argument isn’t just about the venue conflict.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat for the nth time, a wound might break open. “We will take our VCI’s concern into consideration. If you believe holding our Orye in the mountains is impractical, where do you suggest we should hold it instead?”

Jeonghan’s shoulders relax. He gives you a momentary look before settling back into his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.” You do the same. Seungcheol breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’d like to suggest that we hold it by the beach and sea. Not only would it be more accessible, it would also be considerably cheaper considering there’d be no extra expenses for transportation up the hiking trail. There are also more options if we hold it on the beach. I already have contacts from last year’s set of events. We don’t have to worry about negotiations.”

Seungcheol nods in response. He’s about to say something but once again, he hears an unmistakable scoff from your direction. “Of course, you’d go for the low effort option.”

Oh no. Oh god, no.

Jeonghan’s eyes dart towards you. “What was that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.

“I’m just saying that it’s so like you to go for the easy way out.”

He doesn’t get paid for this at all.

“What are you trying to tell me here, Ms. VCE?” Jeonghan’s tone is getting more pointed, and the rest of the table are starting to pick up on what’s going on. Mingyu is slowly inching off of his seat and finding the right time to book it. Chan and Seokmin are nervously flitting their eyes back and forth between Jeonghan and you. Minghao hao stopped paying attention. He’s got his airpods on and scrolling through his phone.

“The sea is not theme-appropriate for our event, Mr. VCI,” you firmly press on. “There are myths and folklore that reference the sea and ocean, however as an introductory event for our organization we should defer from making far too uncommon references since most of our members are beginners to our advocacy.”

Vernon is about to be swallowed by his chair. Seungkwan has his face in his hands. Seungcheol’s phone vibrates and it’s a message from Wonwoo. Should I include all of this in the minutes? he asks. Seungcheol isn’t even sure if this argument is still about the venue.

“May I also add that beach events are overused. Everyone holds acquaintance parties, Christmas parties, sensitivity trainings at beaches and beach resorts. Should we follow that template, I doubt our event would be memorable enough for our members to remember.”

“Then it’d be the obligation of the program committee to make it memorable.” The said committee flinches upon hearing Jeonghan’s words. Joshua and Junhui don’t look like they agree with the additional burden. Jihoon’s forehead is wrinkling from secondhand stress. “We don’t need to sacrifice the affordability and accessibility of our location in order to hold a note-worthy event. And, may I also reiterate that we should consider our members with health problems, Ms. VCE.”

This is enough. This is probably enough. Maybe it’s time for Seungcheol to intervene.

“However, I understand,” Jeonghan continues. “I understand that it’s not easy for you to be considerate.”

But how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you two fucks won’t stop provoking each other?

“Oh, for god’s sake!” It’s hopeless. It’s gone out of control. Your voice has bordered on yelling ang Seungcheol himself is afraid of being caught in between. “Are you still mad about the cat thing?!”

What is the cat thing? What in the hell is actually going on?

“This is not about the cat thing and you know that.” There’s a ruffle in Jeonghan’s voice. He lets out a groan and throws his head back with his fingers digging into his hair. “Fuck. Let’s talk later.”

Yes. Yes, please just talk later so we can move on with the meeting.

“Did you just swear at me?”

Nevermind.

There’s a second silence. One second— until the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches and he expels a huff of incredulity. It’s ominous. It’s a harbinger of uncomfortable destruction. “So swearing is crossing the line, but refusing to let me meet your parents and forcing us to keep this relationship a secret is completely justifiable?”

Well shit.

This meeting is done for.

Silence washes over the office once again. Wide eyes are being exchanged and not even Wonwoo is filling the tension with his incessant typing on the laptop. Chair, I don’t think I should include this part in the minutes, Seungcheol receives another message from him. Of course he shouldn’t. A relationship reveal isn’t part of the agenda. Neither is a breakup but he fears it’s teetering to that outcome.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s suffocatingly uncomfortable and Seokmin looks like he’s about to cry at any moment.

“Well,” you simmer. “I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore, isn’t it?”

“Damn.” Soonyoung receives an elbow from Jihoon. He gets hushed down very quickly to make room for another agonizing exchange between you and Jeonghan.

“Is that literally all you have to say? You’re so insensitive, it drives me fucking nuts. This is why it’s so hard to keep seeing you—”

“Oh, so you think I’m not having a hard time? If you can’t understand why I had to do that, then let’s just stop seeing each other!”

“Fine, I’m glad we’re on the same page this time.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

“Your clothes better be out of my closet by tomorrow.”

“Throw them away, I don’t need them.”

“I will! Thanks for the suggestion!”

Things have now gone beyond the point of salvation and he can’t even interject to formally end this disaster of a meeting.

“Mr. Chair, I apologize, but I’m afraid I will be leaving early today.” Oh, so now you remember his existence. You’re fuming, slinging over your shoulder bag and haphazardly collecting your things from the table, and Seungcheol simply massages his temples and nods in acknowledgement to your sudden leave. “Please go through the document at your discretion and I’ll be respecting whatever decision the body makes. Thank you and have a good day.”

Just like that, you’re gone. Jeonghan also starts collecting his things. “My phone lines are open in case you need anything. Goodbye.” With that, he also disappears with the harsh swing and slam of the door, leaving behind another blanket of uncomfortable silence for everyone else to drown in.

Seungcheol sighs. He feels a headache kicking in.

“So...are we having the event in the mountains or by the sea?”

He groans.

Is it too late to file a resignation?

*‎

The following week has been nothing less than hell for SVT (Seungcheol has yet to change to the org name. He’s getting there. Slowly. Fuck university bureaucracies). The Orye is fast approaching, so there are still a lot of matters to be settled— printing documents, processing permits, making calls. The venue dispute is yet to be settled. Mr. Chair instructed a team to check out the mountain and sea accommodations you and Jeonghan forwarded within the weekend to get a better feel of both options.

There’s still so much work, which honestly doesn’t pose a problem with Boo Seungkwan, one of the org’s information officers. He’s used to it, being a member of SVT since his freshman year and all. This workload is nothing to SVT. Nothing to you.

It’s almost like you’re a machine. Printing documents? You’re a one-woman printing shop. Processing permits? You’ve befriended all the office heads and one word from you will get the event approved. It’s basic shit. Completely rudimentary. Seungkwan has always been at awe with how you operate. But right now, the problem is not the work.

It’s the work environment that’s the problem.

“Can someone pass me the stapler?”

Your voice cracks into the tense silence in the office like a cold blade, causing Seungkwan to flinch and look up from his paperwork. The whirring of the printer fills in the void left behind by your voice, with Chan carefully organizing the freshly printed pages with tight lips. You’re met with no response. He locks eyes with Joshua. The stapler is beside Jeonghan, who’s running through the program for the event. They share a look of dread.

“Where is the stapler?” You look up from the table. The clear stiffening of your face upon noticing where the damned thing is forces knots into Seungkwan’s temples. Oh god. Here we go. “Nevermind.”

The stupid stapler skids across the table. It’s been transported from one end to your end. Jeonghan’s eyes are glued to his laptop when he slides it down. Jun is nervously hovering behind him. Seungkwan wants to throw up.

“Jun,” Jeonghan calls out. “How many steps does it take for you to get from one end of the meeting table to the other?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

“Can you try walking from here to the other end of the table?”

Jun is sweating. He hesitantly nods and slowly creaks away from his spot behind Jeonghan, cautious steps towards your end of the table. Three steps. All eyes are on him. Five steps. Seungkwan is not religious but he’s making the sign of the cross. Seven steps.

“Wow. Ten steps is easier and faster than I thought! Anyway, you can come back now, Jun. I have some questions regarding—”

Swoosh!

Something rockets through the air, missing Jeonghan’s face by a mere inch from its trajectory. Holy shit. It hits the wall behind Jeonghan and crashes into the floor. “My bad,” you announce. “I wondered how quick it’d be if I threw something from here to there. It’s definitely faster than just walking.”

Assault. That must be assault. This is insane. This is getting out of hand. Seungkwan can’t deal with this shit anymore.

“I can’t fucking deal with this shit anymore!”

As he says, the moment you and Jeonghan leave the office to attend your respective classes. Jun takes a hefty intake of air and everyone relaxes almost immediately. “Seriously. Why should we suffer because they can’t hold their relationship together?!” he fumes. “If they wanted to break up, they could’ve done it in private. I’m sick and tired of walking on pins and needles whenever both of them are around!”

Murmurs of agreement break out. If their Chair was here, they would’ve been scolded. Thank fucking god he’s at the admin office processing their name change. “This reminds me of the time my parents got divorced,” Soonyoung offhandedly mentions while fiddling through their budget plan.

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him. “Wasn’t that also the time you started perceiving yourself as a tiger as a coping mechanism?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus christ.”

“I agree with Seungkwan,” Minghao announces. He had just finished sweeping up the shattered stapler from the ground. “I can’t keep up with them anymore. Whenever I’m with our VCE I have to talk shit about the other. Why don’t we just lock them up in a closet so they can fuck and make up?”

A grimace creeps into Chan’s face. “I abhor the image you’ve just supplanted into my mind.”

Minghao furrows his brows. “Who told you to imagine them having sex in our dirty storage closet? Weirdo.” Chan is unable to say anything back. “Anyway, how do we fix this? I have to meet with Jeonghan hyung for dinner and I’m running out of bad things to say about his ex-girlfriend.”

“I thought the plan was to lock them up in the closet?” Seokmin tries to clarify. They’re all actually considering it. Seungkwan is sure they have a death wish.

“You guys can’t be serious. Didn’t you see Vice Chair’s face when hyung walked into the room earlier? She looked like she was considering murder, I had the fucking chills. We are not locking them in a closet unless you all want it to end with a dead body in our office.” Seungkwan pauses. “Thirteen. Thirteen dead bodies if she finds out we orchestrated it.”

“Then what should we do?” Vernon asks. “Get one of them to resign?”

“No!” Soonyoung interjects. “I can’t deal with another divorce!”

Jihoon’s face contorts. “They aren’t your parents. You didn’t even know they were together until they broke up.”

“Still,” Seokmin joins in. “I don’t want any of them to leave SVT.”

Jun presses his lips together. “I think I saw her drafting a resignation letter earlier.”

There is silence. Then the dawning of realization. Then chaos erupts.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no way.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

“Let’s burn her letter before she can submit it!”

“Nobody let her near the office!”

They’re all behaving like idiots, but Seungkwan has to agree. There is without a doubt that even though your breakup has recently put the organization into an uncomfortably tight spot— SVT would be done for if either of you leave. Seungcheol hyung can’t shoulder everything by himself. The both of you are the bedrock of SVT’s internal and external affairs respectively. Resignation is out of the question.

“Heh. You’re all overlooking something.”

It’s a new voice. Seungkwan wondered when this fucker would speak up, and he’s making his entrance in a gratingly obnoxious way.

Mingyu is sitting on Seungcheol’s swivel chair in the latter’s absence. He slowly spins it around, facing the rest of the members with the pads of his fingers pressed together. “To fix a problem, we should find out the root cause first.” Seungkwan wants to hit him, but Mingyu looks like he’s onto something. “Nobody’s resigning. I have a plan.”

*‎

Jihoon didn’t want to have anything to do with this.

It’s not his business whoever from his orgmates are fucking around or have completely fucked their relationship. It’s not his business whether or not you and Jeonghan have the chance to get back together again.

“If your previous supplier didn’t scam us last summer, we wouldn’t even be out here right now.”

Yet that is exactly what he’s been tasked to do— to dig his nose into your business, on a hot day, while having to canvass printing shops in the district. But finding a replacement supplier for your org shirts is the least of his concerns at the moment because—

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: any update??? have you gotten through her yet?????]

How the hell is he supposed to fish out any information from you about your relationship with Jeonghan?!

“But these rates are seriously unreasonable. I’ll put this one on the table,” you say, ticking off a box from your checklist and Jihoon is sweating bullets. “What do you think, Hoon?”

Sure, you two work pretty well together and you praise his competence any single time you get the chance, but that’s the problem. You aren’t close. Your relationship is strictly professional. Hell, your text convo is nothing but org-related and Jihoon doesn’t fucking understand why he has to be the one doing this job when he can give less than two shits about the situation.

“Let’s check out the next place on the list first,” he replies. “I think the quality for this one is still better than the previous.

Dealing with someone else’s relationship problems wasn’t part of the job description when he got elected as treasurer. He’s got his own love life (or lack thereof) to worry about.

“Alright,” you reply with a deep exhale. It’s hot, and you’re getting tired. He’s also getting tired. Can’t you all just go home? “We’ll take a break first. Let’s continue after getting a drink, but where’s Mingyu? Did he get diarrhea or something?”

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: hyung status report plz.] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Hoshi: wow we sound like actual secret agents.]

Jihoon feels his head starting to hurt. “I’ll text him.”

“Thanks.”

Mingyu isn’t coming back. Not until Jihoon manages to get something out of you. According to Jun, you’ve branded him as ‘Jeonghan-allied’ (whatever the fuck that means), so there’s no way you’d be talking if that street lamp is hanging around. “They went to the same high school! I can’t trust bastards from Hyangnam anymore,” Jun quoted from you personally, and they all started wondering what your conjectured alignment for each of them is.

However, Mingyu is functionally obligated to tag along with your canvassing venture today because he’s SVT’s business manager and Jihoon has all your org money. You’re here because you can’t stay put unless you’re directly involved in the task. Mingyu asked permission to go to the bathroom earlier to give his comrade an opportunity. That was forty-five minutes ago. Jihoon still hasn’t gotten anything from you.

“It’s an emergency, he says. A big one. Gigantic.” Mingyu never said that. Jihoon’s phone is a black screen. “Public toilets aren’t trustworthy. He went to his apartment. He told us to continue without him.”

You grimace with the click of your tongue. “Gross. Those god damned Hyangnam bastards. Let’s go. I need something cold.”

Time is ticking, his phone keeps on buzzing, and Jihoon grows steadily more restless by the minute. You two finish ordering and pay for your two lemonades with SVT money. “It’s the least this damn org can do for us,” you say. He fears you might actually resign, and it doesn’t do his ever escalating nerves a favor. How does he do it? How does he bring up Yoon Jeonghan without invoking your fury?

“Jihoon,” you call out, and he flinches. “What’s wrong? You’ve been spacing out since this morning.”

You’re both sitting on the nice leather seats of the air-conditioned cafe. Being out of the heat seems to have bettered your mood. Maybe he can wiggle something out while you’re pacified by the lemonade and cool air.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat. His knees are shaking. Shit. This is harder than processing your cash advance for the fucking orientation. He needs to ease it in. To bring it up discreetly. “I never really suspected that you and Jeonghan hyung were dating.”

Regret comes instantaneously the moment the words fall out of his mouth.

So much for being discreet. Your face stiffens. Jihoon knows he fucked up badly.

“I—I mean, I’m not trying to comment on anything, I was just surprised to find out.” Dammit. Wrong move. He might get blacklisted like you did with Mingyu. He’s not panicking because their stupid operation might fail. He’s panicking because he’s gonna lose the bragging right of being on good terms with SVT’s intimidatingly unapproachable Vice Chair.

The ice in your drink clinks around. Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for the worst.

“God. I can’t believe I dated him in the first place.”

Then he opens one eye. He sees you swirling your lemonade with one hand, the other used as a resting place for your chin before you take a sip from the straw and continue complaining. “I can’t stand him. I shouldn’t have let him sweet talk me into that first fucking date, that venomous bastard. His face is a weapon. I should’ve known better than to trust that face.”

Jihoon’s eyes are now fully opened. He discreetly pulls out his phone from his pocket— the device still constantly buzzing— and opens his recorder app all while his heart is nervously barrelling against his ribcage from the remnants of his fear. “Did he like—” Jihoon presses record, “—cheat on you or something?”

“What? No way. He’d never do that.”

“Then,” he continues prodding. “Why did you two break up?”

“Ugh,” you grunt, taking another long sip from your drink before slamming it down the table with a thunk. Jihoon flinches. He secures his phone underneath the table, checking if it’s still recording everything. “Don’t get me started. You don’t get it, Hoon. He’s just so—”

Jihoon never expected you to just lay down everything for him. You just continue pouring and pouring everything out like a fountain. A fountain of dirty laundry and too many swear words that his audio recording might get flagged if it gets uploaded online. This...was easier than expected.

*‎

Seokmin’s eyes are narrowed at his senior— zoomed in and in focus as the aforementioned finishes talking to a group of SVT’s new members. He’s taken a step back with a stack of flyers pressed to his chest. He can’t miss anything. He can’t miss a single thing.

“Thank you! I better be seeing your faces during the event, alright? Enjoy your lunch!”

Jeonghan is giving them the copy of the program for your upcoming Orye and MT. Freshmen. All women, as far as his eyes can tell, and they’re all giggling after his senior bids them off. He’s never seen Jeonghan hyung smile at you like that. In fact, he’s never even seen him wave at you goodbye like what he’s doing right now. Has he moved on? Oh no. This is bad. This plan might be ruined before they could even conduct an intervention.

“Seokmin, what’s wrong?” asks Jeonghan, snapping him out from the brink of a spiral of despair. “You don’t look too good. Is the weather too hot? Should we take a break?”

“N—no, I’m alright! Let’s keep going!” Seokmin needs to know if his hyung’s unnaturally sweet behavior was an isolated case. There’s not enough information in the air to make a solid conclusion.

“Well, I’m not alright,” Jeonghan grimaces. “The heat is unbearable. Let’s have lunch first, then we’ll continue. Go find us a good place to eat.”

A lump grows in Seokmin’s throat and he nervously swallows, watching as Jeonghan pulls out his phone and starts typing a message, to the SVT group chat probably to give them an update. Or to one of the girls he was talking to earlier. Shit. “Hyung, who are you texting?” he asks. Jeonghan responds with a pause, a suspicious smile, and tells him that ‘it’s a secret, hehe,’ and that he should hurry and look for a nice restaurant because he’s starving.

That wasn’t a helpful answer at all. Seokmin’s anxiety grows by the second. “What...what do you want to eat, hyung?” He should ask more questions later.

“You pick,” is Jeonghan’s reply with yet another grin that puts him ill at ease. “I’m placing my faith in you Seokmin. It better be a good place.”

There’s another lump in his throat. Oh god. This guy sure knows how to pressure people in the weirdest ways. And now instead of prodding around to figure out if his senior has indeed moved on or still has lingering feelings for you, he’s scrolling through his phone trying to look up a good restaurant— panic-stricken because god forbid he make a disappointing choice— while Jeonghan starts talking to another SVT member who just happened to pass by.

“We’re having it next month,” he overhears Jeonghan speaking, momentarily taking away his eyes from his phone just to see his hyung yet again looking and smiling at the org member with an alarming amount of sweetness pouring out of his eyes. “I’ll see you there?”

“Y—yes…!”

His observation is cut short by the buzz of his phone. A message bar pops up, covering the top of the screen and preemptively stopping his resto search.

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Seungkwan: seok, do we have updates??? jihoon hyung hasn’t gotten back to use since thirty minutes ago!!] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Minghao: I told you all this plan was hopeless] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: why is noona telling me to take herbal teas and drink lots of water?????]

“So, where are we eating?”

Seokmin’s bones rattle and the phone nearly jumps out of his hands like a live fish.

“Talking to people is tiring,” he hears his senior lament with a long sigh. “Seokmin-ah, you take over after lunch. Let’s go.”

Go where? He hasn’t picked a place yet! Why are there so many food places around campus?! Jeonghan quickly starts walking and, out of even more panic, Seokmin picks a random direction, robotically taking the lead, brain overheating and eyes spinning out of focus until muscle memory lands them across the street of a hotpot place he frequents, just a few blocks away from campus. “O—oh, haha! Hyung, we’re here! Let’s—let’s quickly get inside, yes—”

He stops upon the realization that Jeonghan isn’t following him along the crosswalk. When Seokmin turns his head back, he sees Jeonghan staring at the place with a dampened expression. His first thought is maybe Jeonghan hyung doesn’t like hotpot. His second thought is maybe he shouldn’t be stopping in the middle of the road, so he quickly pads back to the sidewalk.

“Hyung…? Are— are you not in the mood for hotpot? Should we go somewhere else?” Seokmin’s gut churns, devastated because he had just betrayed his hyung’s trust in finding an acceptable restaurant. What’s wrong with hotpot at Red House? Did he have a bad experience here? But his place is so good! He and Soonyoung and Jun hyung have been eating here twice a week, Wednesday and Saturdays, ever since you recommended the place to them as your favorite, and— oh.

So, that’s the problem.

You’ve probably eaten here with him too.

“No, no. We’re not going anywhere.” Jeonghan’s demeanor suddenly switches gears. He brushes past him with a sudden determined look, not looking back even when Seokmin calls after him.

“Hyung, I know another place nearby. We don’t have to—”

“Let’s get inside.”

Seokmin has no freaking idea how to dissect or interpret this reaction. Nervous steps follow his senior inside the restaurant, and a server welcomes them both and leads them to a table by the window. “Oh, you’re not here with your girlfriend today,” says the waiting staff after they’ve made their orders, and he sees Jeonghan visibly flinch in the middle of passing back the menu. Jeonghan simply responds with a stiff smile. Seokmin is sure that he had just screwed up big time.

Why did the server have to mention you? Why?! Now, he can’t help but look at the server with an utter look of betrayal as he sets the ingredients on the table. “Is...is there something wrong, sir?” asks the server with uneasy concern. Seokmin’s bottom lip juts out, shaking his head with a sniffle, and thanks the server with a weak voice and tone.

Jeonghan doesn’t appear to be faring any better. While waiting for the broth to boil, all Seokmin could do is soak up the steadily deflating expression of his hyung and worry that it might affect the taste of the food somehow. He was pretty sure Jeonghan is already over you, considering he seemed to be mildly flirting with the org members earlier and all. But now he’s not so sure. Not when his hyung is poking his chopstick into a block of tofu with a gut wrenching look of longing.

“Hyung...” Seokin makes an attempt. “I’m—I’m sorry for bringing you here, I didn’t know it was—”

“Seokmin-ah.” Jeonghan speaks along with the crank of the stove. “A gente world of advice: don’t bring up sensitive topics when the person you’re talking to has a weapon on him. You’re going to get in trouble.”

The sunlight leaking through the window gives a dangerous glint to the scissors Jeonghan is holding. Seokmin bites his tongue. Jeonghan cuts up the noodles and the two start eating quietly.

Seokmin loves eating. He really does. But this time, every bite tastes like hot sand, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get indigestion afterwards.

He swallows down another mouthful with the help of a glass of water, and as he’s trying to get the mix of meat and vegetables down his throat, the sound of utensils that were previously clattering suddenly stops. When Seokmin puts the glass down, he sees Jeonghan seasoning the warm broth with salt.

The natural salt that comes out of your eyes when you start crying.

Holy shit, his hyung is crying.

“Sorry, I just— haha, the soup’s a little spicy, right?”

No. No it’s not. They ordered chicken broth. The soup isn’t spicy at all.

“H—hyung…”

Seokmin’s eyes are now also starting to water. Oh no. Oh no, dear god, what has he done? He didn’t mean to bring him here and reawaken stashed away memories. All he wanted to do was find a good place to eat!

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.”

This was a mistake. They should’ve just had kimbap and ramyeon at the nearby 7-Eleven.

*‎

“So, let me get this straight. One of them did nothing but talk shit about the other for thirty minutes, and the other started crying because Seokmin brought him to her favorite restaurant.”

The SVT officers (minus their Chair and Vice Chars) have reconvened the next day at the office. Their upcoming event isn’t a priority right now. The only thing on the agenda is the problem with you and Yoon Jeonghan— to which Mingyu is trying to wrack his brains in coming up with something in light of their initial investigation.

“After listening to the recording Hoon sent, I don’t think she hates Jeonghan. She sounded like was just nitpicking in the heat of the moment,” says Jun. “If she’s still angry at him...maybe she isn’t over him yet? Maybe there’s still a chance?”

All eyes are on Jihoon, who witnessed your rant firsthand.

“I don’t know. All I can say is that she looked a little sad while talking about him. She didn’t add anything else beyond the recording.” It’s not like the recording was of any help. Most of it was just you calling Jeonghan a son of a bitch, a piece of shit, and so on, as well as a few tangents about Mingyu that he himself didn’t quite appreciate. He thought he was your favorite. Like, why are you assuming that he’s on Jeonghan’s side?! They weren’t even friends back in high school!

He spins the office chair in annoyance. To think he gave you a higher score than Jeonghan on your quarterly evaluation. Maybe he should ask Cheol to take it back.

“Well, if one of them is still on the hook, then there’s still a possibility that they can still get back together,” Wonwoo conjectures, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the rest.

“Does this mean we can finally lock them inside a fucking closet?”

“We are not locking them in a closet,” Seungkwan says. Minghao rolls his eyes at the dismissal. “We can’t do that. But we can bring in some forced proximity in a different way.”

Mingyu stops swiveling the chair. Why is Seungkwan looking straight at him? Wait. Why are they all looking straight at him? His throat tightens. He forces down a swallow. What, what, what’s the matter, why are they all looking at him?

“Oh no!”

Suddenly, Seungkwan starts a one-man drama. He exclaims, an arm jutting into the air before he lets the back of the loose hand drop onto his forehead, stumbling into Vernon who’s standing next to him.

“I just remembered I have a doctor’s appointment this Saturday— the same day where I’m supposed to accompany our Vice Chairs and Business Manager in checking out the venues! Oh no! I don’t think I can make it!”

Right. He along with Seungkwan, Chan, Jeonghan, and you are scheduled to evaluate each of the places on your list so that you can finalize the event venue. Not long after, Chan also breaks into a gasp, catching Seungkwan’s signal. “Oh my! I forgot I also, uh, have a thing on Saturday! What a bummer!”

“Then, I also—”

“No!”

Mingyu winces. He’s shocked. He’s appalled. He’s offended. Why is he being yelled at?! Wasn’t he supposed to go along with the other two? “You don’t have a thing on Saturday, Mingyu. You have to be there to make sure that things don’t go wrong!” Seungkwan tells him, and at first he understands. He’s goes ‘oh, right, of course, yeah, sure,” but the moment what that situation entails finally dawns upon him— the fact that he has to be stuck in between you and Yoon Jeonghan for at least ten hours, maybe more— his blood runs cold and his face pales. There’s no way in hell he’s dealing with that.

“Why me?! Why can’t Joshua hyung go?”

Joshua answers with an offended look of bewilderment.

“Hey, it’s your assignment,” answers Jihoon. “And it was your idea to try and get them back together again. You have the moral obligation to make sure this shit actually works.”

There is no hope to get out of this. They adjourn the meeting and everyone starts filtering out the office— not without giving him looks of sympathy and pats on the back before leaving. “Good luck,” Wonwoo says in passing. Vernon sends him a salute before closing the door. Damn him and his meddling ass. He should’ve just let your relationship die out for good.

The day of reckoning comes. It’s five in the morning at the campus parking lot, you and Jeonghan on the opposite ends of his car, and Mingyu already wants to tuck himself in bed for the day. You’re tapping your feet in impatience, looking at your phone with a glare, while Jeonghan pockets his phone with a sigh and welcome’s himself into the front seat of Mingyu’s car with a distinct slam. You huff and do the same into the backseat.

Shit. This might actually be his last day on earth. Mingyu hurries into the driver’s before either of you yell at him to get moving.

“Tell Boo Seungkwan and Lee Chan that they’re getting sanctioned for this,” grits Jeonghan. Mingyu closes the door and prepares himself for an inevitable six to eight hours of hell.

“The kids are sick and you want to penalize them?” you interject from the back. Mingyu notices Jeonghan’s jaw clench. He shuts his eyes tight and whispers a few prayers. “You’re abusing your authority, Mr. VCI. Cut them some slack.”

“Negligence of duty. Section one under General Prohibitions,” rebuts Jeonghan, making eye contact with you through the front view mirror. “Failure to inform ahead of time the inability to do a task or assignment delegated to them shall be considered an act of negligence on the part of the officer. I’m not abusing any authority, sweetheart. I am acting well within my functions. It’s too early for this kind of—”

Silence drops. So does the temperature in the car which at this point feels like negative fourteen degrees. Jeonghan stifles a cough and rolls down the window for air. You look down and flit through the pages of the document you brought. Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and he wants to cry.

“Can we go now? Please? We have six places to visit and I really don’t want to be driving until midnight.”

“We can rotate,” you tell him. “Let’s switch drivers after every location.”

Something tells Mingyu that if he lets your explosive temper behind the wheel, this will not only be the last he’ll be seeing of his cherished car that his parents got him as a gift for his twenty-first birthday, but this will also be the last he’ll be seeing of this mortal realm as well.

“No, haha, it’s okay,” he answers, finally starting the engine. “You two have been working really hard for this event so the least I can do is drive.”

“Well, alright. But there better be no more emergencies like last time.”

Mingyu still doesn’t know what you mean by that. Nor does he know why you’ve been giving him herbal teas and digestive supplements. Anyway, the three of you finally hit the road and proceed to your first stop— all the way to Daecheon, which will take about an hour if traffic grants them kindness. Jeonghan rolls the windows back up at some point because besides the ice-cold tension between the both of you, it really is getting cold, and the sky has been cloudy since earlier, and the weather app is telling him that there’s a twenty percent chance of rain. Literally all odds are stacked against him today.

He does live long enough to get through three venues, thankfully. The first one, near Daecheon beach, you complained that the rooms were stuffy and Jeonghan told you to sleep by the ‘goddamned beach if you wanted to feel extra fresh.’ The second beach location couldn’t accommodate your amount of people. The third one— the hanok-style villa in Gyeongsang which you’ve just finished surveying and which Mingyu thought was really nice— Jeonghan said that there’s too many bugs for it to be conducive. You told him to wear a mosquito net ‘you fucking princess,’ while walking back to the car. At this point, it’s already past four in the afternoon. The eleven hours of being trapped in a car with your ex-boyfriend is probably finally getting to your head.

“You really could care less about your members’ well being as long as we do what you want, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t bitten by a single mosquito there. You’re just making problems up to discredit my—”

It’s getting to Mingyu’s head, too. One more minute in this enclosed space with the both of you and he’s jumping out the window.

“Anyway, let’s head to the next location,” you say with a sigh. “Woodland Springs Resort. Luckily, it’s only an hour away.”

Mingyu’s knuckles twitch on the steering wheel. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

He catches your face through the mirror, brows furrowed with a frown. “Mingyu, let me drive this time. You’ve been at it for hours.”

“She’s right. Go sit in the back, we can take over.”

He has. He’s tired and annoyed and exhausted by the constant fear that you two might actually make a murder scene out of his precious car, that he’s pretty sure that him driving would soon become a road-risk. It would be fine, right? You two have probably expelled your energy, anyway. Or at least about to. Worst case scenario is that Jeonghan hyung pisses you off and you’d expertly crash the car in a way that would only kill him and leave you two alive.

“Okay,” Mingyu weakly breathes out. “I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

He opens the car and gets out. So do you. So does Jeonghan. The three of you are out of the car. The math isn’t mathing.

“What are you doing?” you ask Jeonghan.

“I’m taking the wheel,” he simply says, already making his way over to the other side of the car.

“What are you talking about, Mingyu was talking to me.” You’re fast. Fast enough to swat away Jeonghan’s hand from the door handle to the driver’s seat. Jeonghan tightly presses his lips together and releases a huff of air. You look at him with sharp eyes with no intention of moving. Mingyu is literally, physically, and positionally caught in between this shit and he wishes he should’ve just floored it.

“I’m driving,” Jeonghan asserts. “You look barely awake, yourself. Do you plan on crashing us or something?”

The worried undertone completely flies over your head. “Are you saying I’m a bad driver?” Mingyu really doesn’t want to witness this argument at this proximity right now. Jeonghan sighs and digs into his hair.

“No, I just want you to—”

Cr—ack! Boom!

Suddenly, there’s thunder.

And when there’s thunder, there’s rain.

Pshhhhhhh!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hurry and get in, let’s go—”

Mingyu really wanted to yell at that moment. Thankfully, the sky beat him to it.

It starts pouring. The three of you scramble back into the car.

All things considered, you all decided that it’d be too dangerous to stay on the road, taking into account the weather and exhaustion and all, so you looked for a nearby inn through Google Maps and Jeonghan drove you there (yes, he won in the end and you’re still bitter in the backseat).

Boom! Another round of thunder, and the rain just continues to pour harder and harder. At this rate, you guys won’t be able to check out the rest of the locations today. Meaning, his prison sentence is bound to be extended. God freaking dammit. Mingyu continues to bitterly lament while rushing into the cabin inn. The door jingles upon entry. He lets out a sigh of relief upon being saved from the rain.

“Hi, good evening! Do you still have any rooms available?”

You’re there at the front desk doing your thing, being the externals head and all, while he and Jeonghan wait behind, damp and uncomfortable. He can see his hyung getting more and more impatient by the second, tapping his wet soles against the wooden flooring with his arms crossed. Mingyu can only sigh and hope to take a meditative shower soon, once you’ve booked the three of your rooms.

“Ah, yes,” says the lady behind the front desk. She looks at you, then spares a glance at him and Jeonghan in all their soggy glory, before flitting her eyes back at you. Okay what the hell. He knows they look terrible right now, but that was just rude. “Will it be for the three of you? Unfortunately, we only have one room left available, ma’am, peak season and all, and it’s only good for two people.

“That’s fine, we’ll take—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Judgemental Front Desk Lady interrupts. “I meant a maximum of two people can occupy the room. It’s our policy.”

Well that’s stupid. The hell were you guys supposed to do, then? Run back to the car, get even more wet in the process, and look for another place to stay in this stupid weather? Mingyu can practically see a vein throbbing on the back of your head. He catches your shoulders lift and drop along with an exhale, a momentary pause before you respond. “Can’t you make an exemption? The weather is terrible outside and we really need a place to stay for the time being.”

Mingyu decides to look over and see how the other ticking time bomb is faring, but when he leers over to the side, Jeonghan is no longer beside him. Wet footsteps against wooden floors can be heard. He snaps his head back to the front desk and sees his hyung walking up to you— placing his arm around your freaking waist when he lands next to you, and alarm bells suddenly go off in Mingyu’s head.

“Babe, what’s the problem?”

Goosebumps prick all over his body.

What.

What the fuck?

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu rubs his eyes, thinking that he just saw (and heard) wrong, but no. Yoon Jeonghan has indeed reigned claim over your waist. The fuck? He refocuses into your expression, expecting you to look disgusted and send a kick to his hyung’s shin, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, you flash a look at Jeonghan, then back to the receptionist, peering down at the desk surface where her hand is resting, before looking back up at Jeonghan and nudging yourself closer to him with a sigh. What in the everloving fuck is going on?

“They’re saying that only two people can stay inside the room,” you lament. “This trip really isn’t working out for us. After our disaster of a honeymoon, the last thing I thought would happen was for us to get stranded in Gyeongsang in the middle of a storm.”

“Let’s just go look for another place to stay, sweetheart.”

“But it’s pouring outside! I can’t let you drive in the weather. It’s too dangerous.”

Honeymoon? What? What the hell is this improv sketch? Why the fuck is his hyung giving you the lovestruck eyes and why are you letting him look at you with lovestruck eyes? Why are you lovestruck-eyeing him back?

“Oh, you’re newlyweds?” asks the receptionist, and Mingyu didn’t think his eyebrows could scrunch up any further until he heard Jeonghan agree.

“We just got married last week,” he says with a sickeningly sweet tone.

“How lovely!”

“Actually, we just came back from our honeymoon at Geoje Island,” you add. “It’s a long trip, and we wanted to get home as soon as possible, but that...wasn’t exactly an option for us.” Suddenly, you turn your head back to look at him. Now, you’re all looking at him. Why are you all looking at him? This is fucking scary.

You lean into Jeonghan and whisper something into his ear. A look flashes on Jeonghan’s face. He doesn’t like this look.

“Brother, can you please give us a moment?”

There’s a pause. Mingyu’s mouth is hanging slightly ajar and he hesitantly points to himself. Brother? Me? Jeonghan nods and smiles and returns his attention back to you and the receptionist. The three of you are talking about something. In a significantly lower volume. While sending him looks of remorse in between. What the hell are you two bullshitting about now?

Not long after, Mingyu sees the lady drop a room key into your hands and sends you off with a smile. “Second floor. Thank you, and have a great evening!”

“Thanks!”

Mingyu isn’t exactly sure what just happened or how it happened, but at least you have a place to stay for the night? When the three of you hike up the stairs and spot the room with 203 labeled on the door, Mingyu decides that he needs to know what you fuckers talked about. “How did you do it?” He blocks the door before you could open it. “I thought only two people could use this? How did you get us the room?” Jeonghan and you exchange a look before relenting.

“Your fiance called off your engagement and you were so depressed that you followed us all the way to our Geoje,” you blankly respond.

“Our parents are on vacation so you couldn’t go to them. We were kind enough to let you third wheel on our honeymoon,” adds Jeonghan. Mingyu blinks. “But on the way back it started raining, so we’re stuck here for the moment. We noticed a wedding ring on Soonja’s finger, so it was pretty easy to get her sympathy.

Soonja. You even know the lady’s name, holy fuck. At least that explains the pitiful looks sent his way. But Mingyu is still very much perturbed. The hairs on his arms are still standing. “You two are con artists,” is all he can say back.

You roll your eyes and toss the key to him. “Hey, it got us the room.”

“Right,” Mingyu grunts, catching it mid-air. “You’re both so good at lying, even I’m starting to think you’re still married.”

The doorknob clatters open. You and Jeonghan quickly jump away from each other, and Jeonghan loses the steady hold he had around your waist since earlier. Mingyu stifles a grin. The alarm and embarrassment on both of your faces makes this day’s worth of stress all worth it.

“Hurry up and get in! I need a shower and a change of clothes, gosh.”

Fortunately, you three prepared extra articles of clothing for the trip, having anticipated sweat from the heat instead of getting pissed on by the rain clouds. Unfortunately, Mingyu lost at rock paper scissors so he gets to shower last. “There’s a drying rack in the bathroom,” you tell them upon exiting, a towel to your head before plopping down on the bed next to the window.

When Mingyu finishes showering, he hears you and Jeonghan arguing over something again. Cheol’s voice can be heard somewhere too. Upon re-entering the room, he spots you two occupying the floor right by the bed, a laptop sitting on the mattress that’s showing a very tired Seungcheol trying to cut in between your yelling.

“In hindsight, I think the beach in Daecheon is our best option. The kids can run around more freely there.”

“No, you were right about the mountains. The hanok-style villa is better suited for our event theme. We can just add bug repellent to our budget plan.”

“Listen to me for a second—”

“You’re the one who’s not—”

“This could have been an email,” says Seungcheol’s choppy voice thanks to the shitty reception. Yeah. Mingyu isn’t dealing with this. Over twelve hours of being a third party to your arguments is already enough, thank you very much. He drops down the unoccupied bed, already getting comfortable, and uses the nonstop swearing next to him as a lullaby.

Weird enough, it’s an effective lullaby because Mingyu slept like a rock. He yawns, stretches out of bed thanks to the early morning light through the curtains waking him. It’s clear out. The windows have watery dots painting it from the aftermath of the rain.

It’s pretty outside, Mingyu notices, but there’s something more eye-catching than the pretty natural scenery of the mountainside.

The laptop is still on and laying on the bed, pushed further to the edge with a low battery notification obscuring the open document of the event’s program that he’d seen Jeonghan preparing in the car yesterday. But what’s occupying most of the mattress is the both of you— you and Jeonghan— with your printed documents scattered around, surrounding a sight that he probably isn’t meant to see.

You’re laying on Jeonghan’s arm as a pillow, face turned to the side and slightly tucked into chest. Jeonghan’s chin is buried into the top of your head, his legs tangled with yours and the blanket has been kicked off the side. The morning light is showering the both of you like a spotlight. Mingyu snaps a picture. The kids are gonna eat this shit up.

*‎

It’s the day of the event, and Choi Seungcheol has not slept a wink since last night.

There were some last minute things he needed to take care of. Game props, printouts, and powerpoint presentations he forgot to quality check until ten in the evening. Grocery shopping for snacks, and an error in the bus booking. The works. But none of that matters now. They’ve all been settled, everyone has made it to the hanok villa in Gyeongsang in one piece with no asthma attacks nor heart related concerns occurring, and not once had you and Yoon Jeonghan argued ever since last night.

To be honest, it’s freaking him out a little. He wasn’t the only one who had to pull an all-nighter. His two Vice Chairs had to suffer with him too and the both of you have been extremely civil to the point of unease. It’s weird. It’s eerie. Like right now, as you two are welcoming the lines and lines of members in hanboks and traditional attire with matching smiles and pleasantries. You run out of program printouts and ask Jeonghan if he has any left, he gives you a stack, and the exchange ends without even a scoff, a swear, a mock, or even a look of derision.

This is...ominous, to say the least. It’s like the calm before the storm. Choi Seungcheol cannot rest easy.

“What the fuck is going on with them?”

It seems like he isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Currently, it’s lunchtime. They’d just finished presenting the constitution, bylaws, and internal rules and regulations of the organization. Now, they’re queueing up the kids to the food table.

Among the ushers are you and Jeonghan. Standing next to each other. You aren’t arguing but you aren’t talking to each other either. Joshua is the one who brings it up to the small group preparing the drinks right now— him, Soonyoung, and Vernon. If Joshua doesn’t know the reason for your sudden civility, then no one does. Junhui gets interrogated too, but he provides no answers, only confusion. “Wow. Wild,” is all Jun remarks. They have no idea if you two have made up, have settled your differences, have gotten back together, or all of the above.

It’s fucking with him, especially after weeks of being perpetually on the edge because of your cold war. Seungcheol calls Mingyu to a corner while everyone else is in the midst of preparing for the next part of the program. Mingyu jogs over, mildly scared and mildly confused.

“Hyung,” he calls out. “What’s up?”

“Our two Vice Chairs,” Seungcheol starts. He looks over at the center field where the members are sitting. Chan and the rest are still handing out the paper slips. He can still interrogate Mingyu. “You went with them for location scouting. Did something happen between them?”

Mingyu looks taken aback. “Uh.” He stiffens. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him.

“Kim Mingyu.”

“Define ‘something,’” Mingyu delays.

Now, this is suspicious. He definitely knows what that something is. Choi Seungcheol isn’t gonna let him off without squeezing the information out of him. “I don’t know,” he huffs. “Anything that could explain why they’re acting like—”

Seungcheol points in a direction. Mingyu’s eyes follow the trajectory, and his gaze lands on a very alarming scene: Yoon Jeonghan sitting on one of the monoblocks, Yoon Jeonghan seeing you pass by, Yoon Jeonghan standing up, Yoon Jeonghan stopping you with a tap on your shoulder, Yoon Jeonghan offering his seat to you, Yoon Jeonghan leaving the scene and busying himself with some other task, after you had taken his seat.

“Like that?”

Mingyu is now sweating. “Uhhhh,” he hesitantly drawls. Then his eyes dart around. Until he spots Seungkwan pass by with a stack of boxes. “Can I talk to my lawyer first?”

“Mingyu.”

“Let’s—let’s—let’s get back to work, hyung! I have to go—”

He attempts to chase Kim Mingyu down. Attempts. Because Mingyu suddenly has the speed of a track and fielder and drags Seungkwan away into the accommodation building, the hanok, and he’s suddenly pulled back by Chan, who’s holding a box containing two or three small pieces of folder up papers. “Hyung,” Chan starts. “It’s your turn to pick.”

Seungcheol furrows his brows. Drat. Kim Mingyu has escaped. “Pick what?”

“Your manito. Duh,” Chan answers. It’s the box he’s been passing out since earlier— a box filled with the names of all the attendees and whoever you pick out, you’re tasked to take care of them throughout the entire trip and pay them special attention. For relationship building, according to Jeonghan, when he pitched the idea. Seungcheol is aware of this mini activity, but he didn’t know he’d be participating. He stares at the remaining three papers. “Hurry up. I still have to give the rest to Seungkwan and Mingyu hyung.”

“Show me some respect,” he scolds, picking out a random name. “They ran inside. Storage, I think.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement and takes the box away. When he’s left, Seungcheol rolls open the piece of paper. Looking at the members gathered around the field right now (who are listening to the intermission number prepared by Seokmin and Jihoon) he notices that a few of the kids are already getting pretty chummy. He sighs, pretty sure that he picked out a new member that’s most probably three years younger than him. How is he supposed to overcome the generation gap? Won’t the kid find it weird if this old man suddenly starts acting close?

Much to his initial relief, a familiar name greets him. Yours, in big bold letters. That’s...that’s pretty doable. His favoritism for you is already blatant to the point that Soonyoung gets jealous. You’d been working hard since, well— the moment you’ve been a member of fucking SVT. He can just tell you to sit and rest and transfer your tasks over to the other guys.

“Hey.”

Seungcheol calls out to you, who’s sitting on the seat Jeonghan gave away earlier. Seokmin and Jihoon are hyping up the crowd (mostly Seokmin), but you’re hunched over in your seat, massaging your temples while looking over a document. “Chair,” you snap up, visibly tired and stressed (and unrested, by the way). “A few members are absent, so the number of members for each group for the team building later are mismatched. Should we keep it as is, or should we transfer some of them?”

A pang of guilt hits him. Christ, he’s been taking advantage of your competence and diligence. “Transfer, but leave that list with me. I’ll take care of it.” He lays a hand on your shoulder, urging you to go rest inside one of the hanoks for now. “You didn’t even nap on the bus. Go get some sleep. I’ll ask one of the guys to wake you before team building.”

You look up at him, smiling. Oh, his poor successor. He’s been overworking you to the bone. “Will do, Chair. Thanks.”

He mirrors your smile, watching fondly as you walk into one of the houses. It’s all warm and sweet. Until it’s not.

Seungcheol jolts. He feels a chill run down his spine. What the fuck?

He whips his head around, startled by the sudden cold flash. Then, from a few feet away, he spots Jeonghan, preparing the multicolored handkerchiefs for the team building, but has stopped arranging them by color because he is glaring daggers at him. Hello? What in the world? He’s about to approach, but then he staggers in his steps upon seeing you pass by Jeonghan’s station.

Jeonghan stops working, circling from behind the station to say something to you. You say something back— something that’s enough to tighten Jeonghan’s expression, and Seungcheol knits his brows. He can’t hear what you two are talking about, but he’s pretty sure it’s an argument. Oh god. It is an argument. You’ve got your angry face on and Jeonghan is raking his hair. Oh no. You two have been so well-behaved. You’ve been getting along so, so well lately. Is he at fault for ruining your peace?! How was he supposed to know your ex-boyfriend is a jealous bastard?! He was just doing his task and being nice to you!

“There goes all our progress.”

Seungcheol snaps his head back to see Jun. He’s sipping on a juice box, a leftover from lunch. There’s a good amount of disappointment in his face. “Pro—progress?”

Junhui pulls down the juice from his mouth, shaking his head. “Hyung. You’ve ruined everything.”

Now, what the fuck is this cryptic bullshit? Jun just walks away, leaving even more crumples in Seungcheol’s brain. Seokmin and Jihoon’s performance is about to end, the mic screeches, and an applause breaks out, but he’s still debating on what to do. Should he pry information out of Jun? Or run after the both of you? However, he gets to do neither because at the end of the intermission, Seokmin does something off-course.

He’s supposed to pass the mic to Seungkwan by now, to announce the short break before team building. But Seungkwan isn’t here, and Seokmin is still holding the mic, and the crowd is still cheering. He meets eyes with Seokmin onstage. A bad feeling hits his gut. And since the breakup meeting that happened a few weeks ago, Seungcheol has learned that whatever his gut is feeling is unquestionably correct.

“The show isn’t over yet! Let’s give it up to our dependable, hot, and arguably aging Chairperson— Choi Seungcheol! Woohoo!”

This.

This was not part of the program that he remembers approving.

“Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol!”

This was definitely not part of it at all.

“Again, give it up for Mr. Chair!”

Illit’s Magnetic, Viviz’s Maniac, and KIOF’s Midas Touch later (with his face mimicking a red and ripe cherry), Seungcheol was finally allowed off the stage. “Wow! That’s our Chair, everybody! Who knew he was hiding this kind of charm?” Seungcheol wants to die. Seokmin’s voice is cheery in the microphone, but his officer suddenly turns his face away from the mic to whisper something to him. “Hyung,” Seokmin’s voice is suddenly grave. “I got a text from Seungkwan. He says he can’t find the VCs.”

Oh, fuck this. He’s going to kill himself.

“Tell—tell the kids we’re gonna have some free time first before proceeding to the team building.” Seokmin nods. Seungcheol’s face is still very very hot, but he swallows the embarrassment aside for now to deal with this problem. You and Yoon Jeonghan can’t just disappear. You’re both leading two teams for the games. Well. Maybe he can give you a pass, but Jeonghan is still needed out there. He feels unreasonably wronged by him too for that glare earlier.

Seungcheol marches into the hanok. He spots an equally stressed looking Seungkwan inside the living area. Mingyu and Jihoon are there, too. So are Joshua, Vernon, and Chan. Why are they all here? They’re supposed to be preparing for the team building. These kids are slacking.

He’s gonna give them an earful later. For now, there’s a bigger issue to solve. “Where are the two?”

“We don’t know!” Seungkwan exclaims. “We’ve been looking for them too.”

He hears a sniffle come from one of them. It’s from Soonyoung. “The last I’ve seen them, they were arguing.” Seungcheol gulps. Maybe…by any chance…that may have been his fault? “This happened with my parents too. And they came back with divorce papers.”

“Stop projecting your unresolved familial trauma onto them,” Jihoon sighs. “They aren’t your parents.”

“I’ve sent a text to Wonwoo and Minghao hyung,” Vernon brings up. “Maybe they’ve seen them.”

At that moment, Minghao enters the living area. Seven heads snap to his direction. Minghao stops in his tracks. “What?” He looks awfully relaxed, not looking as though he had just dealt with two ex-lovers who say they hate each other and that it’s over, but have too much sexual tension for their assertion to be believable. In fact, he looks quite at peace. Satisfied, even. Accomplished. This is fucking suspicious. “Isn’t it time for the team building activities?”

“Hao,” Seungcheol starts. “Have you seen the two Vice Chairs?”

Minghao looks at them. There’s a pause of anticipation. There’s literally no reason for this suspense build-up. “Oh,” Hao exhales. Why are they all waiting for the pin to drop? “I did.”

What they hear next, they never could have been prepared for.

“I locked them in a closet.”

The pin has dropped.

Seungcheol is the first to speak up.

“You...you what?” he starts. “Come again?”

“They were arguing,” Minghao shrugs. “I got annoyed.”

Seungkwan’s mouth is hanging open. “You— you got annoyed,” he stammers. “So you…”

“Locked them in a closet,” Minghao finishes. “Yeah.”

It doesn’t hit them at first. Then it does. It hits them hard.

They all exchange looks. In a matter of soundless seconds, they immediately run to the direction Minghao just came from. What does he mean he locked you and Jeonghan in the closet, why would he lock you two in the closet, locking you two in the closet is a recipe for shit-eating disaster, does he want Yoon Jeonghan to fucking die?

“Shit, what if Jeonghan hyung is dead?”

At least they’re all on the same page. They come to a screeching halt upon reaching the room at the end of the hallway, but there is no sign of either of you. The only semblance of humanity within the vicinity is Wonwoo, who is sitting at a table, headphones on, laptop open, and typing without a care in the world.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart around the room. Closet. Closet. There’s an indication of a sliding door at the opposite wall. He walks up to it, hesitantly with shaky steps, his heart hammering against his chest. The others inch behind him in caution. Sweat starts trailing down from his forehead. He reaches out for the handle, one hand outstretched, and then—

“I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the tension. He freezes. They all look back at the man by the desk, unaffectedly writing his documents, the sound of keyboard clicking filling the gaps in the air. “Why?” Seungcheol chokes out. Thunk. Their heads snap back to the closet. He feels Soonyoung clutch him from behind.

“There was yelling from in there until a moment ago,” is Wonwoo’s simple answer. “I think they’ve moved on to something else.”

Another tense pause fills the room. “Who...who was yelling?” Jihoon raises. “What kind of yelling? Why didn’t you check if anything was wrong?”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose, momentarily taking his eyes off from the laptop to give their huddled group a look of disgust. “And risk walking in on them making out or something? No, thanks.” Then resumes what he’s doing. They all look at each other. Surely, that can’t be the case, right? You’ve got more pride on your shoulders than to fold for Yoon Jeonghan just because of some contrived forced proximity. It’s more likely that you’ve found an opportunity to strangle him. To kill him in cold blood. Which is why they’ve all run here out of concern right now.

“Why would there be yelling if they’re making out?!” Mingyu exclaims, concerned.

“I don’t know the kind things they’re into,” Wonwoo leers at them. “And frankly, I don’t want to know.”

“Then...what are you doing here, hyung?” Vernon prods. “Of all places.”

Once more, Wonwoo stops typing to grace them with an answer. “This is the only spot with good reception.” This feels like a fever dream. Seungcheol does not know what to do. His attention is directed back to the closed closet door, hearing another...thud coming from within. He locks eyes with Seungkwan. And then Mingyu. And then Jihoon. Holy shit. In his four years of Chairmanship over SVT, this, by far, has been his biggest obstacle yet.

The officers before him never warned him about this. What exactly is the best course of action here? What would result in the least amount of emotional, mental, and physical repercussions? Leave the door alone? Unlock it and witness horrors untold? There’s still an event they have to manage. Seokmin is probably freaking out outside right now. Yet here they are, watching the unmoving and locked closet door with uncertainty and caution, like it’s an oracle that will show them the way, that will give them a command to do something. Anything. And, much to their surprise and horror—

“Mr. Chair.”

It does.

“Would you please unlock the door?”

The oracle is wearing the sound of your voice? No, wait. It is your voice. From behind the door. “Holy shit,” he hears one of them hiss out from behind. Holy shit indeed. Seungcheol knows better than to test your temper. Quickly, he reaches out for the handle, clicks it open, and a force stronger than his slides the door gaping and completely open, revealing the dark and until interiors of the closet.

You emerge from the darkness. So does Jeonghan. Alive. Unstrangled. Maybe? That’s up for debate because there are some visible marks on his throat. Seungcheol pretends not to see.

“W—welcome back…?” Soonyoung hesitantly drawls out. You walk out from the closet, Jeonghan trailing behind you slightly from behind. You’re both still wearing the in theme hanboks, but the fabrics are clearly disheveled. And loose. And Jeonghan is hooking his fingers on the hand lagging behind you. And looking at the back of your head with a concerning amount of heart eyes.

You don’t mention a thing about it. “I believe we are behind schedule,” you simply say. “Team building, right? Let’s head off to our posts now.”

They don’t say anything about it either. Seungcheol clears his throat, creaking his body back to the direction of escape. “Y—yes. Everyone is waiting.” The rest follow. You all exit the area except for Wonwoo, who’s still doing his work. When Seungcheol turns back to check on you two— you know, just in case— he immediately regrets it.

Jeonghan is still a step behind you. But he leans slightly forward, dipping his head down to reach your ears. His mouth moves, whispering something. A silent laugh cracks through your features. A laugh. Not once has laughter occurred since the beginning of this predicament. Not a. Single. Instance. You bump your elbow against Jeonghan’s chest. Jeonghan continues to move behind you with a thin smile on his face.

He sees nothing. They see nothing. They leave the house. They immediately scatter to inhale fresh, free air.

“Hyung! Oh my god where have you guys been?! The members are waiting!”

An unspoken agreement was formed. There will be no further mention about this occurrence. Not a single word.

*‎

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 27, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

It’s the first Executive Board meeting after SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. The agenda for today is just a feedbacking session on the said event. Seungcheol yawns, not bothering to cover it up with the clipboard and Seungkwan sends him a dirty look for it. Wonwoo carries on with the roll call, one after the after stating their attendance for the meeting today. It’s the same routine for the most part. Seungcheol glances at the empty spaces on both his left and right. He taps on the table with a pen impatiently.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting,” Wonwoo drones one. The two seats are still empty. Seungcheol digs his pen into the wooden surface. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

No answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?

Still no answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Chairperson, Mr. Chair?”

“Present,” Seungcheol gruffs. God damn it, where the hell are you and Jeonghan? This feels like a rerun of their group traumatic experience last week. “Proceed.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. There are twelve out of fourteen officers present. We are in quo—”

The door swings open.

You and Jeonghan enter in a hurry.

“We’re sorry we’re late!”

Again. Seungcheol feels the horrible, wrinkly slap of deja vu. His eyes follow while you and Jeonghan rush to your seats, out of breath and in a hurry. Joshua has stopped flicking origami frogs on the table. Seokmin and Mingyu pause in between chair spins. Junhui’s mouth is glued to the latte straw while darting his eyes wide back and forth, between you and Jeonghan. And Minghao cannot be bothered by any more relationship problems.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Fourteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair,” he amends.

“Yes, thank you,” Seungcheol sighs out. “Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting?”

Much to his surprise, the meeting proceeds quite...smoothly. Wonwoo reads out the agenda. No objections. They start the feedbacking session. No problems. The incident with the closet is not even mentioned. Not once. Not even a hint despite the shared knowing looks when Seungcheol asks if there are still more matters to discuss.

“No more, Mr. Chair,” Vernon confirms. Seungcheol nods. This is going awfully well. When’s the curveball going to hit him? When? “Thank you, Mr. Auditor. Since there is nothing else on the agenda, let’s proceed to announcements.” He looks at his clipboard. There’s only one thing scribbled under announcements. It’s not his handwriting. Seungcheol squints. “Lee Chan’s...pool…barbecue...dance party on the 29th?”

There’s a pause. Seungcheol looks up from the clipboard.

“What is this?”

All eyes are on Lee Chan. He looks like he enjoys the attention. “Lee Chan’s pool barbecue dance party on the 29th,” he answers, as a matter of fact. “You’re all invited.”

This is the curveball he’s been expecting. Seungcheol feels a knot in his temples. “How many times do I have to say this?” he releases a heavy breath. “Announcements on the order of business are reserved for org-related announcements. It is not an opportunity for you to invite everyone to your parties, nor to your outings, nor to your nephew’s baptismal shower, Soonyoung.”

The man in question swallows down a gulp. Seungcheol sighs for the nth time.

“I hope that is crystal clear.” He’s so done. He’s so tired. When is adjournment coming? Why can’t it come sooner? “Anyway, do we have any other announcements? Relevant announcements, rather.” Seungcheol sees you with your arm up. He feels a rush of relief. “Yes, Ms. VCE, you are raising your hand?”

You put your hand down, allowing it to rest gingerly on the table when you say, “Thank you for the acknowledgement, Mr. Chair.” You look like your usual self— in between smiling pleasantly and staring blankly. Seungcheol nods, prodding you to continue. You do. “I would like to put the matter of my resignation on today’s table, Mr. Chair.”

“Oh, yes, the matter of your—”

A screeching halt. Seungcheol’s tongue stops working. He stares at you, wide-eyed.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“My resignation.” You pull out a white, ghostly envelope from somewhere. His throat tightens. “I am filing it today and hoping for its immediate attention.”

It’s like time stops completely. The entire office is frozen. They wait for you to say it’s a joke. Any moment now. Please.

“Mr. Chair?” you call out. “Allow me to repeat. I will be resigning from my position as Vice Chairperson-External. What process do we need to undergo to finalize this?”

You don’t say it’s a joke. You are dead serious.

“No?!”

“Did—did I hear that right res—res—resigna—hiccup!”

“Breathe in, Seokmin. Breathe out. Yes that’s—”

“Why would you do this to us?! Why?!”

“Oh my god, it’s happening to me again, it’s happening to me again—”

“What do you mean resignation, what the hell are you talking about?” Seungkwan shoots up from his seat, slamming his palms against the table in distress. “Aren’t you two back together?! Why would you resign?!”

It’s a mess. It’s a room of hysteria and panic except for you, him and Jeonghan. Seungcheol is trying his best to...understand. To not throttle you and shake you violently because why? Where did he go wrong? Has he not been treating you well enough? Did he need to compliment you more? Do you need more compensation?

Whatever the reason is, you’re looking awfully calm being the recipient of manic yells and hyperventilated cries of anguish. Jeonghan, too, is quiet. He’s just seated there, arms on the armrest, like he is in a completely different room altogether. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. Did he do this? Did he talk you into resigning? That bastard— how could he! Seungcheol’s heart is broken, not just once, but twice. First, from his dearest protege. Second, from his (formerly) trusted right hand man.

“Ahem.”

Before things could get worse (i.e. Soonyoung and Seokmin full-on sobbing and begging on their knees), you catch their attention. You look at them, calmly, and, with a carefully enunciated voice, begin your piece that brings all of them to silence.

“I sincerely apologize for the trouble that our personal issues have caused to SVT,” you begin, a singular glance at Jeonghan. Seungcheol bites his tongue. Traitor. Evil man. Evil jealous man. “I am well aware that my recent behavior has led to some lapses in the organization’s operations, clearly seen in the management of our latest event. We have all heard the feedback, the concerns—where things went wrong. As you have witnessed, it is quite difficult for us to separate our personal feelings from our professional work here in the org, which was the root of most of our experienced problems.”

That is not true! No one has the best work-life balance than you! Granted, there was an issue just earlier in the month, but Seungcheol can overlook that! He can overlook it as long as you take back your resignation, and take on his spot as Chairperson next semester!

“Which is exactly why I’m resigning,” you decisively say. Shit. “There were a lot of…ingredients that eventually led to the unforeseen outburst between Mr. VCI and I during one of our previous meetings. One of those ingredients was my affiliation with the organization. The rest of the details can be found in my resignation letter. Thank you for allowing me to serve thus far.”

It’s like a needle pricked most everyone in the room and left them deflated. Chan looks sunken. Even Jihoon. Minghao just looks like he’d been expecting this. Kim Mingyu looks like he cannot accept this.

So he jerks out of his seat, springing to his feet, and points an accusatory finger at Yoon Jeonghan.

“You!” Mingyu shrieks. “Say something!”

“Hyung,” Seokmin adds onto the pile. He’s choked up and about to cry. “Are you just gonna let this happen?”

For the first time since, Jeonghan finally speaks up. But his tone is…sourer than expected. “What do you want me to say?” he starts. It makes everyone jolt. “That you’ve been overworking my girlfriend since freshman year to the point that we started arguing about it because she’s been skipping meals and sleep and taking care of herself just to manage the org?”

Even you flinch. There’s an apologetic look on your face, but there’s no denial.

Jeonghan lets out a sigh. Oh, Seungcheol realizes. Oh. Oh, crap. Maybe. Maybe he and SVT had a lot more to do with your breakup that he initially thought. The workload. The shit you had to catch and bury with your bare hands whenever the org had problems, had too much to do, had one person in mind to fix up any messes made. Maybe they’ve been relying on you too much. Maybe he’s been relying on you too much and Yoon Jeonghan noticed that.

Of course Jeonghan would notice that. He’s been dating you under their nose for god knows how long. That explains why Jeonghan would suddenly act pissy towards him. It was whenever you’d been tossed in a sinkhole of work.

Once more, you clear your throat. “I have immense attachment to this organization. However, my priorities have shifted. I am sincerely grateful and sorry, but I hope all of you understand.”

It starts clicking inside each head, one-by-one. It’s slow. It’s hard to accept, but they eventually do. Seokmin eventually stops sniffling. Soonyoung stands up to give you a hug. This was a loss for all of them. All of them except you and Yoon Jeonghan.

“Hyung, but why aren’t you resigning?”

Jun pokes the bear one last time. It’s a question in all their heads, and Jeonghan’s expression alone isn’t enough to answer it.

“Jun-ah, do you want me gone?” Jeonghan replies, a little too seriously. They freeze. Then he laughs. “It’s going to be difficult to re-elect someone at this point, so I’ll be taking over some of her workload for the remainder of the semester. The rest of you should do the same as one last thank you to our now outgoing VCE. You owe her that much, at least.”

Before Jeonghan can start nagging, you quickly overtake his field of vision from his left. “Don’t worry, I’ll be finishing up my pending tasks, Mr. Chair. I will also be leaving some notes behind for everyone’s ease of—”

“What did I tell you about being more considerate to yourself?” the one from his rightbutts in. “These kids can handle it on their own. You don’t have to micromanage them. I’m begging you, stop overworking yourself.”

Okay, he sharply inhales through his nose. Seungcheol gets it. They all get it. No need to act all sweet in front of their faces and during org hours. It’s sending shivers down his spine. All of their spines. None of this spine shivering is healthy. “Please leave your resignation letter on the table. We will give some time for the other officers to read and consider it before making a final decision during the next meeting.”

You smile. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.”

“Thank you for your service, Ms. VCE.”

It hurts him to say this. It really does. You were the perfect successor. Now, who the hell from this pile of twelve men is he supposed to pick to be the next Chairperson? Does he have to— god forbid— retain his position?

Seungcheol lets out a sigh.

“Meeting adjourned. You are all dismissed.”

the breakup soup. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

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roturo · 4 months ago

Text

SUCCESSOR -`♡´-

summary: He believes he’s going to die soon, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable. He needs a successor. And soon.

warnings: A LOT of breeding, smut, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, pwp, tummy buldge, mentions of cum, mating press, virgin!L, obssesed!L, mentions of forming a family, not proof read and sleepy while writing this. and more.

a/n: ik this is going to have as much support as my other works, but it's def one of my best and favs writings, so please show me your support with a comment and reblog! it means a lot for me!

You've been part of the task force for a while now, ever since L handpicked you for his elite team. As a regular member, you've earned your place and trust within the group. The necessity of keeping your identity hidden has diminished, thanks to the expanding team, but you still opt for an alias during meetings, maintaining a veil of secrecy around your true connection to L.

L’s mind is a labyrinth, each thought of a winding path leading to an unknown destination. His strategies are always a step ahead, his deductions razor-sharp. Yet, despite his brilliance, one specific thought has been haunting him lately:

He believes he’s going to die soon.

This isn't a paranoid delusion but a calculated assessment. L understands the immense dangers tied to the Kira case. The complexity of the situation has grown, and he suspects an external force at play, one that eludes even his grasp. This unknown entity has shifted the balance, making the case more perilous than ever.

L is determined not to let his legacy end prematurely. He has dedicated his life to solving the world’s most challenging mysteries, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable.

He needs a successor.

And soon.

Finding someone who can match his intellect and tenacity is no simple task. The successor must be able to understand his intricate methods, to carry on his relentless pursuit of justice. The urgency of this mission weighs heavily on him, as he prepares to identify and groom the next guardian of his legacy.

You were the perfect match for him, and his calculations confirmed it. There was an 86% probability that having a child with you would result in someone with a higher IQ than his own, combined with the social skills he lacked. In the realm of interpersonal relationships, L was inexperienced, never having had a relationship or intimacy before. Recently, he had been contemplating how to propose this idea to you.

Should he ask you outright? Should he try to make you fall in love with him first? No, this wasn't about love. It was a precaution, a step in his investigation, a way to ensure his legacy continued if the worst were to happen.

The atmosphere in the headquarters was tense as always, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the room. You sat at your desk, engrossed in your work, when L’s quiet footsteps approached. His presence was magnetic, his aura of mystery and intellect always palpable. He paused beside you, his gaze fixed on the monitors displaying the latest updates on the Kira case.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, a rare departure from his usual confident demeanor.

You looked up, surprised by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. “Of course, L. What’s on your mind?”

He shifted, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s… personal.”

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re aware of the importance of my work, of the dangers we face daily. The Kira case has made me realize that I must consider contingencies I hadn’t thought of before.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a… statistical analysis I’ve conducted,” he said, his voice becoming more clinical as he explained. “It suggests that if I were to have a child with someone of your intelligence and social capabilities, the child would have a higher IQ than mine and possess the social skills I lack. This could be crucial in continuing my work if anything were to happen to me.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. L, always methodical and rational, had approached this highly personal matter with the same analytical mindset he used to solve cases. You could see the logic in his plan, yet the implications were overwhelming.

“So, you want me to… have a child with you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes unwavering. “But understand, this is not about emotions or personal desire...I think” He whispers to himself before he continues– “It’s a precaution, a part of my contingency planning. I’ve never experienced a relationship or intimacy, so I’m uncertain how to approach this.”

The room seemed to close in around you as you processed his request. It was a cold, calculated proposition, yet it carried a weight of vulnerability and trust. L was placing his future, his legacy, in your hands.

“How do you expect this to work, L?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his facade of invincibility cracking slightly. “I’ve considered different approaches. Should I simply ask you directly? Should I try to make you fall in love with me first? But this isn’t about love. It’s about ensuring that if I am no longer here, someone capable can continue my work.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. L’s eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his logical mind and the unfamiliar territory of human connection.

“I need time to think about this,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm.

L nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Of course. Take all the time you need. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Finally, you made your decision.

One evening, you found L in his usual spot, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his focus. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“L,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

“I’ve thought about what you asked,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And I agree.”

For a moment, L simply stared at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You took a seat across from him, the air between you charged with a new sense of purpose. “How do we proceed?”

L leaned back, his thumb brushing his bottom lip in thought. “We need to ensure this doesn’t disrupt our work or compromise the investigation. The task force must not be aware of our personal connection, as it could create complications.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. L’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I must admit that emotional connections are not my area of expertise. This will be… a learning experience. Should… we do it tonight?”

“Ah- Ah- Slow down, L-Lawliet!” you gasped, your voice breaking with a mix of pleasure and urgency.

L’s thrusts were sloppy but fast, driven more by instinct than experience. His movements lacked rhythm, a clear sign of his inexperience. He had come twice already without withdrawing from you, his body responding purely on primal urges.

He had done his research, concluding that a mating press might be the most effective position for this purpose. But he never anticipated how overwhelmingly good it would feel. Was it like this with everyone? Or was it something unique because it was you?

His thrusts grew more erratic, almost desperate. Small whines escaped his mouth, each one tinged with your name like a prayer. You could feel every twitch, every movement inside you, the raw intensity of his desire almost too much to bear.

“L,” you whispered, trying to regain some control. “You need to… slow down.”

He nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m trying,” he panted, his voice unsteady. “It’s just… so overwhelming.”

His usually sharp, calculating mind seemed lost in the haze of sensation. Every thrust, every brush of skin against skin, was a new experience for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between maintaining control and giving in to the raw pleasure.

He moaned at the familiar, overwhelming sensation of climaxing again, and you could feel your own release approaching. The intensity was almost unbearable when he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under your back, angling you into an even deeper mating press. His thrusts became more deliberate, his cock somehow reaching deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision over and over again.

The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that all you could do was chant his name like a mantra, each syllable a prayer of ecstasy. “L-Lawliet,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his own pleasure driving him to thrust harder, faster. “S-shit,” he gasped, his breath hitching, “I think—” His words dissolved into a whine as he came again inside you, his release flooding your womb with a desperate, addictive need.

This wasn’t just about producing a successor anymore. It was about the raw, primal satisfaction of filling you over and over again. He was captivated by the sight of your bodies joined, the way your mixed arousal leaked from where you were connected, glistening in the dim light.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your own climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his release as he continued to thrust, his movements erratic and needy.

He whimpered, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, his dark hair falling in a messy curtain around your face. “You feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

He groaned before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss deep and fervent. His cock remained erect inside you, pulsing with an insatiable desire. The feeling of having you this close, of being connected so intimately, was overwhelming. In that moment, he lost all sense of reason and the initial purpose behind his actions.

His mind, usually so sharp and focused on the Kira case, was now clouded with visions of a future he never thought he'd consider. He imagined how adorable you would look, carrying his child, a baby with his eyes and your smile. The idea of having a family with you consumed him, pushing all thoughts of logic and strategy aside.

Without realizing it, he began thrusting again, the movement instinctual and desperate. Each thrust was deliberate, fulfilling the small bump of cum inside you that was already visible through your tummy. He watched in awe, fascinated by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately, the tangible evidence of his desire and your shared pleasure.

“L-Lawliet,” you gasped against his lips, your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved within you. “What... what are you thinking?”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking about us. About a future I never allowed myself to dream of.” His voice was rough with emotion, a raw edge that you rarely heard.

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor striking a chord deep within you. “Lawliet,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. “I never imagined… I never thought you’d want this.Want me”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, his thrusts growing more purposeful. “But now, with you, that's all I can think about. The idea of you carrying my child, of us having a family…you in general… it’s overwhelming.”

He kissed you again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of your lips against his. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sensation heightened by the emotional intensity of the moment. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every detail.

“Do you… do you want this too?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission freeing a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “I want this. I want us.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of relief and desire, and he kissed you harder, his movements inside you becoming more urgent. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to the bond growing between you.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his rhythm intensifying as he chased his own release.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He groaned, his own release following closely behind, filling you once more. The feeling was addictive, the raw intimacy of it all-consuming. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered mostly to himself, his voice filled with wonder.

“Neither can I,” you replied, your heart pounding in sync with his. “But it feels right. It feels perfect.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It does.”

You stayed entwined like that, savoring the afterglow and the newfound depth of your connection. The Kira case and the outside world faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence and the promise of a future together.

Eventually, as the reality of your situation began to seep back in, you knew you had to return to your duties. But the bond you had forged would remain, a source of strength and comfort in the days to come.

As L gently pulled out and helped you adjust, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said softly in a small whisper. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, your heart filled with a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

#l lawliet smut #l lawliet #l smut #l death note #death note #death note anime #death note smut #light yagami #light yagami smut #ryuzaki #l lawliet x you #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet fanart

3K notes · View notes

solelifauna · 20 days ago

Note

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

#batfamily #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #neglected reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #john constantine #yandere john constantine (kinda)#batfamily x neglected reader #batman #batfam #batfamily x reader #justice leauge dark

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skzdarlings · 9 months ago

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i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

Your new husband is astoundingly pretty. You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred. Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way.

You were not expecting Felix. Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair. He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand.

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction. You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business. You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt. The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful.

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society. Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding. Of course you knew his name. But you did not know his face. You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold.

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies.

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite. The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night. You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns.

Would that be an impertinent question? It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise. Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes.

Then the door opens and your new husband enters. All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night. A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you. It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic. But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine. When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch.

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed. He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator.

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it. Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you. It is almost overwhelming. You have been invisible your whole life. No one ever looked at you. No one ever wanted you. Your father scared off anyone who tried.

Felix is not just anyone. Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone.

“No,” you answer.

“Really?” He lifts a curious eyebrow.

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold. Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner. He puts his coat there too.

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks. It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation. He knows what you must think of him. The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy. He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with. That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute.

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life. An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother. Hurt, neglected, ignored.

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside. Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened. You were so afraid you would never escape them. Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder. Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile. He looked at you and not your family.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Your husband is asking for you. Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority. Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm. He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster. Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception. It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge.

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room. Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom.

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression. His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze. Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm.

“Come here,” he said. “Sit with me a bit. Please.” That deep voice. You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier. This invitation was his first real address.

You nodded. Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels. Your feet hurt. Sitting would be a relief if nothing else.

There was an empty seat behind Felix. It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten.

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist. Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him. He caught you and held you. Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee. He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle.

It was more than a power play. It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist.

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone. “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear.

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly. A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered. “Very expensive. Very fine. Too fine for me. My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them. Sit straight. Not over-eat. You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing. Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said. “She’s right. They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said. He looked at you, held your gaze in his own. You found yourself counting his freckles. “Do you like it?” he asked.

Maybe it was his display of power. Maybe it was his arm around you. Maybe it was the freckles. He looked so sweet, so sincere. You could not bring yourself to lie. Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale.

“No.” You felt tears in your eyes. “I know it’s expensive. I know it’s beautiful. But I’ve never hated anything more.”

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked. A couple pearls popped right off and scattered. The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand.

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him.

You chanced a look at your family. They were scandalized. Horrified. And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love. His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now. You strive to articulate all these feelings. You are not used to speaking and having someone listen.

“I can’t explain it,” you say. “Maybe it’s foolish. But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here. With you. Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room.

“That’s funny,” he says. “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you. Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together. His knee touches yours, his arm your arm. He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again.

“I need to be honest with you,” he says. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. A year ago. At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise. All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social. You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time. His hair was dark then, his face in a mask. He did not speak. His distinctive voice would have given him away.

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night. You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says. “I watched you with the staff. You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?” He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room. “I came from nothing,” he says. “My family… we fought to get where we are now. But I remember, you know. What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you. Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder. Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more. You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art. His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw.

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently. “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness. I would protect it. Like your family wasn’t.” His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face. “They would have ruined you.”

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm. You shiver. He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand. A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers.

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips. He is still looking at your joined hands.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says. “I’d give anything to have my innocence back. But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious. Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says. He looks almost… afraid. An expression you never expected to see on this man. “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says. “It was all me. I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice. He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you. But you were already mine. So I left him no choice but to see things my way.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words.

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says. “But I understand if your feeling are complicated. Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him. It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable. His face is shadowed in shame.

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say. He is still holding your hand in both of his. You lay your other hand there, a complete joining.

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say. “I’m my husband’s wife. My loyalty is to you. My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath. His smile returns. “Your place. I’d say you need someone to put you in your place. Your rightful place.”

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet. He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room. You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side.

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch. You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it. Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life. When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck. No more chokers. No more pearls.

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed. You are not used to such lovely gifts. Even the pearls were a punishment. “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says.

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you. His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering. The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin. “It was made for you,” he says. “Like you were made for me.”

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it. It feels like you are unravelling with it. The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin.

He steps off the bed. He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft. He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly.

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you. You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside. He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better.

“This is how it works,” he says. He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you. You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze. “You are my wife. And when we are out there, I am your servant.” He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well. He massages you gently. “I will never deny you anything,” he says. “You can ask me for anything. All right? I will give you the whole world. I will give you my whole heart. In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant. Only I can touch you. Only I will have you. All of you. In every way. Always, starting from today. Starting from right now.”

“Yes. Yes. But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this. Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation. “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You don’t,” he says. He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh. “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder. He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up.

You almost forget to breathe. He kisses higher on your thigh. Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says. “You’ve always been mine.”

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift. With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way. You hold them while he kisses up your thigh. He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive.

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks. He already looks flushed. Desperate.

“No,” you answer. You swallow hard. “Never.” You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire. You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back. He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking.

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth. He takes you up and over a blissful crest. It leaves you a drenched and panting mess.

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth. He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you.

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it. “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you. You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony. It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him.

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again. When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively. He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze. His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing. You wonder if you look as ravished. Maybe more. It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head.

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower. “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread. Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down. The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking.

Even his chuckle is a deep sound. He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast. Your whole body twitches again.

“Mm,” he says. “You feel that? You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off. It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you. Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature. Again, you like it.

He is just as impatient with his own clothes. He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open. Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off. His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor. He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it.

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too. Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness.

“Don’t be shy,” he says. “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper. “Yeah, my baby. So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him. “God. Perfect.”

“Aren’t we g-gonna—” Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again.

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants. “We are. Be patient. You’re gonna enjoy this. Gonna remember this night forever.” He leans down so his body is over yours. He kisses you, presses you into the pillows. When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips. “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says. “And you’re gonna want it. All of it and more.”

He has you begging for more already. When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs. It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him. There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure.

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped. He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic. Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip.

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand. He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers. He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours. “That no one else has felt you before,” he says. “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say. “Always. My husband.”

“Mm.” He drops his forehead to yours. “My wife.”

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name. He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name.

Then he kisses you. Then he lays you down. He wraps you in his arms and squeezes.

“Sleep for now,” he says. “It’s been a long day. And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin.

“Yes,” he says with a smile. He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip. “I do.”

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #felix x you #valentinesdaystories

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celestialtarot11 · 16 days ago

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PAC: Random Messages for You

Hi friends! Thought I’d do something tarot related instead of astrology today. Do enjoy and let me know your feedback down below! <: it means a lot to me and this blog.

Pile 1: Hi there pile 1! You may be experiencing a disconnect within your home life, or not even that but a disconnect to spirituality. There may be a lot of shifts and changes happening in your life at the moment, and it feels as though there’s a lot of tension within you. I’m seeing a box and it keeps folding in on itself, imploding not exploding. All that tension is really sitting within you. I encourage some (I heard bath therapy) so maybe some of you like to take baths with herbs, crystals, and candles. Do that! There may be some uninvited energy around you at the moment. Also some of you need sleep. Rest. Stay off the phone before bedtime, and if you can, meditate! Meditation can look different, for some its sitting in nature, going on a walk, or laying there. There’s a really huge shift here—I don’t think you expected this ending to have happened either with someone you loved or this disconnect either spirituality. I almost feel as if there’s this longing, but also hopeless feeling of: “why? Spirit? Why me?” And I heard: it matters where you are. So, if you’re in an environment where there are people taking advantage of you how can you set boundaries? What do you need? How can you make this process easier for you? It’s likely these people or this place is contributing to your issues at the moment. I also believe spirit wants to let you know that they hear you and are there for you <3 “it matters where you are,” they know, they’ve heard your prayers. If you need confirmation this is it. Journaling can help a ton, there’s a lot of mental energy but in the sense that its squashed. Normally you feel pretty upbeat but it almost feels as if there’s defeat and its a little too silent with all the things you wish to say. Express yourself. Cry it out. I also heard hug it out! So hug it out if you can with a friend, hugging yourself, or hugging a stuffed animal. Yoga may be great for releasing trapped emotions in the body too. I hope you feel better pile 1 <3 thank you for your support and being here.

Pile 2: Hi there pile 2! Welcome! For you I feel as though there’s a lot of green energy around you at the moment. It surrounds you like a garden! I can see your aura with vines, curling up to protect your space and flowers blooming all around. So beautiful! Im also hearing it took a long time to tend to this garden, so you really did take a lot of time to focus on your confidence, healing and transformation. Im also seeing a mermaid emerge from the sea and she’s by the moon. She looks carefree! That’s you. I feel as though you’re learning to vibe with being alone and being okay with being single, although you don’t necessarily have to be. You may be in a position of power in your career now or in the future will be. Im seeing someone grab a book and write down all their ideas and goals—with this determination in mind to make it happen! You may be a fixed sign or have multiple (Leo, Aquarius, Scorpio, Taurus) and suddenly it manifests. This is the kind of success you’ve been building up towards. I also heard this is the success where I feel at peace within myself. Its not necessarily about external factors (although it could be like owning a house—I heard that) its more so the peace that comes with trusting yourself now after all these years. I also see your third eye is open which is revealing to you things that were hidden before. Hidden knowledge. Im seeing spirit is giving you these messages as if its sacred—you’re drinking out of a golden goblet and its this magical juice lmao. Some of ya’ll have very imaginative inner childs and love to concoct stories, so maybe your inner child is out and about! I legit see your inner child dressed like a diva with their sunglasses, sparkly pink kitten heels to slay the day away! So cute. I just feel you have mended that relationship sincerely. You could be a: pisces, pisces 5h/1h, aries, leo, sag, cancer placements. I also see this is an important time for harvesting results. I heard: there is result beyond fear. There is relief beyond fear. On the other side of fear there is joy. So perhaps this has been a mantra for you. I see EFT tapping therapy, so maybe some of you engaged in this. I see breath work, learning to work with your energy. I heard kundalini as well! So some of you may certainly be focused on spirituality and practices. Your inner child is so important—literally hearing their words of awe at the world. Your encouragement means so much to them right now, it’s as if they’re allowing themselves to express themselves again! Thanks pile 2 for being here <3 means a lot to me!

Pile 3: Hey ya’ll it’s 10:10 as I write this so there’s a strong presence of spiritual support! Love that. You guys might be a virgo rising, have virgo placements, virgo 2h, or strong mercurial aspects. An exalted mercury even! I see that for you guys there’s this hazy thick fog. It feels as though your energy is very much guarded and anyone who tries to come in is maybe hit with a wave of confusion. Kind of like they’re stunned. Its kind of cartoonish, and silly. But I see this as a protective mechanism! You guys have been focused on getting your life together especially your finances. You could be budgeting more, spending less, and overall grinding. Keep it on the low and hustling. I also lots of self care so maybe you’ve switched your routine, you’re getting your hair done, nails, lashes, etc. You want to feel your best self and Im literally seeing your spirit team cheer and fist bump. Its like they’ve been wanting you to love yourself and—“finally you got the message,” is what I heard 😭 I’m also hearing “pump it up,” I know its a song, its pop music, really catchy. There’s a lot of happy bright energy surrounding you and I think you’re really feeling yourself. And I think that anyone who tries to disturb your peace I literally see you putting on sunglasses to act like they don’t exist. I feel like you guys are also really funny which people don’t expect—you have a very dry humor and might be great and stand up comedy. I also feel your phone is filled with a bunch of memes to go on the daily. It’s on butt dial at this point. I feel as though you appear intimidating but you’re really funny, chill, and grounded. You may have taurus/Capricorn placements as well. Lots of earth! Maybe all your big 3 is earth. I feel as though you’re being told to enjoy yourself and have fun! Let loose and chuck the ruled aside momentarily. It wouldn’t hurt to let go. I think for so long you’ve been hustling and grinding—so its time to celebrate how far you came! You may attracting suitors or attention is what I heard lol, lots of eyes on you! Especially through this transformation. I see you going from alone to suddenly everyone is around you. So maybe you’re graduating, getting that promotion, it’s your birthday, or there’s an event coming up! This is really going to help you feel your best self <3 Im also hearing euro pop music, so maybe ya’ll are into that. And dream of euro pop blasting in clubs (bring back this era) I dont know if you know Inna and her music. “Hot” by inna is playing! But thanks pile 3 for being here! Sincerely appreciate it all. Your feedback means a lot to me.

Extra

Paid Readings 🤍

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colebabey888 · 2 months ago

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The Power of Elegance, Grace and Poise | IT GIRL DIARIES

Elegance is a subtle strength that goes beyond physical beauty or material possessions. It's about how you carry yourself, your actions, and the way you engage with the world around you. Cultivating grace and poise in your daily life can elevate your presence and make you stand out effortlessly. Having elegance as a characteristic can enhance your femininity immensely, attracting the right people and opportunities.

The Art of Mindful Movement

Elegance begins with how you move through the world. Every gesture, whether it's walking into a room or offering a handshake, can exude grace when done with intention. Moving deliberately and confidently, without rushing, demonstrates a quiet control over your environment. Graceful movements are gentle and fluid, reflecting a calm mind and self-assurance. Drop something? Don't pull an Elle Woods and stunt a bend and snap, this causes to much exposure and attracts attention in the wrong manner. This will change the way others approach you and who approaches you.

Speaking with Intention

The way you speak is another powerful reflection of elegance. Speaking clearly, slowly, and with thoughtfulness shows a refined presence. Listening attentively before responding, and choosing your words carefully, allows you to convey wisdom and consideration. A poised individual speaks with purpose, never raising their voice or dominating the conversation, but instead engaging others with respect. A foul mouth is common in today's society, even I, myself sometimes fall victim to this. Having a foul mouth can indicate a lack of vocabulary or intellect so try and steer away from using this language, find other words to describe the way you feel in a situation, always remain cool calm and collected.

Cultivating Kindness and Patience

True elegance lies in how you treat others. Kindness, patience, and respect are hallmarks of a graceful person. Offering a smile, listening without interruption, and being present in your interactions can leave a lasting impact. Elegance isn’t just about what you do, but how you make others feel—valued, understood, and appreciated.

The Power of Simplicity

Elegance thrives in simplicity. Whether it’s in your personal style, your home, or the way you approach challenges, less is often more. A graceful person is not distracted by excess but instead focuses on the essentials, projecting refinement through simplicity and order. It’s the small, thoughtful actions that create an atmosphere of calm and sophistication. Choose minimalistic over maximalist.

Composure in Challenging Situations

A key element of elegance is maintaining composure, even in difficult situations. Never lose your cool! Staying calm under pressure, responding rather than reacting, and maintaining an air of confidence helps you rise above challenges with grace. Composure reflects inner strength and elegance, showing that you are in control of yourself regardless of external circumstances. This doesn't mean you can't give it to dumb people on occasion, if someone needs to be put in their place, do it with grace.

_____

You can cultivate an aura of elegance that will enhance every aspect of your life. Elegance attracts the right people and sets boundaries before you voice them. How you look and present yourself to the world is very important. First impressions always matter!

"Talk with Grace and Walk with Poise"

xoxo, colebabey8.88

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porcalinecunt · 1 month ago

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heyy could i ask for a jason todd x reader where they’re fucking in his room and dick happens to walk by and he js peek inside and … ykwim 😩

02 𐙚 KINKTOBER — 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐌!

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 the wayne manor was supposed to be empty, leaving you and your boyfie jay alone to spend a night together. unfortunately, the door wasn’t closed . . .

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . ��𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON X GN! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — afab!reader, pervert!dick, peeping, masterbation, jealousy, anal sex, mentions of size kink, dickie being deplorable <3

・:。[ author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ omfg anon, you probably awoke smth in me with this AHHHH— i might make this a kinktober entry bc its just too good! <33

“you alright..?” jason asked as he finally bottomed out. you couldn’t reply until you caught your breath and brought your whines down a notch, yet you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at you’re boyfriend in the eye. nor could you get used to having sex in the wayne mansion.

with such a large house, loud noises are bound to echo all the way into the batcave, hence why it was rare for you and jason to fuck freely in the mansion. not helping the fact that the wayne’s are a rather large family. jay’s six psudo-siblings, the bat himself and alfred makes privacy a bit difficult to have.

tonight however, was different. with bruce and most of the batkids gone to a gala for the night, the vigilante saw the golden opportunity and dragged your ass right out of your apartment for some “quality” time. of course, spending it by fucking you raw on his king sized bed for round after round as loud as he wants. hell, he didn’t bother to close the bedroom door all the way.

a fatal mistake on his end. the smallest sounds leaked through the crack, every slap to the thigh to him muttering dirty talk could’ve been heard by anyone walking by, and it was. unknowingly to either of you, someone else was nosy enough to peek through and watch the free show in front of him.

dick “dickhead” greyson, as jason lovingly refers to him by. even before you confessed to jay, you knew dick was into you. always boring his eyes into your skin as he admired every inch of your being, only for his younger brother to swoop in and take you himself. the golden boy harbors at least some jealousy, and why blame him? he’s a lover at heart, too stubborn to let go of a crush that had him palming himself when the lights went out.

now here he is, staring through the cracked door at your face while jason ruts another one in you. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as another mewl for more slipped through your teeth. “another? someone missed me a ton huh..”

he chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against your lips in a lazy attempt to swallow your moans as he pistons his soaked cock into your cunt, clawing another orgasm out of you. the sounds of skin to skin contact drowned out the external noise of dick’s panting just a couple feet away.

he knew it was wrong, downright disgusting. peeping his own brother boning his partner’s cunt over and over again, something only a degenerate would dream of. yet, he couldn’t help himself. not with the pretty noises you’d make when jay breeds your pussy full, or the faces you’d make that contorts with pleasure. he’d fucking kill to be in that room.

with his hard cock in his hand, the ex-boy wonder pumped away at the live porno playing out. question after question running through his head, wondering the things he could do to you if he was shameless enough to walk in. “hah..ahh..fuck y/n, driving me insane here..”

he sighed, stroking himself faster as jason flipped you onto your stomach and stuffing himself into your tight ass. ‘fuck, that’ll do it..’ dick thought to himself, he never knew you were into anal, especially with a man as rough as his brother.

meanwhile, you could practically feel your third orgasm turn your body into jelly. you’re arms were close to giving out yet your boyfriend kept you up by the nape. the difference in size made you a ragdoll compared to your tank of a man, something that went straight into dick’s twitching cock.

“so small..so fuckin’ cute..” he trailed off as his orgasm made itself obvious as spurts of cum splattered against the wooden door. his eyes locked onto your trembling figure as his breathing turned into full on moans.

“jay..baby, m’ gonna cum..!” you whined as jason’s thrusts grew sloppier by the second. dick bit his bottom lip, he was already making a huge mess. a harmony of moans and skin slapping finally muted out the golden boy as he came all over himself and the door. at the same time as you and jay cumming together.

as he watched you and your boyfriend snuggle in the sweaty afterglow, dick stares down at his cum shot palm and the streaks of white on the door. he knew he had to clean up his act before jason finds out and tears him a new asshole for being a perv.

he simply couldn’t help it though, especially waiting the next time he sees your pretty ass bent over.

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

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Short Shorts & Long Hair

Summary: Spencer does NOT want to go to physical therapy, but the pretty physical therapist might make it not so bad.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x PT fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: injury, suggestive content (16+), alcohol consumption, insecurities, rejection, use of Y/N

Word count: 11.6k

a/n: i went through pt with a huugggeeee crush on my physical therapist ,, wish they were single :(((

main masterlist part two

After Spencer Reid is shot in the thigh during a case, the last thing he wants is to endure the grueling process of physical therapy. The thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a stranger, let alone being intensely monitored, fills him with dread. Convinced that he can handle the recovery on his own, Spencer drafts a fake doctor’s note claiming he’s fit to perform his own therapy. Unfortunately for him, neither Hotch nor his orthopedic surgeon finds the attempt amusing. Despite his protests, Spencer is left with no choice but to attend physical therapy sessions, which also means being grounded from fieldwork and unable to join his team on cases.

—

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a tension that only Spencer Reid seemed oblivious to as he sat at his desk, meticulously writing out what could have passed as an official-looking note. His expression was one of deep concentration, brow furrowed in that familiar way as he carefully crafted each word, determined to convince anyone who might read it that he, Dr. Spencer Reid, was fully capable of managing his own recovery.

"To whom it may concern, Dr. Spencer Reid is fully capable of performing his own physical therapy regimen. As a medical professional and an expert in several fields, he does not require the services of an external physical therapist. Please excuse him from any mandated sessions."

He read over the note once more, satisfied with his work, before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. It was the perfect plan, he thought after all, who knew his body better than he did? He could research the most effective exercises, monitor his own progress, and avoid the discomfort of being intensely scrutinized by someone else. The thought of a stranger's hands on him, manipulating his body and injured leg, made his stomach turn. Spencer was resolute—he could handle this on his own.

But just as he was about to place the envelope on Hotch's desk, ready to hand it over with the casual nonchalance of a doctor delivering a prescription, the door to the office swung open. Aaron Hotchner stepped in, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. He caught sight of the envelope in Spencer's hand and the somewhat guilty look on the younger agent's face.

"Reid," Hotch said, his voice even but with a hint of curiosity, "what's that?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, knowing full well that Hotch wouldn't be easily convinced by his little stunt. But he decided to try anyway. "It's, um, a note. From me. For me. You see, I don't think I need to go to physical therapy. I’ve written a statement explaining that I can handle my own recovery. It’s all very professional."

Hotch's brow arched slightly as he reached out, taking the envelope from Spencer's hand. He opened it and quickly scanned the contents, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he looked up, meeting Spencer's eyes with a look that was both stern and almost amused.

"Spencer, you can't write your own doctor's notes. And even if you could, this isn’t a joke. Physical therapy is a necessary part of your recovery, and it’s not something you can just skip or handle on your own."

"But, Hotch—" Spencer began, his voice tinged with frustration. "I know what needs to be done. I don’t need someone else to tell me how to stretch or exercise. I can do the research, follow the protocols—"

"That’s not the point," Hotch interrupted, his tone firm. "Physical therapy isn’t just about the exercises. It’s about having a trained professional guide you through the process, ensure you’re doing it correctly, and adjust your treatment as needed. It’s about having someone to push you when you’re too tired or in too much pain to push yourself. You’re not invincible, Spencer."

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Hotch’s eyes stopped him. There was no room for negotiation.

"And," Hotch continued, "I know your orthopedic surgeon would agree. I spoke with them earlier today. They were very clear that you need to attend every session if you want to make a full recovery. This isn’t optional."

Spencer felt the weight of Hotch’s words settling over him, heavy and unavoidable. He hated the idea of being in a clinical setting, of being vulnerable in front of someone else, of having to admit that he needed help. But he also knew that Hotch was right. Skipping therapy wasn’t just about avoiding discomfort—it was about jeopardizing his recovery and potentially his career.

"But if I go to therapy, I won’t be able to fly with the team," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, the frustration giving way to a sense of helplessness.

Hotch’s expression softened, just a little. "I know. And I know how hard that is for you. But your health comes first. You’ll still be a part of the team, but you need to take care of yourself. We can handle things in the field until you’re ready to come back."

Spencer nodded, though the idea of being left behind still gnawed at him. He could already imagine the isolation, the endless hours of exercises and stretches, the frustration of not being able to work cases with his team. But there was no getting around it. This was his reality now.

"Alright," Spencer finally said, his voice resigned. "I’ll go to the therapy sessions."

"Good," Hotch replied, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder in a rare gesture of support. "It’s the right decision. And remember, we’re all here for you, no matter what."

Spencer gave a small nod, appreciating the sentiment even as the prospect of therapy loomed over him like a dark cloud. He watched as Hotch left the office, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The room seemed quieter now, and Spencer sat there for a moment, the now-crumpled note still in his hand.

The first session was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and Spencer could already feel the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He wasn’t ready for this—not physically, not mentally. But it was happening, whether he liked it or not. And as much as he wished he could write himself out of it, this was one situation where even Spencer Reid had to admit that he couldn’t do it all on his own.

—

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains as Spencer reluctantly eyed the outfit his surgeon recommended. Loose-fitting clothes were manageable, but the shorts—revealing his pale, scarred leg—were far from his usual style. They made him feel vulnerable, a stark contrast to the comfort of his usual slacks and cardigans. With a resigned sigh, he slipped into the shorts and a loose t-shirt, feeling exposed.

Crutching out of his apartment, every step reminded him of his injury, amplifying his discomfort. The short drive to the physical therapy center only heightened his anxiety; the building felt more like a fortress than a place of healing.

Once inside, the overly cheerful receptionist bombarded him with questions, each interaction grating on his nerves. Finally, he was led to a private room—a sterile, clinical space that made him feel even more on edge. As he gingerly lowered himself onto the padded table, his leg throbbing slightly, Spencer’s mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming session, dreading the inevitable discomfort and the loss of control. The door would open soon, and a stranger would take charge, leaving him with no escape.

At last, a small knock echoed through the room before the door creaked open, revealing a young woman who couldn’t have been older than her mid-20s. Spencer’s breath caught for a moment—she was gorgeous, even in her casual athletic wear, her presence both striking and unexpectedly comforting.

“Hello, Spencer Reid?” you asked with a warm smile that seemed to light up the room. “I’m Dr. Y/L, but you can call me Y/N.”

"Hi, yes, I'm Spencer. Nice to meet you," he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of politeness and underlying nervousness.

"Nice to meet you too, Spencer," you replied with a warm smile as you settled in front of the computer, pulling up his chart. "Let's see... you got shot in the thigh, ouch. How did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

Spencer shifted slightly, the memory still fresh. "Uh, no, that's fine. I was chasing an unsub. I work for the FBI."

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Oh wow! That's cool... and painful. I'm sorry about that."

He gave a small shrug, trying to downplay the severity. "It comes with the job."

"I suppose it does," you said, nodding thoughtfully. "Anyway, let's get some basic info about how you're doing since surgery."

Together, you went through the routine baseline questions, Spencer answering each one with careful honesty. His responses were detailed, though you could sense a certain reluctance in his tone, as if he was holding back from fully engaging in the process.

"And finally, Spencer... what is your mobility like? Can you bend your knee?" you asked, glancing up from the computer to observe his reaction.

"Uh, a little," he replied, his discomfort becoming more evident as your attention shifted to his exposed leg.

"Can you show me, please?" you asked gently, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then slowly bent his knee, his movements tentative. Your eyes followed the motion, taking note of the stiffness and the clear effort it required.

"Okay, good… now, how far can you bend your other knee? In fact, do you mind if I measure? That way, we can compare later down the line to see the progress you're making," you explained, keeping your tone encouraging and professional.

"Mhm, fine," he murmured, giving a small nod of consent.

You moved closer with a measuring tool in hand, your focus entirely on ensuring accuracy. Spencer, on the other hand, felt his cheeks flush slightly under your scrutiny. The vulnerability of the situation, coupled with the physical closeness, made him acutely aware of every small movement.

"Alright," you said after taking the measurements, offering him a reassuring smile. "We'll track these numbers as we go, and you'll be able to see just how much progress you're making. It might not feel like it now, but you'll get there."

Spencer nodded again, his nerves calming slightly at your supportive demeanor. Despite his initial reluctance, he was starting to see that this process, uncomfortable as it was, might just be what he needed.

"Okay, for today, we don't have to push you too far," you began, your tone gentle yet encouraging. "We'll just start with some easy movements to get a baseline for where you're at. How does that sound?"

"That's fine," Spencer replied, his voice steady, though there was still a hint of tension beneath the surface.

Together, you guided him through a series of basic movements, carefully observing how his injured leg compared to his non-injured one. Spencer followed your instructions with quiet focus, doing his best to move as much as he could without aggravating the injury. As you made your way down the list, you noted the differences in flexibility and strength, mentally preparing a plan for his recovery.

When you reached the last item on your list, you looked up from your notes. "Alright, Spencer, I'd like you to try flexing your quad. This is important because you'll need to be able to engage those muscles when you're ready to start walking again."

"I know," Spencer said, his tone tinged with resignation and a touch of impatience, as if he was more than aware of what was expected of him but still not entirely comfortable with the process.

You nodded, acknowledging his understanding. "Oh, okay, yes, well..." you hesitated for a moment, wanting to ensure his comfort. "Can I put my hand on your leg, Spencer? It'll help me gauge the muscle engagement."

Spencer looked at you for a brief moment, the vulnerability in his eyes evident. But he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, that's fine."

You placed your hand gently on his leg, just above the injured area, making sure your touch was as light and non-intrusive as possible. "Alright, go ahead and flex for me."

Spencer did as you asked, and you could feel the slight tremor in the muscle as it tried to respond. It was clear that the road ahead would be challenging, but this was a crucial first step.

"Good job, Spencer," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. "This is the start, and we'll take it one step at a time. You'll get there, I promise."

"Thanks," Spencer muttered, his tone clipped but not intentionally rude. He was struggling to keep his frustration in check—not with you, but with the entire process. The vulnerability, the slowness of his progress, it all grated on him. But he couldn’t help but notice how kind and patient you were, never once letting his mood affect your demeanor.

You offered him a gentle smile, recognizing the weariness in his voice. "Alright, what do you say we call it a day?"

"Sounds good," Spencer replied, a bit of relief seeping into his tone. The session had been necessary, he knew that, but it was exhausting in more ways than one.

You helped him settle back into a comfortable position, gathering your notes and preparing to leave. "You did well today, Spencer. It's not easy, but you're making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

He gave a small nod, appreciating your words even if he didn’t fully believe them yet. As he watched you head for the door, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of gratitude.

—

The next day, as Spencer made his way into the office, he immediately spotted Aaron Hotchner across the bullpen. Hotch was engaged in a conversation with another agent, but the moment he noticed Spencer, a subtle, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Spencer felt a mild irritation bubble up within him; he could already sense what was coming.

As he approached his desk, Hotch walked over, his expression that infuriating blend of concern and amusement. "Morning, Reid," Hotch greeted, his voice carrying that signature calm authority. "How did your first physical therapy session go?"

Spencer’s eyes narrowed slightly, detecting the faint smugness in Hotch’s tone. "It was… fine," he replied, trying to keep his voice even, though his annoyance was evident. He could tell Hotch was fishing for details, and it was clear that Hotch knew exactly how uncomfortable the whole experience had been for him.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing just a bit. "Just fine? No major complaints?"

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No major complaints," he echoed, though the look on his face said otherwise.

Hotch nodded, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "Good. Just remember, Reid, it's important to follow through with these sessions. They'll make all the difference in your recovery."

"Yes, I’m aware," Spencer replied, his tone a touch sharper than he intended. He knew Hotch was right, but that didn’t make the process any less frustrating.

Hotch chuckled softly, not unkindly, and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Spencer. You'll be back to chasing down unsubs in no time."

As Hotch walked away, Spencer let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. He knew Hotch meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being mildly annoyed at the subtle smugness in his boss’s demeanor. It seemed that, for now, Spencer would just have to endure the teasing—along with everything else this recovery was throwing at him.

—

At his next physical therapy session, Spencer walked in with a bit less tension in his shoulders, though he was still undeniably on edge. The familiarity of the setting, coupled with the fact that he knew what to expect, made things slightly easier. But the apprehension hadn’t fully dissipated. There was still the uncomfortable vulnerability that came with each session, the persistent reminder of his injury.

However, without the overwhelming cloud of nerves and frustration that had dominated his first visit, Spencer found himself noticing something different. As you greeted him with that same warm smile, guiding him through the initial check-in process, he couldn’t help but take in just how pretty you were. The realization caught him off guard, stirring a new wave of anxiety that he hadn’t anticipated.

It wasn’t just your appearance—though that alone was enough to make his pulse quicken—but the way you carried yourself, the gentle confidence in your movements, and the patient way you spoke to him, even when he was less than cooperative. It was disarming, to say the least.

As the session progressed, and you asked him to move through the exercises, Spencer felt his heart rate increase—not just from the physical effort, but from the proximity, the way your hands occasionally brushed against his skin as you guided him. He tried to focus on the mechanics, on the steps you were instructing him through, but his mind kept drifting to the fact that you were so close, your attention entirely on him.

When you gently placed your hand on his leg to help him flex his quad, Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the warmth of your touch sending a jolt through him. He knew it was purely professional, that you were just doing your job, but it didn’t stop the nervous flutter in his stomach.

“Doing okay, Spencer?” you asked, your voice soft as you glanced up at him, concern flickering in your eyes. You could sense the shift in his demeanor, though you weren’t sure what had caused it.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, his voice a little unsteady. “I’m fine.”

You smiled, giving his leg a light pat before continuing with the session. “You’re doing great.”

Spencer nodded, trying to steady his breathing. But the truth was, having your hands and eyes on him, especially now that he was fully aware of how attractive you were, was even more nerve-wracking than the physical exercises themselves. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, worried that his unease was obvious.

As the session came to a close, Spencer felt a mix of relief and lingering nerves. He knew he’d be back, but the thought of facing these sessions with you—someone who was not only skilled and kind but also strikingly beautiful—added a new layer of complexity to an already difficult process.

—

As the weeks passed, a sense of familiarity began to settle between you and Spencer. It was inevitable, really—spending an hour together every week, working through the same routines, sharing small talk to fill the silence. The initial awkwardness had started to fade, replaced by a growing ease in each other's company.

Spencer was still nervous around you, but it was a different kind of nervousness now. His crush had developed into something undeniable, and though it made his heart race whenever your hands brushed against him or you smiled in that particular way, he had learned to manage it. He even found himself engaging in playful conversation, something that had felt impossible during those first few sessions.

Today, as you guided him through another set of exercises, the conversation flowed naturally, the rapport between you evident.

“So, Spencer, any big plans this weekend?” you asked, your tone light and casual as you adjusted his leg for the next stretch.

Spencer, who had been concentrating on following your instructions, looked up with a faint smirk. “Yeah, I thought I might go skydiving,” he replied, deadpan, though his eyes twinkled with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the playful tone. “Hmm, sounds thrilling—and very safe,” you responded, matching his sarcasm.

He chuckled softly, a sound that was becoming more frequent as he grew more comfortable with you. “Yeah, I figured, why not? Might as well add another injury to the list, right?”

“Perfect plan,” you teased, giving his leg a gentle pat as you moved to the next exercise. “Just make sure to tell your orthopedic surgeon first. I’m sure they’ll love the idea.”

Spencer laughed, the tension in his body easing further with each passing moment. “I’m sure they’ll have a lot to say about it. But really, I’ll probably just catch up on some reading. Nothing too exciting.”

“Well, that sounds more like the Spencer I’ve come to know,” you said with a smile. “Anything interesting you’re reading?”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should share, but your genuine curiosity encouraged him to open up. “Actually, I’ve been revisiting some classic science fiction—Isaac Asimov’s *Foundation* series. It’s been a while, and I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

You nodded, impressed. “That’s a great choice. I’ve always admired Asimov’s ability to weave complex ideas into his stories. You’ll have to let me know what you think when you finish.”

“I will,” Spencer promised, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the session. These moments of connection, however small, were becoming something he looked forward to—a bright spot in what had been a difficult and frustrating process.

As the session wrapped up, Spencer found himself lingering a little longer than usual, reluctant to leave the comfortable rhythm you had developed together.

—

During one of your sessions, as you guided Spencer through another set of stretches, the conversation drifted into more personal territory. Spencer, his curiosity getting the better of him, asked, "How old are you?"

You couldn’t help but tease him a little, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?"

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he immediately started to apologize, stumbling over his words. "Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just thought you looked so young."

You laughed, deciding to let him off the hook. "Why, thank you!" you said, exaggerating your response by pretending to flip your hair over your shoulder. "But I was just teasing, Spencer. I’m no lady," you added with a wink, enjoying the way it made him chuckle.

He relaxed a bit, his laughter easing the moment. "Well, now I’m even more curious."

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a grin. "I’m 26."

Spencer nodded, processing the information with a slight smile. "You’re younger than I thought… but somehow, that makes sense."

"Yeah? And how old did you think I was?" you asked, genuinely curious, your eyes fixed on him as you waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged, his expression thoughtful but with a hint of mischief. "I don’t know, maybe 50?"

You stared at him for a moment, deadpan, before replying with a sarcastic sweetness, "That’s so sweet of you, Spencer. Now tell me, am I supposed to push my thumb directly into your wound or just squeeze around it?"

His eyes widened in mock horror as he quickly backpedaled. "Neither! I’m sorry!" he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "You don’t look 50!"

"Yeah, well, you’re going to after I’m done with you," you shot back, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned in, pretending to consider where to apply pressure.

Spencer laughed, the tension melting away as the playful banter flowed between you.

—

During another session, you glanced over at Spencer, who was carefully stretching his leg. "Okay, Spencer," you began, your tone encouraging, "let’s see if we can get a little more range of motion in your knee today. How’s it feeling?"

Spencer shrugged slightly. "Stiff, but manageable," he replied. "I’m trying not to overthink it."

You nodded in approval, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Good strategy. Just remember, slow and steady wins the race."

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I’ll keep that in mind… though I’ve never been very good at pacing myself."

—

Today you greeted him with a warm smile. "How’s the leg holding up today? Ready for some more fun?" you asked, your tone light and encouraging.

Spencer met your gaze with a playful grin, the tension from previous sessions now mostly replaced with a sense of friendship. "If by ‘fun’ you mean more quad exercises, then I can hardly contain my excitement," he quipped, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his response, enjoying the banter that had developed between the two of you. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it as enjoyable as possible," you teased back, a mischievous glint in your eye. "We can always spice it up with some trivia."

At that, Spencer’s expression brightened even more. "Trivia? Now you’re speaking my language," he replied, clearly intrigued. "Just don’t go easy on me."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your voice as you responded, "Wouldn’t dream of it. Get ready, Spencer. I hope you’ve been studying."

—

"Alright," you began, today there was a hint of mischief in your voice as you glanced at him . "Let’s see if we can get a little more flexibility out of that knee today. I know it’s your favorite part."

Spencer’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "You’re really starting to understand my love for torture," he quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm, though there was a softness in his expression that suggested he didn’t mind the challenge as much as he pretended to.

You couldn’t help but laugh, playing along with a mock-serious look. "Well, if it helps, I think I’m getting better at dishing it out. But seriously, you’re doing great," you added, your voice turning more sincere as you looked at him, hoping to convey how much progress he had truly made.

Spencer tilted his head, the teasing glint in his eyes growing stronger. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he remarked, clearly enjoying the banter.

With a playful wink, you replied, "I’ll keep that in mind."

—

“Okay, Spencer, this one’s going to be a bit tougher. Ready?” you asked, glancing at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes during this session.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you replied, your smirk matching his. “But I promise, if you make it through this, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Spencer’s other eyebrow joined the first, his interest piqued. “A bribe? How very professional of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Hey, whatever works. Besides, I know your weakness for good coffee.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “You’ve been paying attention. I might just have to hold you to that offer.”

“Deal,” you said with a playful wink, moving closer to guide him through the tougher exercises. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got, Dr. Reid.”

—

As Spencer walked into the therapy room for his session, he was greeted with a warm smile and a familiar, teasing tone. "How’s my favorite patient doing today?" you asked, your voice light and welcoming.

Spencer couldn’t help but return the smile, a playful glint in his eye as he replied, "Favorite? I’ll try not to let it go to my head."

You grinned, the banter between you both becoming second nature by now. "You’re lucky you’ve got that charm. Otherwise, I might make you do extra reps."

"I’ll remember that next time I’m tempted to be difficult," Spencer quipped, his tone just as playful, though there was a genuine warmth beneath it.

"Good plan," you said with a nod, before your expression softened slightly. "But seriously, you’re making great progress. Pretty soon, you’ll be back to chasing down unsubs."

Spencer’s smile grew a bit wider, the teasing still evident in his voice as he responded, "And I’ll be sure to tell them all about my excellent physical therapist."

A soft chuckle escaped you, and you met his gaze, your voice gentle as you said, "I’ll be waiting to hear that story."

—

While the team was out on a case, Spencer and Penelope found themselves working together in her Bat Cave, the hum of computers and the click of keys filling the otherwise quiet space. It was a rare moment of calm in their usually hectic lives, and Spencer appreciated the company, even if the work they were doing was still demanding.

“How’s Kevin?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence as he glanced over at Penelope.

Penelope paused for a moment, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she responded. “He’s… fine. We haven’t been on a date in a while.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Spencer inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“I’m not sure. We’re both busy, it’s not a big deal,” Penelope replied, her tone making it clear she didn’t want to delve too deeply into the subject. It was unlike her to brush off a topic so quickly, but Spencer respected her boundaries and decided not to press further.

Instead, Penelope shifted the focus, a mischievous glint in her eye as she asked, “How is your love life, Boy Wonder?”

Spencer snorted at the question, shaking his head. “Non-existent.”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with a mix of sympathy and determination. “Do you want me to set you up with someone? I have single friends!”

“No, thank you, I’m okay,” Spencer replied quickly, his voice firm but kind. The last thing he needed was to be thrust into a blind date arranged by Penelope, well-meaning as she was.

Penelope pouted slightly but didn’t push the issue. “Okay… but think about it!” she added, her tone playful, though there was a hint of genuine concern behind it.

Spencer just smiled, appreciating her efforts but knowing that his mind was already occupied with someone else—someone who made him look forward to his weekly therapy sessions in a way he hadn’t expected. But that was something he wasn’t quite ready to share, not yet.

—

“Ow!” Spencer winced as a sharp pain shot through his leg, catching both of you off guard.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to push too far. Are you okay?” Your voice was filled with concern as you immediately eased the pressure, your hands hovering just above his leg, ready to help if needed.

Spencer forced a small, embarrassed smile, trying to downplay the discomfort. “Yeah, hah, I’m fine,” he said, though his flushed cheeks told a different story.

You offered him a reassuring smile, sensing his unease. “It’s okay if we need to take a break.”

“Okay… maybe a little one,” he admitted, feeling a bit sheepish but grateful for the pause.

“For sure,” you said with a nod, standing up. “I’ll go get you some water.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, watching as you left the room. He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort.

When you returned, Spencer couldn’t help but notice how stunning you looked today—though, in truth, he thought you looked gorgeous every day. But something about today caught his attention more than usual. Your pants were form-fitting, hugging your figure in a way that made it hard for him to focus on anything else. And your top… well, it clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every roll, and, in this chilly room, every… bump. The air conditioning was doing its job a little too well.

Spencer quickly averted his gaze, feeling his face heat up, and hoped you hadn’t noticed the direction of his thoughts. He took the water you offered with a grateful nod, trying to distract himself from the sudden rush of awareness that had flooded his senses.

“Here you go,” you said, handing him the bottle with a warm smile. “Take your time, okay? We’ll go at your pace.”

“Thanks,” Spencer murmured, taking a sip of the cool water, though it did little to calm the warmth in his cheeks. He was still focused on recovering, but now there was an added layer of distraction—one that made the idea of these sessions both thrilling and terrifying.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay, doctor?” you asked, noticing the bright flush on Spencer’s face. Your concern was evident, your eyes searching his for any sign of discomfort beyond what he’d already admitted.

“Yes, doctor,” Spencer teased back with a small, sheepish grin. “Why?”

“Your face is really red,” you pointed out gently. “You can tell me if we need to be done for the day.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I promise,” he insisted, though the blush on his cheeks only deepened as he realized you’d noticed. He quickly tried to redirect the conversation.

“Okay,” you said, still watching him carefully. “Let’s just rest for a bit. Can I sit?” You gestured to the patient bed where Spencer was currently resting.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, starting to scoot over to make room, but you plopped yourself down on the opposite end anyway, your casual movement making him relax a bit.

“So, um, do you have any fun plans for the weekend?” Spencer asked, eager to keep the conversation going and to steer it away from his embarrassment.

“Yeah, actually! I’m going to a new club with some friends,” you responded with a bright smile, clearly looking forward to it.

“Nice,” Spencer said, though internally, he had no idea what going to a club entailed. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Still, he was trying to be polite and keep the conversation light. “Will your boyfriend be going?”

Your brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but there was a playful glint in your eyes. “Who told you I have a boyfriend?”

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat, a pang of regret hitting him as he fumbled for words. “Uh, I just, um, assumed…”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, no, he’s not going. He’s not allowed in.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, confusion and curiosity in his voice. “Why?”

“They frown upon bringing dogs into clubs,” you replied with a grin, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Spencer blinked, processing your words, before a wide smile spread across his face. “You had me there for a second.”

“Good,” you teased back, your laughter light and infectious. “I’m single, Spencer. Just me and my dog.”

Spencer’s heart, which had momentarily broken at the thought of you having a boyfriend, slowly pieced itself back together. The relief he felt was palpable, though he tried not to show it too much. “Well, your dog sounds like great company.”

“He is,” you agreed, still smiling as you settled more comfortably on the bed. “But it’s nice to have human company too.”

Spencer nodded, his own smile lingering as the tension between you two melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable rapport that made him feel just a bit braver. “I’ll, um, have to think of something fun to do this weekend too.”

“Well,” you said, giving him a playful nudge with your foot, “if you need ideas, you know where to find me.”

—

Spencer had spent the weekend mentally preparing himself, trying to muster up the courage to take a step outside his comfort zone and maybe even visit the club you had mentioned. But as the days passed, the idea of loud music, crowded spaces, and unfamiliar social dynamics became more daunting than exciting. In the end, he stayed home, retreating to the familiar comfort of his books and routine.

However, something had shifted in him after your last conversation. The way you had laughed, the playful teasing about your “boyfriend,” and the easy, comfortable rapport between you—it all made Spencer feel like maybe, just maybe, his attraction to you wasn’t as one-sided as he had feared. That small spark of hope ignited something in him, and by the time his next session rolled around, he was determined to push the boundaries of your interactions, just a little.

As soon as he walked into the room, he could tell there was a different energy in the air. You greeted him with your usual warm smile, but there was something in your eyes, a glint that made his heart race just a bit faster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said, your voice bright as you guided him to the usual spot. “How was your weekend? Did you end up finding something fun to do?”

Spencer hesitated for a split second, then decided to go for it. “Well, I thought about going to that club you mentioned,” he began, watching your reaction carefully.

“Oh really?” you asked, clearly intrigued. “What happened? Did you chicken out?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “But I figured if I was going to do something that bold, I’d need a good reason. Maybe some company?”

Spencer's confidence had been steadily growing throughout the session, especially after the playful banter you shared earlier. But when you leaned in just a bit closer, your eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, and said, “Company, huh? I’m sure you could find someone to go with you,” he felt a sudden drop in his stomach.

He tried to keep the conversation going, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation entirely. “Yeah? Do you know anyone?” he asked, forcing a smile to mask the uncertainty creeping in.

You tilted your head, a teasing grin on your lips as you replied, “I can’t say I do, but if I find someone who screams ‘Spencer Reid,’ I’ll send them your way.” You finished with a wink before turning your attention back to the session.

Spencer’s heart sank. Had he completely misjudged the situation? Maybe his earlier confidence had been misplaced, and the connection he thought was there was just friendly banter after all. As you continued guiding him through the exercises, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of defeat, the playful atmosphere from earlier now tinged with doubt.

Later in the session, you left the room to grab one of the measuring tools you needed, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts. He leaned back on the patient bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to shake off the disappointment gnawing at him.

That’s when he heard voices in the hallway, one of them unmistakably yours. He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop, but curiosity—and maybe a bit of desperation—got the better of him. He strained to listen, his heart beating faster as he realized you were talking about him.

“You think he was going to ask you out?” said another female voice.

“I don’t know, it seemed like it,” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of uncertainty. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been that obvious?

“Isn’t that good? I thought you said he was cute and funny,” the other voice continued, sounding encouraging.

There was a brief pause before you responded, your voice a bit softer. “He’s my patient, it doesn’t matter. That can’t happen.”

Spencer’s heart sank further. So that was it. The connection he felt was real, but there was an undeniable barrier between you two—one that you weren’t willing to cross.

“You’re right. Just be nice,” the other voice advised.

“I always am,” you replied, your tone resigned but still kind.

A moment later, the door to the room opened, and you reentered with the measuring tool in hand. Your expression was as warm and professional as ever, but Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that had settled in his chest. He forced a smile, trying to act as if he hadn’t overheard anything, though the knowledge weighed heavily on him.

The rest of the session continued, but the lightheartedness from earlier was replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere. Spencer kept up the conversation as best he could, but there was a lingering sadness beneath his words. It wasn’t just about his injury anymore—it was about the realization that, no matter how much he might want it, there were some lines that simply couldn’t be crossed.

—

“Hey, Penelope?” Spencer’s voice carried a hint of hesitance as he approached her workstation, trying to muster up the courage for what he was about to ask.

Penelope swiveled her chair around, her bright eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of him. “Yes, my love?” she replied, her usual affectionate tone bringing a small smile to Spencer’s face.

“Do you still have a friend you could set me up with?” Spencer asked, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to ask, but after the recent disappointment, he figured it might be worth a shot.

Penelope’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward, her hands clasped together in excitement. “Are you serious? You’re being for real? You’re not just messing with me?”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at her enthusiasm. “I’m being very serious.”

A squeal of delight escaped Penelope as she practically bounced in her seat. “Yes! I have the perfect friend for you! Oh em gee!!!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable.

Spencer chuckled, feeling some of his earlier doubts melt away in the face of Penelope’s infectious energy. Maybe this wasn’t what he had originally hoped for, but seeing her so happy about helping him made him feel like he was making the right choice.

“Tell me everything!” Penelope demanded, her fingers already flying across her keyboard as she began to plan out every detail. “What are you looking for? What should I tell her about you? Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

Spencer smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It wasn’t the path he had initially imagined, but maybe this new direction would lead to something just as fulfilling. “I trust your judgment, Penelope,” he said with a grin. “Just… make sure she’s okay with a guy who’s a little bit of a nerd, and on crutches.”

Penelope beamed, her heart bursting with joy at the prospect of playing matchmaker for her dear friend. “Spencer Reid, you’re in the best hands. She’s going to love you.”

—

The night of Spencer's blind date had arrived, and his nerves were running rampant. Despite trusting Penelope’s judgment, he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him. She had insisted that he fully embrace the blind date experience, right down to not even knowing the woman’s name. All she had told him was that he should look for a woman in a red dress.

Sitting at the table in the cozy, dimly lit restaurant, Spencer tried to steady his breathing, his fingers drumming nervously against the tablecloth. The uncertainty was overwhelming, and he found himself glancing at the door every few seconds, half-expecting to make a quick exit if things went south.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, and with every passing moment, his heart beat faster. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of deep red fabric. He turned, his breath hitching as he saw the back of a woman at the host's stand, her figure silhouetted perfectly in the elegant red dress. Even from behind, she looked stunning, and for a brief moment, Spencer felt a flicker of excitement, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

But as she turned to scan the room, her eyes searching for him, Spencer’s heart nearly stopped. It was you.

All the blood seemed to drain from his face as he sat there, frozen in place. His mind raced, trying to process what was happening. Of all the people in the world, Penelope had set him up with you—his physical therapist, the woman he had been crushing on for weeks.

You spotted him almost instantly, your eyes widening in surprise, and for a moment, you looked just as shocked as he felt. But then your expression softened, and a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Spencer swallowed hard, his anxiety now mixing with a sense of disbelief. He hadn’t expected this at all. What were the chances? He could barely keep his thoughts straight as you walked toward him, your movements graceful and confident, though there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that mirrored his own.

“Spencer?” you said softly as you reached the table, your voice laced with surprise and something else—something warm, perhaps even hopeful.

He managed to nod, still struggling to find his voice. “Y-Yes… it’s me,” he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. “I didn’t… I had no idea…”

You chuckled softly, the sound doing wonders to ease the tension between you. “Neither did I,” you admitted, settling into the seat across from him. There was a playful glint in your eye as you added, “I guess you work in the BAU at the FBI, huh?”

Spencer nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I do. How do you know Penelope?”

“We do wine and painting together every month,” you explained with a fond smile, recalling the origins of your friendship. “After a few classes, we started sitting together, and the rest is history.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe you’re my blind date.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, matching his smile with one of your own.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before asking, “Is that okay? I know I’m your patient…”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words before replying with a hint of teasing in your voice. “Well, technically, I’m not supposed to see my patients outside of PT… but I’ll make an exception for tonight.”

“Right, tonight,” Spencer echoed, relief and excitement coursing through him. He could hardly believe how the evening had unfolded, but there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

The two of you shared a moment of quiet understanding, the reality of the situation settling in. Despite the unexpected turn of events, the chemistry between you was undeniable, and the restrictions that had once seemed so daunting now felt less significant in the warm glow of the restaurant's soft lighting.

As the evening progressed and the initial surprise wore off, the conversation between you and Spencer flowed effortlessly. There was a natural rhythm to your interactions, a playfulness that neither of you could resist indulging in.

“So, Spencer,” you began, taking a sip of your wine and meeting his gaze over the candlelit table, “what’s it like being a genius? Do you just know everything, or do you still get surprised sometimes?”

Spencer chuckled, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I know everything,” he replied, his tone modest but with a teasing glint in his eye. “I get surprised plenty—like tonight, for example.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Surprised in a good way, I hope?”

“Very good,” Spencer admitted, his eyes flickering to yours, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “I mean, how often does someone get set up on a blind date with someone they already know—and like?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, the pink tint spreading across his cheeks as he looked at you with wide eyes. "Oh, you like me, do you?" you teased, your voice light and playful, but with a hint of something more beneath the surface.

"Was that not obvious?" Spencer stammered, his blush deepening further, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he was.

"It was plenty obvious, Doctor. Don’t worry," you reassured him, leaning in just slightly to close the distance between you.

Spencer let out a small, relieved laugh. "Oh goodie! I was worried I wasn’t making a fool out of myself."

"You weren’t," you said softly, your smile growing as you watched him. There was something so genuine about Spencer, something that made it easy to be honest with him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Absolutely," Spencer replied, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, mimicking your earlier movement. "I might tell everyone I know, but you can still tell me."

You giggled at his response, the sound light and full of warmth. "Amazing," you said, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don’t have to touch you as much as I do during our sessions... I just really like how your legs look in those shorts."

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed completely caught off guard. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out. Finally, he managed to stammer, "You… you what?"

"I like how your legs look," you repeated, your tone playful yet sincere. "And those shorts you wear? They make it hard to keep things strictly professional."

Spencer’s blush, which had just started to fade, flared up again in full force. He let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I had no idea… I mean, I didn’t think—"

"You’re cute when you’re flustered," you interrupted gently, reaching out to place a hand over his. The gesture was simple, but it sent a jolt of warmth through both of you. "And just so you know, you’re definitely not making a fool out of yourself. In fact, I’m really glad Penelope set this up."

Spencer looked down at your hand on his, then back up at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and affection. "Me too," he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. "More than you know."

—

As the waiter poured the wine, the atmosphere between you and Spencer lightened even more, the earlier nerves melting away with each sip. You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched Spencer take a tentative sip from his glass, his expression one of cautious appreciation.

"How’s the wine, Doctor?" you teased, raising your glass to him with a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass like he was trying to remember some long-forgotten etiquette. "I think it’s good," he said, though his tone was more curious than certain. "I’m not exactly a connoisseur, but I think I could get used to this."

"Oh, I bet you could," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And who knows, maybe by the end of the night, you’ll be an expert."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "Are you planning on getting me drunk?"

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as you replied, "Maybe just tipsy enough to loosen you up, Doctor. You’re pretty cute when you’re not overthinking everything."

He laughed, a sound that was becoming more frequent as the evening went on. "Is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I should order another bottle."

"Oh, I see how it is," you giggled, raising your glass to take another sip. "Trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill all my secrets?"

Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t need wine for that. You already admitted you like how my legs look in those shorts."

You laughed, the sound bubbly and warm, and you playfully nudged him with your foot under the table. "Guilty as charged. But don’t get too cocky, Doctor Reid. I’ve got plenty more secrets I haven’t shared yet."

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, and he leaned back in his chair, giving you an appreciative once-over. "Now that’s something I’d like to hear more about," he said, his tone flirtatious but with a genuine interest that made your heart flutter.

You smirked, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, you’ll have to earn those secrets, Spencer. I don’t just give them away."

"Challenge accepted," Spencer replied, his grin widening as he clinked his glass against yours. "But I warn you, I’m pretty good at uncovering secrets."

"Is that so?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then."

"I think I’d like that," Spencer said, his voice softening as he held your gaze, the playful banter giving way to something a bit more serious, but no less exciting.

The wine continued to flow, and with it, the conversation grew flirtier, the two of you slipping into a comfortable rhythm that was as intoxicating as the wine itself. The night felt like a blur of laughter, teasing words, and shared glances, each one charged with a growing connection that neither of you could deny.

As the glasses emptied and the night wore on, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something new—something wonderful. And by the way you were looking at him, your smile bright and your eyes full of promise, he had a feeling you were thinking the same thing.

—

You held the door open for Spencer as you both exited the restaurant, then hailed a cab with practiced ease. Spencer couldn’t help but notice the way you held the door open for him once more, a small gesture that felt both kind and distant at the same time.

“One stop or two?” the cab driver asked, his voice breaking through the quiet night air.

“Two,” you responded, offering Spencer an apologetic smile that made his heart sink just a little.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Spencer started to get the sense that this night—this connection—was slipping away, becoming nothing more than a fleeting exchange.

“This isn’t going to continue, is it?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with the disappointment he was trying to keep at bay.

You sighed softly, placing your hand gently on his, your expression filled with genuine regret. “Spencer,” you began, your voice tender but firm, “I’m your physical therapist. You’re my patient.”

“But we like each other,” Spencer pressed, his heart pounding with the desperate hope that maybe, somehow, you could make this work.

“So much,” you agreed, your eyes softening as you met his gaze. “But I can’t cross that boundary.”

“We already did,” he argued, his tone filled with frustration and a touch of disbelief. “We’re more than just patient and therapist.”

You nodded, your expression pained. “We’re friends, and we had a meal together,” you said gently. “But I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t let it go beyond that.”

As the cab pulled up outside Spencer’s building, he gave you a look that was filled with hurt, disappointment, and a sense of finality. “Maybe Penelope isn’t as good of a matchmaker as I thought,” he muttered, his voice heavy with emotion. Then, without waiting for a response, he slammed the door to the cab shut, the sound echoing in the night as he moved away.

You watched him go, a heavy weight settling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him—far from it. But the lines had been drawn, and you knew you couldn’t cross them, no matter how much you wished you could. As the cab pulled away, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been, even as you tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing.

—

“Spencer, baby!” Penelope’s voice rang out the moment he stepped into the office the next morning. She rushed over to him, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. “How was your date? Did you love her? I know you did!”

Spencer’s expression was flat, his usual warmth replaced by a cool detachment. “I did not,” he replied, his tone clipped and final.

Penelope’s face fell instantly, the excitement draining from her features as she looked at him in shock. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “But… what happened? I thought it was going to be perfect.”

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. “It wasn’t what I expected, Penelope. I… we had a nice time, but she made it clear that it couldn’t go anywhere.”

“But… but why?” Penelope stammered, clearly upset. “I thought she was perfect for you! I mean, I was so sure…”

“She was,” Spencer admitted, his voice softening. “She’s great, really. But she’s my physical therapist, and she didn’t want to cross that boundary.”

Penelope’s shoulders slumped, guilt and sadness flooding her eyes. “Oh, Spencer… I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just thought… I just wanted you to be happy.”

Spencer gave her a small, sad smile, trying to ease the tension. “I know, Penelope. And I appreciate it. You were trying to help, and I’m grateful for that.”

Penelope nodded, tears welling up in her eyes as she reached out to hug him. “I’m really sorry, Spencer. I never wanted to make things harder for you.”

Spencer hugged her back, his voice gentle as he reassured her. “It’s okay. You didn’t know, and it’s not your fault. I’m glad you care enough to try.”

Penelope pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just… I just want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

“I know,” Spencer said, giving her another small smile. “And I will. Just… not this time.”

Penelope nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of unintended consequences. She wanted so badly to make things right for him, but now she could only hope that time would help heal the disappointment she had inadvertently caused.

—

“Y/N, you have a new patient today,” your supervisor informed you as you glanced up from the paperwork on your desk.

“What about Spencer Reid?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, though the question carried more weight than you intended.

“He’s seeing a different therapist,” your supervisor replied, flipping through the schedule without much thought.

“Oh…” The single syllable lingered in the air, heavy with disappointment. You hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can I ask why?”

Your supervisor looked up, her expression indifferent as she explained, “Something about your schedule not fitting his anymore.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the news. “Okay, that’s—” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “that’s fine.”

But as you turned back to your paperwork, the reality of the situation sank in. It wasn’t just about schedules or convenience; this was the consequence of the boundary you had enforced, the one that was meant to protect both of you. Yet, knowing that Spencer was now in someone else’s care left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t anticipated.

The rest of the day felt a little off-kilter, your thoughts drifting back to Spencer more often than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing, whether he was okay, and if he understood why things had to be this way. It was the right decision, you reminded yourself, even if it didn’t feel like it.

—

“Penny, he dropped me,” you said, your voice heavy with disappointment as you leaned against the doorframe of Penelope’s kitchen. “He’s not even my patient anymore.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, but then a grin spread across her face. “That’s great! You can date now!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple, Penny. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Penelope’s expression softened, and she gave you a sympathetic look. “He’ll come around. He just feels rejected, that’s all. You could go explain yourself, you know.”

“I don’t even have his number,” you admitted, feeling a pang of helplessness. It wasn’t like you could just show up at his door and expect him to listen. The lines between patient and therapist had already been blurred, and now they were more complicated than ever.

“Uhh, don’t be silly, missy. I do,” Penelope said with a playful smirk, pulling out her phone and waving it in the air like it was the answer to all your problems.

You blinked, surprised by her quick solution. “You’d really give it to me?”

“Of course!” Penelope replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of determination. “Spencer’s my friend, and so are you. If there’s a chance you two can work this out, I’m all for it.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks, but the thought of not reaching out to Spencer gnawed at you. Maybe Penelope was right; maybe you needed to explain yourself, to let him know how you really felt.

“Okay,” you said finally, your resolve strengthening. “Give me his number.”

Penelope’s grin widened as she quickly typed on her phone and handed it over to you. “Go get him, girl.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and hope as you took the phone from her. “Thanks, Penny. I’ll try.”

—

Later that night, as you sat in the comfort of your apartment, the familiar hum of city life just outside your window, you finally mustered up the courage to dial the number Penelope had given you. Your heart pounded in your chest, each ring feeling like an eternity until you heard his voice on the other end.

“Spencer Reid, who is calling?”

“Hey… it’s Y/N. Your ex-therapist,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, trying to gauge his reaction.

There was a brief pause before he responded, “Oh.”

The single word carried a weight that made your stomach churn with anxiety. You took a deep breath, pushing forward despite the tension. “Yeah, I hope it’s okay I got your number from Penny.”

“Why?” Spencer’s voice was guarded, and you could tell he was still hurting.

“I wanted to talk to you. Can we meet up?” you asked, trying to keep your tone hopeful, though the uncertainty gnawed at you.

“When?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

“Tomorrow? You could come over?” you suggested, hoping the familiar, private setting might make things a bit easier.

“Fine. Send me your address,” Spencer replied, his tone clipped but not completely closed off.

“Okay, see you—” you started to say, but the line went dead before you could finish. You stared at your phone, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation swirling in your chest.

He was coming over. You had a chance to explain, to make things right. But now that the call was over, the reality of what tomorrow might bring settled in. You just hoped that when the time came, you’d find the right words to say.

—

Spencer knocked with perfect punctuality, 6 pm sharp, just as you were adjusting the final details in your apartment. The soft sound of the knock sent a flutter through your chest, a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

You opened the door to find him standing there, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened as he took you in. “Hi,” you breathed, a bit of your earlier confidence wavering under his gaze.

“Hi, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and calm, though you could tell he was just as unsure as you were. Your beauty, as always, took him by surprise, rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Spencer stepped into your apartment, his eyes immediately scanning the space. The warm, inviting atmosphere of your home greeted him, filled with soft light from the setting sun filtering through the windows. The room was decorated with personal touches—lush green plants, carefully selected books lining the wooden shelves, and artwork that gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel. It was a reflection of you, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for how things had turned out.

“Can I pour you some wine? I found the one from the restaurant,” you offered, trying to break the tension and bring back a little of the familiarity you both shared that night.

“Sure, thank you,” Spencer replied, his tone polite but still holding a touch of reserve.

You moved to the kitchen area, retrieving the bottle of wine and two glasses. As you poured, you could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up just yet. There was so much unsaid between you, so much that needed to be addressed, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Handing him a glass, you finally met his gaze. “I’m really glad you came,” you said softly, your sincerity clear.

Spencer took the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. “I wasn’t sure if I should,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I know,” you replied, taking a small sip of your wine to steady yourself. “But I’m glad you did. We need to talk, Spencer. I need to explain.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. “Yeah… we do.”

You gestured toward the comfortable seating area, and the two of you moved to sit down, the warmth of the room offering a bit of comfort as you prepared to finally have the conversation that had been hanging over you both.

Spencer settled onto the couch, his posture stiff as he tried to maintain a semblance of calm. The warmth of your apartment contrasted with the tension between you, and he took a slow sip of his wine, waiting for you to speak.

You sat across from him, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched for the right words. After a moment of silence, you decided to just be honest. “I’m sorry I rejected you,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “That was wrong of me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered with surprise, but he remained silent, letting you continue.

“There are things we could have done,” you went on, feeling a weight lift slightly as you spoke. “Ways we could have moved around the rules, ways to handle it more delicately. But instead, I stiffed you and hurt you. I didn’t give us a chance to figure it out. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around his glass, his expression a mixture of emotions—confusion, hurt, and perhaps a bit of understanding. “It wasn’t just about the rules, was it?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, it wasn’t. I was scared, Spencer. Scared of crossing a line, of losing my job, of making a mistake that couldn’t be undone. But in trying to protect myself, I ended up hurting you… and that’s something I never wanted to do.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I understand why you were scared,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know,” you whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “And I can’t take back what I did. But I want you to know that I care about you, Spencer. I really do. And if there’s any way we can move forward—whether that’s as friends or something more—I’m willing to try.”

Spencer looked down at his glass, his mind clearly racing as he processed your words. After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked back up at you, his expression gentler than before.

“I care about you too,” he said quietly. “And I want to move forward. But I need to know that we’re both on the same page, that this isn’t just something we’re doing because of… circumstances.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he was willing to talk about it. “I agree. I don’t want to force anything. But I also don’t want to walk away from something that could be real, just because it’s complicated.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “I guess we’re both pretty good at making things complicated, huh?”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a bit. “Yeah, we are. But maybe… maybe we can figure it out together?”

Spencer took another sip of his wine, his smile growing a little more confident. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice warm and genuine.

And with those simple words, the gap that had formed between you began to close, replaced by the possibility of something new—a fresh start, built on honesty, understanding, and the connection you both knew was there all along.

Spencer’s tentative smile grew into something more playful as he leaned back slightly, the tension between you all but dissolved. “Does that mean free, private physical therapy sessions?” he teased, his tone light, though there was a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing the last remnants of anxiety you had been holding onto. Leaning forward, you matched his playful tone, raising an eyebrow as you replied, “Only if you don’t wear any shorts.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he laughed—a deep, genuine sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll have to consider that,” he quipped, the playful banter between you rekindling that familiar connection.

“Well, take your time,” you said with a grin, feeling the ease and comfort return between you. “But just so you know, I’m a lot stricter when it comes to private sessions.”

“Is that so?” Spencer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Maybe I’m up for the challenge.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the flirtation now fully out in the open. “Well, Doctor Reid, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while,” you replied, your tone equally soft and playful.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the air between you charged with excitement and anticipation. The conversation had started with apologies and uncertainty, but now, sitting here together, it felt like the beginning of something new—something you were both more than ready to explore.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot to figure out,” Spencer said softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a warm smile spreading across your face. “But I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

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