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imaginespazzi · 3 days ago

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Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now- instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it.

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt.

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it.

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed.

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night.

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms.

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby.

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while.

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress.

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had.

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her.

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers.

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh.

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.”

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together.

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest.

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

***

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights.

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly.

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves.

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat.

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft.

And then it happened again.

And again.

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance.

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was.

It was fear.

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship.

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend.

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water.

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes.

But not like this.

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart.

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper.

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body.

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds.

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it.

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread.

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream.

“I can’t,” she says.

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls.

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean.

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air.

If I become your fiancé.

“I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement.

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life.

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly.

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop.

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue.

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows.

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal.

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved.

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence.

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence.

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night.

But Paige walks away.

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her.

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late.

***

June 2033

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama.

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life.

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces.

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family.

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be.

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter.

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement.

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues.

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby.

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken.

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully.

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York.

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines.

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it.

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time.

It’s Paige.

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Paige, who’s here.

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car.

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards.

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare.

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently.

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her.

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile.

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long.

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart.

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes.

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout.

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto.

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives.

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces.

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen.

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her.

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle.

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation.

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope.

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink.

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something.

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs.

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grapes, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her.

“Mama?” Stephie presses.

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple.

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman.

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly.

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches.

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her.

“What about New York?” she asks finally.

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly,“I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks.

“You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter.

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it.

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her.

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I��m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart.

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips.

“So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot.

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks.

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms.

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything.

Because now she finally has everything.

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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thewidowsledger · 1 day ago

Text

Good Luck, Babe

Chapter 4: A Piece Of You | 4.0k

Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 ANGST, cheating, smoking, smut but it was kind of cut off so it's just smu— pls laugh guys

Author's Note: This is about to get ANGSTIER. Nat's pain is valid but is her actions justifiable? Does r deserve all that? Pls pls pls I want to have y'all's thoughts, leave it in my inbox or in the comments or else I will not continue writing this jk i'm not joking. I removed some parts here that I think would be a better use on the next chapter that will be posted in 3 weeks (I know it's gonna be a long wait, but I've got to update the mob boss au and I've got to serve some angst fics for y'all)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You're leaning over the counter, trying to read and sign the slip for Aliah's exams. You're terrible right now, you didn't realize how private schools can be so complicated that you have to sign a permission slip before they let your daughter take an exam. Suddenly, someone peers over your shoulder.

"You don't even know what you're signing, do you?"

This bitch.

You didn't look entirely at the woman but you saw her in your peripheral vision. You returned your focus on filling up whatever paper you are filling up.

But suddenly the woman leans in closer, her musky perfume overwhelming your senses. She effortlessly points out the correct line, her long fingers tapping the paper. "Is your child a transferee?" she asked and you nodded nervously.

"Check that one, then don't write anything down here." You gulped and nodded before shakingly dragging your hands to do whatever she just said.

When everything was signed, you double checked to make sure to get everything right this time. You push it towards the clerk, who scans it quickly. "All done, Mrs. Romanoff," she says with a smile.

"Romanoff." You heard the woman behind you whisper. You finally turn to face her, your heart racing as you meet her gaze.

The woman stands tall, her blonde hair cut short and stylish, framing her square-shaped face. She's dressed in a black leather jacket, paired with jeans and combat boots, giving her an edgy, intimidating look. She holds your gaze for a moment longer before her gaze flickers to the wedding ring still on your finger. Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more calculated. "So, you're the wife of one of the big sponsors of this school? Natasha Romanoff?" She asks the question almost casually, but there's an underlying intensity in her tone. "The transportation tycoon?"

The mention of her name and the title made you feel a pang of discomfort. The word wife and the title of being Mrs. Romanoff suddenly feels like ill-fitting suits. Your marriage, after all, had been little more than a convenient arrangement—for your daughter. So you are not sure whether to confirm or not, so you just let out a small awkward smile hoping that she won't budge further about her question. And the blonde seemed to read between the lines that theories started to formulate in her mind. She was about to formally introduce herself when she saw a kid running towards your direction.

"Mommy!" She watched you scoop up a little girl that clearly is yours, giggling as you attacked her face with kisses.

Behind her was another girl, it was the blonde's niece, catching up. "Auntie!" The little girl waves, her gap-toothed smile wide. "Up!"

Without missing a beat, the blonde reaches down and scoops up the kid, tossing her playfully into the air before catching her. The kid squeals with delight. "Hey, monkey face," she says, ruffling the girl's curly hair. Then her kid glances at Aliah who was in your arms.

She grins, her eyes bright. "Auntie, this is my new friend, Aliah!" she announces proudly. You turned around so you and your daughter could face them together, then Aliah looked at the woman who was carrying her friend, her little hands waving with a grin.

Now, it's your daughter's turn to introduce her newfound friend to you, "Mommy, this is Monica!"

"Hi, Monica."

The blonde watches as you speak to Monica. She's mesmerized by the way you interact with the children, so gentle and natural. Monica giggles at your greeting, "Hi!" she chirps back, climbing down to her aunties grasp.

Aliah wriggles out of your arms, wanting to join Monica on the floor. The two girls run off together, laughing and chattering excitedly. Now, you're left standing alone with the blonde again. She clears her throat nervously, a slight flush creeping up her neck, "I hope I didn't overwhelm you with my question a while back."

You shake your head with a warm smile, waving off her apology with a casual flick of your wrist. "O-oh, no worries." Your voice is sincere, as you pull the strawberry shortcake trolley bag of your daughter towards you.

Over the years, even when Aliah wasn't transferred at this school, you had always been present and active—you're always there, quietly observing, helping when needed, but never seeking the spotlight or engaging in small talk with other parents.

You glance around the hallway, taking in the other parents chatting and laughing in small groups. This is unfamiliar territory for you. Despite your active involvement in Aliah's school life, you've managed to maintain a certain level of privacy, keeping to yourself and avoiding unnecessary interactions with others as much as possible. Especially now, being in this marriage under the convenience of your daughter and being in this new school, it has only reinforced your desire for privacy. You don't want others knowing your personal business.

"So, how is…your daughter adjusting?" her question pulled you out of your trance.

"She's doing well and she seemed to be adjusting quickly." You respond briefly, keeping your answer vague but positive. You don't elaborate further, not wanting to delve deeper into Aliah's personal life or yours and invite more questions. She seems genuinely nice. She's not trying to pry in a malicious way—she's just being friendly. But your private nature won't allow you to relax and chat casually like the others.

"That's good."

After the painfully awkward silence, there was a sudden impact of the ball against the blonde's head that made your lips twitch despite your usual guarded expression. She stumbles slightly from the impact "Oh my..." she mutters, rubbing her head.

"S-sorry…" you bashfully stuttered as she saw you trying to hold your laughter back.

But what you didn't know is that she smiles victoriously, pleased to have finally seen a crack on you. Then, she traps the ball between her feet skillfully, making you raise an eyebrow. She looks your way, catching your surprised expression. She smirks slightly, then kicks the ball high up in the air, sending it back to the students with perfect aim and unexpected strength.

"Show off." You murmured to yourself.

She overhears your quiet comment, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She adjusts the strap of her niece's bag, feigning ignorance but purposefully stepping closer to you. "Did you say something?" she asks teasingly, obviously enjoying your rare slip of emotion.

"N-no…" You giggled softly, you looked at her and she smiled.

"I should've introduced myself earlier but yeah, I'm Carol. Monica's aunt." She lends her hand over you.

"I-I'm Y/N…Aliah's mommy." Your small, hesitant hand disappears into her larger, calloused one.

She grins widely at your soft-spoken introduction. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." She smiled, gently releasing your hand. "So…I'll see you around?"

You didn't answer, your attention to her was long gone after you saw your daughter running towards your direction. You then fixed her trolley bag and prepared to leave.

Carol can only watch you and your daughter walk away, an unknowing smile playing on her lips. Then, all of a sudden a ball comes flying out of nowhere and hits her square in the back of the head again. She stumbles forward, letting out a loud "Ow!" and a string of curses under her breath.

"I'm not a fucking soccer goal net!"

"Auntie Carol, you said bad words!"

⧗

In the dining room, you and Aliah sit at the table, enjoying a quiet dinner together. Aliah chatters excitedly about her day, telling you all about the kids she played with and the games they played. You listen attentively, smiling at her enthusiasm, occasionally asking follow-up questions. You also made sure to ask her if someone or something is making her feel uncomfortable, it is a small routine you do with her to make sure she is comfortable and safe in school.

Aliah suddenly stops eating, her brow furrowing. She looks down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork. You watch her carefully, knowing that look. She lifts her big, brown eyes to meet yours. "Where's Mama?"

As if on cue, her Aunt Yelena walked in the dining room. Aliah instantly perks up and slides out of her chair to run to her great-aunt's open arms.

"Yeye!"

"Hey, baby!" She scooped the small child onto her arms and put her back to her chair. "Finish your food, I have a surprise."

"Hi, Yelena. I cooked pasta, I'll get you some."

She couldn't decline as you were already walking to get her a plate, so she sat down beside your daughter kissing her forehead.

You placed the plate of pasta in front of her, "Thank you, Y/N." She smiles at you, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she focuses back on her food. "Mmm, this is really good," she says between bites.

All of a sudden, Aliah pipes up, her voice loud. "Mama!" She whines, looking around the room. Yelena sets her fork down, realizing the absence of her sister during dinner. "Yeah? Where's Natasha?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You immediately recognize the tone in Aliah's voice—that slightly higher pitch whine that signals a tantrum incoming. You kept your voice calm and soothing, "I'll get Natasha. Sounds like someone wants her. Rick told me she just got home an hour ago but he also said that she has an important meeting right now, but I'll check."

Walking out of the kitchen, you run your fingers through your dark hair, glancing sideways at the large picture frame hanging in the hallway. You catch your reflection—you lean in to see if your make up was still on.

As you near her office, you subtly adjust your blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then, you push open the heavy door of Natasha's office carefully, you peeked inside, your eyes immediately drawn to her, seated in her high-back leather chair, facing away from the doorway. There was a head peeking through her desk. Clearly, a woman with wavy red hair was kneeling in front of her. You notice the absence of Natasha's wedding ring on her finger as she's tied the red-haired woman's hair with her tight grip. Natasha moans softly, tilting her head back, exposing her neck.

You were too shocked, too frozen, too numb to feel the tear that slid down your cheek.

Slowly and quietly, you pull the door closed, careful not to make a sound. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand in the hallway, that single tear now joined by others streaming down your face. The shock and pain of the scene you just witnessed hit you like a physical blow. Your stomach churns and you feel the sudden urge to throw up. The room spins and you grab onto the wall to steady yourself, trying not to pass out from the overwhelming dizziness that washes over you. You inhale deeply through your nose, counting to four in your head, then exhale slowly through your mouth, counting to four again, like how your therapist taught you. You repeat this pattern, trying to calm your racing heart and clear your mind, fighting the panic attack that threatens to consume you.

"You're okay, you're okay, Y/N. You're fine. You're okay." You chanted over and over as you wiped the tears off your face.

You manage to pull yourself together and walk back to the dining room, putting on a brave face. Yelena looks at you suspiciously, your puffy eyes didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Baby, m-mama is in a very important meeting. Okay?" The blonde also noticed how your voice almost cracked as you spoke. Your daughter who is oblivious to the turmoil within you, behaves angelically as she finishes her food. The threat to tantrum was long gone. "Yelena? C-can you put Aliah to bed tonight? I've got…some things to do." You asked her hesitantly.

Yelena's eyes soften with worry, obviously noticing how uncharacteristically gentle and strained your voice is. Without a word about your eyes or voice, she simply responds, "Sure," flashing a small smile.

She also made sure to pay a visit on her sister's meeting tonight.

⧗

You retreat to your room, walking towards your large cabinets, you abruptly open your one of the drawers, grabbing the pack of marlboro red. Your fingers hover over them as you wrestle with temptation. Your hand trembles slightly, knowing the instant relief those chemicals could provide right now. The tightness in your chest, the dull ache from holding everything in…

It's an unhealthy habit that you've been using as a coping mechanism at the same time, it is an unhealthy habit you're trying to get yourself out with.

"Fuck," you whisper, unconsciously unrolling the pack's wrapper.

The cigarette trembles slightly between your fingers as you light it. The smoke curls up around your face, mirroring the storm brewing in your eyes. You sit on your bed, staring at nothing, the self-loathing growing heavier with each puff.

You took your wedding ring off your finger, you tried not to let the dam of tears break from your eyes as you examined the ring.

Everything's becoming clear to you now.

A dark voice in your head begins to whisper, planting seeds of self-doubt and guilt. You hurt her, destroyed her. Therefore, you deserve this pain, you deserve every pain she gives you. You're not good enough, never were. Your mind continues to whisper poisonous thoughts. You took a deep drag of the cigarette, the smoke burning your lungs like the guilt burning your soul. "This is karma," you told yourself. "You deserve every bit of her hate…"

A flicker of memory flashes before your eyes—the early days with Natasha, the sneaking together, the way she would sing for you in the middle of the night whenever your heart is heavy after a loss, whatever tournament you had joined. Your heart aches at the bittersweet nostalgia, the knowledge that you threw all that away because you were a fucking coward.

You stood and walked out onto the terrace, the night air enveloping you like a cold blanket. You took a long drag before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissipate on the icy breeze. The nicotine buzz barely touches the edges of your pain, but it's something. "She always hated these fucking things," you murmur, half-smile tinged with bitter irony.

You were about to get another cigarette when you saw your daughter, huddled in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, sniffling.

You froze on the spot and cursed yourself, you immediately stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, trying to make the smell and the smoke go away, but it's too late—she started wailing loudly, her tiny fists balling up as she cried. You've taken to hiding in the bathroom or stepping outside when you need a cigarette, not letting your daughter see or even inhale the smell of smoke because she hates it and you would never have your daughter breathe it. You genuinely think you're being stealthy. But it seems like every time you would light up a cigarette, your daughter would immediately know.

Seeing how it affects your little one's purity and innocence makes you feel guilty.

"You pwomise you stop smoke!" Aliah cried out loud. You carefully walked towards her, without warning, she ran towards your bed grabbing your pillow and heaved it towards you with all her might, her small arms flailing.

Getting down on your knees so you're at her eye level, you watch her tiny form trembling with emotion as she throws every pillow she can reach in your direction. "Shh, Ali...mommy's sorry..." Your voice trembled, but she continued. You took every hit of the pillow from your daughter.

You hated making Aliah cry, you hated hurting Natasha. You hated yourself causing them this.

Everything's too much, it's too much. You feel every pain physically now.

Suddenly, you crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "Mommy's…just hurt." Your voice breaks as tears pour down your face and fall on the pillows scattered in front of you. "I'm so sorry baby, please forgive mommy…"

As you break down in sobs, your daughter suddenly stops throwing pillows and stares at you with a frown.

"Hurt, mommy is hurt," you sobbed each word as you pointed to your heart, her little brow furrows even more. She's seen you do this before when you're sad or upset.

She walked towards you, throwing the pillows back on your bed. Then, she climbs onto your lap, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. "Mommy hurt?" Through your sobs, you nod gently, holding her close. Her soft baby scent fills your nostrils, the smell of cigarettes long gone. And you realize how much you're hurting not just yourself, but this innocent soul who depends entirely on you. She placed her ear on your chest, a thing she grew up doing to ensure your heart is still beating whenever you tell her something hurt.

"Mommy's hurting...bad..."

And you deserve all of it.

⧗

"How many hours have you been sucking her?"

"Fucking hell, Yelena!" Natasha yelled, she pushed her office chair back and zipped her pants up.

"Out. Now." Yelena's voice brooks no argument, and the woman quickly scrambles to her feet, fleeing the room without another word. Natasha could only huff in embarrassment.

"That door is fucking closed for a reason."

"Well, it's unlocked, it seems like you wanted everyone to see the meeting you're doing here."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she moved to the nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of expensive red wine and a single glass. She pours herself a generous amount, her hand steady despite the tension in the room.

"Did you at least finish your meeting, sestra?" Yelena emphasizes the word 'finish' with heavy sarcasm. Natasha's jaw clenches visibly at Yelena's insinuation, her hands tightening around the wine glass. Without offering any to Yelena, she takes a long sip, still avoiding her sister's gaze.

"So this is your plan?" Yelena started again but her sister didn't bother to look. "Make her miserable?"

Now she got her sister's attention.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She murmured.

"I should've realized it." Yelena's laughter is sharp and devoid of any warmth, a bitter sound that fills the room.

"Can you…can you go?" Natasha irritatingly spat at Yelena without looking at her.

"Asking her to marry you, I thought you wanted a fresh start, sestra…"

"Watch your mouth." Natasha warned her sister, her pointed finger hanging in the air while the glass of wine was still in her hand.

But Yelena seemed unfazed by her sister's threat. "But I didn't realize…"

"Shut up!"

"That you just want to make her watch as you fuck some communal pussy with her wearing that wedding ring you put on her while you don't wear yours!"

"Fucking shut up!" Natasha hurls the wine glass across the room, missing Yelena by mere inches. The glass shatters against the wall, the sound echoing through the space. Yelena, however, remains eerily calm, not even flinching at the near miss.

She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head disappointingly. "Why are you doing this, Natasha? You've got so many options and money! You could've taken Aliah from her if that's the only thing you want! You can pay for better lawyers than her, you could've won custody!"

Natasha's jaw clenched as she tries to suppress her emotions once again. She takes a shuddering breath, attempting to regain her composure and stave off the spiral of anger and defensiveness threatening to consume her once again.

"But that's not what you really want don't you?" Her sister continues, Natasha finally meets her eye to eye. "Are you happy watching her go miserable? Kneel the ground you walk on just to earn that forgiveness from you?"

"She deserves it."

Yelena huffed about how unbelievably heartless her sister is right now. "I watched you fall apart over her. And now...now you're tearing her apart piece by piece." Yelena's voice breaks slightly. "I understand your pain, Natasha. I truly do, you're my sister. I held you through the darkest parts of it. But this...this is different. This is you actively choosing to hurt her, to break her."

"She deserves it." Natasha repeated coldly under her breath.

"Yeah, sure, Natasha. Whatever you say." Yelena was getting tired. "You're right, Y/N deserves all the pain you give her, sure. But does your daughter deserve that too? Because let's be real, you're not just hurting her, you're hurting your daughter too."

⧗

You tucked Aliah back to sleep. You made sure to change her clothes, making sure the fresh scent of soap and fabric softener replaces the lingering aroma of cigarette that clings to her skin. You smooth Aliah's hair, you wipe away the last of your tears. Her eyes flutter closed finally, her breath evening out into the rhythm of innocent sleep. You gently adjust her blankets, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back, your own eyes damp with residual emotion.

"I love you my Iyah."

You carefully extract yourself from Aliah's room, then go straight to your room. The first thing you did was take the hidden cigarettes from their usual hiding spots. Cracking open the window for fresh air, you aggressively grind each cigarette beneath your slippers, tossing the broken remnants into the trash.

You're not physically addicted, but cigarettes have become a crutch, a coping mechanism for the pain—when something hurts. The memory where you saw Natasha and a woman who was doing god knows what kneeling under her made your throat itch wanting some relief. But the memory of your daughter's face, her little sniffles seeing you take a long drag and inhale a smoke made your body physically flinch. That will be the last, you will not make your daughter cry again, you will not hurt her with a fucking nicotine stick. She deserves better than a damn smoker of a mom.

You straighten the rumpled bed sheets, placing the pillows Aliah had thrown at you back neatly against the headboard. Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, then, the doorknob aggressively rattled. You were about to get it when suddenly it creaked open and you saw Natasha in her disheveled state.

"N-Natasha…" your voice quivered, she is the last person you would expect to go to your room right now.

She towers over you, her tall frame blocking the light from your room. You step back instinctively, she breathes heavily in your face, the scent of alcohol, the scent of another woman in her skin are burning your nostrils. Her face is completely expressionless, almost scary in its neutrality. The lack of emotion makes her features somehow sharper, more intense.

You're frozen, shock rendering you unable to process the situation. Your mind is reeling, you are still trying to move on and forgive her from what you saw earlier—her and a red haired woman, their intimate pose burned into your retinas. And now, she's here, in your room, drunk and cold.

"Nat…what-what do you want?" She doesn't answer your question, her droopy eyes dropped down to your blouse. Your body trembled as she slowly, deliberately unbuttons each button.

You didn't resist, fear rooting you in place. Your mind is screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body refuses to cooperate. Tears well up in your eyes as she slowly pushes your blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in just your lacy bra. Natasha leans in close, inhaling deeply at your neck as if trying to consume your scent. You smelled like marlboro red. Her lips brush your skin, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. She shoves you to your bed before crawling on top of you. Then she almost ripped your bra that is solely covering your upper body, exposing your breasts. She's not gentle, not sweet. She's cold, hungry—an animal. She sucks harshly on one nipple while pinching the other. You hissed, your body arching in pleasure.

It is twisted, you just saw her with another woman but now, you're letting her take you like this—no words, no tenderness. She's a force of nature, teeth grazing on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh. She's using you, taking what she needs, and you're letting her. At least it's you that she needs right now, right?

A tear rolls down your cheek, your hands reaching the back of her head as her mouth continues to attack your body.

It's better to have her like this, than none at all.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow

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atlabeth · 22 hours ago

Text

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible.

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad.

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him.

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion.

Why?

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him.

But he did.

For you.

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn.

So much for not being obvious.

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least.

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him.

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you.

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says.

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.”

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?”

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.”

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.”

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said.

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!”

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?”

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!”

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him.

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.”

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns.

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown.

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it.

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own.

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with.

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly.

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.”

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—”

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this.

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.”

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”)

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean.

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you.

The thought crossed your mind more often than not.

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not.

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day.

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under.

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms.

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment.

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out.

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond.

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly.

“Can I come in?”

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?”

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says.

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.”

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper.

“And?”

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.”

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?”

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.”

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance.

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.”

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.”

“Maybe I just like silence.”

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.”

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel.

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—”

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad.

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.”

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you.

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU.

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable.

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical.

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself.

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?”

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.”

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?”

“Which one do you want?”

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.”

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill.

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.”

He shrugs. “Why not start now?”

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?”

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?”

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says.

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap.

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?”

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.”

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?”

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.”

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.”

You scoff. “I do not.”

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.”

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.”

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks.

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.”

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.”

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks.

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.”

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—”

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut.

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?”

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says.

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.”

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.”

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.”

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.”

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have.

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid.

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.”

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?”

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.”

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.”

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.”

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.”

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.”

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.”

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?”

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.”

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.”

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.”

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.”

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.”

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?”

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.”

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.”

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.”

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.”

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?”

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask.

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.”

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.”

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.”

You laugh. “Part of our truce.”

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.”

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while.

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.”

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.”

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.”

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.”

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse.

“Does our truce include this?”

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave.

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.”

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat.

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze.

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed.

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable.

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax.

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it.

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #gideon!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes #anyone that knows anything about george mason knows how upsetting it is that she went there instead of columbia LMAO #literally the most soul sucking commuter school

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staybabblingbaby · 3 days ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

Perma Tags: @mbioooo0000 , @thatgirlangelb (<- you've been added without choice. suffer.)

#stray kids fanfic #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray Kids soulmate AU #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #soulmate au #skz soulmate au

169 notes · View notes

incomplete-leclerc · 3 days ago

Text

　𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗞𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦.　franco colapinto · #43

　　　your boyfriend acts on impulse, leading him to get into fights, and you to worry about his safety.

genres : hurt/comfort ... established relationship ... franco x fem!reader.　 request : anon for franco + stitches on a cheekbone for the 100 event.　word count : 0.6k.　warnings : mild arguing ... mention of injuries (bruises, a cut, stitches) ... mention of franco punching someone ... profanity ... some spanish pentanes (i do not speak spanish but i think they're all translated correctly).　 note : tell me why there were no good pics of franco so i had to find a random gif instead LIKE i swear finding pics takes longer than writing the actual fics sometimes.　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

“Franco? Where the fuck have you been?” you asked disgruntledly as the figure of your boyfriend stepped through the door. Wide eyes, clearly tired, but they softened at the sound of your voice, no matter how irritated your tone was. He dropped his tattered backpack on the floor and pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly and nuzzling his face into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, hermosa. I didn’t mean to leave you worried,” he whispered. You breathed, closing your eyes and reciprocating the hug. More than twenty-four hours with no word from him had you thinking of the worst possible scenarios to explain what had happened. Although you were still very much mad at him, you let him have the hug that you both needed in the moment. Breathing in his familiar scent, letting it calm your senses just slightly. He was safe, back in your arms. You could finally let your brain take a break from running in circles.

You felt him press a few kisses to your neck, soft and slow, travelling up to your cheek until you pulled away from the hug.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you call?” you questioned, withdrawing to look at his face.

“My phone died. And I got in a little fight— but, I’m really okay, Y/n. It was just a crazy night.”

Your face fell. “You’re so reckless all the time, amor. Don’t you ever stop to use your brain once?”

You knew the words would do little to change anything. Franco was messy. Nothing could magically make him a clean person. Usually it didn’t bother you. It was something you loved about him. But when it got in the way of his safety, it scared you. Staring at the bruises starting to form on his left cheek, and the cut on his cheekbone closed up with a few stitches, you only wished he would listen to you for once.

“How’d you start a fight this time?” you asked, leading Franco to sit down on the couch. Now that he was back home, it was time for you to take charge and take care of him. And if you were lucky, knock some sense into his brain. He was silent for a moment, thinking of how to phrase what had happened in the mildest way possible.

“Well… we were all drunk, and some guys said some things about you, so I just punched them in the face so they would shut up,” he said simply, trying to stop himself from grinning. You stared at him in shock.

“Franco—”

“Y/n, you can’t possibly have expected me to just let them talk shit about you? I don’t think I overreacted,” he defended. In his mind, a few bruises to his face was more than worth it to shut up a few assholes talking about his girlfriend. And seeing them run off with much worse injuries than him was satisfying.

“You didn’t have to fight them over it. Now you’re hurt, and I was left worrying about you for hours. It was unnecessary and completely avoidable,” you pleaded, hoping that he would understand where you were coming from. A few tears building in your eyes stopped Franco from arguing over it more.

“I’m sorry, hermosa,” he whispered, cupping your face and silencing you of any other critical words. You knew it was time to drop the issue. You didn’t want to press him more after he apologized. “I won’t do it again,” he said, noticing the doubt in your eyes. It eased up, and you relaxed slightly.

“Promise?”

“Swear on my life,” he assured, sincerity swimming in his pearly eyes. You knew he meant it this time.

taglist: @caffeinboi

112 notes · View notes

italiangirlcoresblog · 2 hours ago

Text

main masterlist \\ lando masterlist

-----------------••✩🍪☕️🩹✩••----------------

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞

✩ : everyone has been speculating about a possible relationship between you and lando, but neither of you ever confirmed anything — until the infamous hard launch

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 : @ tatemcrae on ig

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : lando norris

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : humor, mature

✍︎ : sports car has my heart and soul, so might as well give it a smau too

me still procrastinating lando's fic

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

itsynbitch

Liked by oliviarodrigo, chappellroan, lando and 229,997 others

itsynbitch it's lights out and away we go

View all 963 comments

oliviarodrigo can't wait 😍

♥︎ by itsynbitch

username1 OMG???

username2 let's take a few steps back shall we

username3 i'm so confused

username4 i think we all are

username5 wait what did i miss

username6 HOW DID WE GET HERE

username7 biker y/n!?

username8 more like f1 y/n with that caption

username9 wdym

username10 it's the line croft always says at the start of the races

username11 imagine if it's the theme for her new album

username12 girl I WISH

username13 hey siri, how to become the guy in this reel?

username14 reel ❌️ real ✅️

username15 i hope he knows how lucky he is

♥︎ by lando

username16 DAMN ALRIGHT HAHAHA

username17 i wasn't expecting that

username18 he's not wrong tho

username19 lando we see you brother

username20 you're all of us

username21 whatever this means i'm here for it

chappellroan ICON

♥︎ by itsynbitch

itsynbitch

Liked by oliviarodrigo, chappellroan, lando and 1,240,114 others

itsynbitch "2 hands" OUT THIS FRIDAY

stay tuned 🧡

View all 13,437 comments

username22 this did something to me

username23 you mean i have to wait a WHOLE WEEK for this masterpiece?

username24 technically it's just four days ☝️🤓

username25 still way too long 😔

username26 screw my finals, y/n's new single release date just dropped

itsynbitch keep studying kids

username27 if y/n says it, we shall comply

username28 i'd have all straight As if she asked me to

username29 divided by countries, united by mommy issues

lando orange suits you

♥︎ by itsynbitch

itsynbitch my favorite 🧡

username30 chat are they flirting in broad daylight

username31 she meant the color... RIGHT?

username32 y/n babe that was pretty misunderstandable

username33 WHY ARE WE IGNORING LANDO’S COMMENT HELLO

username34 my man just wanted to shoot his shot

username35 honestly if i were him i'd go for it too

username36 papaya reference anyone!?

username37 i was literally thinking the same thing

username38 i have no one to talk to about this

username39 same 😭

username40 mother delivered as always

username41 LET'S GO 🏎💨

username42 buckle up, we're in for one crazy ass ride

f1gossippofficial

69,654 likes

f1gossippofficial some clips from y/n's tiktok. does the car look familiar to you? 👀

View all 7,710 comments

username43 that's a whole ass mclaren right there

username44 that's not just ANY mclaren that's LANDO’S mclaren

username45 according to who?

username46 there's literally his number printed on it 💀

username47 "iT CouLD Be a CoiNCiDeNCe" no it couldn't shut up

username48 you people really need to chill

username49 just stating the obvious

username50 y/n x mclaren collab is something i didn't know i needed

username51 what a great time to be fan of both

username52 fr we're being blessed with this content

username53 this is great and all but are we not gonna talk about lando's "good taste in cars"?

username54 I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD MENTION IT

username55 i knew you'd bring this up lol

username56 and y/n replying "well thank you" like AAAAA

username57 what's so special about it

username58 1. we got more y/n x lando content and 2. THEY WERE OBVIOUSLY FLIRTING

username59 norris fangirl detected, opinion rejected

username60 the way i could smell the comments from a mile away

username61 cry about it

lando

♫︎ y/n • 2 hands [E]

Liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, itsynbitch and 877,168 others

lando bangher

View all 11,909 comments

oscarpiastri mate i think you misspelled it

lando no i didn't

username62 oscar trying to gentle parent lando out of his dyslexia

username63 dorks

username64 as a landoscar fan this is everything

username65 pause. rewind. NO HE DIDN'T

username66 did what

username67 GUYS IT'S BANG—HER

username68 omg are you serious

username69 oh he was smooth with it

username70 if this is about y/n i swear

username71 WHY WOULD IT BE

username72 idk maybe because he used her song???

username73 some of you are actually sick

carlossainz55 🤨

username74 carlos is just as confused as us

username75 lando sponsoring his girlfriend's single 🥰

username76 WHAT ARE THEY TOGETHER!?

username77 no they're not stop assuming things it's weird af

username78 then why would he even use it?

username79 because it is, in fact, a banger, AND HE JUST FUCKING MISSPELLED IT

username80 ok but what about y/n also being in the likes

username81 e x a c t l y

username82 everyone arguing in the comments:

me vibing to 2 hands: 💃💃💃

itsynbitch

Liked by lando, oliviarodrigo, chappellroan and 891,472 others

itsynbitch life lately ✨️✨️✨️

View all 12,670 comments

username83 man lando did not waste one second

username84 he came here faster than he won in singapore

username85 he was in the likes before y/n even posted

username86 miss gurl that's a lot of orange

username87 @ mclaren just take her as your ambassador already

mclaren we'll think about it 😉

username88 ADMIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

username89 y/n feeding us crumbs until the big reveal

username90 me acting surprised when she'll confirm the lando rumors: 😮

username91 no way you've been banging dating in secret who would've thought right

username92 i can't with y'all 😭

username93 don't mind me just staring at the jacket in the first slide and trying to understand where i've seen it before

username94 i knew it looked familiar

username95 born to say lando, forced to stay silent and act clueless

username96 IT'S SO OBVIOUS IT'S PAINFUL

username97 pros and cons of being a lando fangirl

username98 truly a blessing and a curse 😔

username99 y/n might have good taste in cars but lando sure as hell got good taste in women

username100 you can't really go wrong with her can you?

username101 i fear she's everybody's type

f1gossippofficial

97,407 likes

f1gossippofficial 🚨 BREAKING: lando norris seen carrying the same rhode lip phone case shown in y/n's story before they were caught partying together by a fan

WATCH VIDEO ▶️

View all 8,325 comments

username102 god forbid someone else other than her has a rhode lip phone case

username103 you're pushing it way too far now

username104 i'll never understand why we normalized shoving our phones in famous people's faces

username105 lando literally ran away poor baby

username106 the way they immediately tried to hide when they saw the camera

username107 they both looked so uncomfortable please leave them alone

username108 if they want to keep their relationship secret they clearly have their reasons

username109 listen they're probably not even dating but you decided they are and you forced it on them

username110 stop playing matchmaker for them it's getting out of hand

username111 i was getting all excited about them as a couple but then i opened the comments

username112 hey at least now we know they're together

username113 idc what everybody else says a win is a win

username114 imagine them scrolling through these and laughing at how dumb you all sound

username115 lando was probably busy remixing y/n's songs at the club

itsynbitch

♫︎ y/n • sports car

Liked by lando, oliviarodrigo, chappellroan and 2,377,677 others

itsynbitch "sports car" song and mv 🏎🏁 OUT NOW

~ it was a pleasure working with you @ lando

View all 17,809 comments

username116 so... i wasn't exactly expecting all of that

username117 I THOUGHT SHE ACCIDENTALLY LEAKED A SEX TAPE WTF

username118 how else do you wanna call it?

username119 okay but i don't think this was accidental 😃

username120 are we paying for this?

username121 so lando did start onlyfans after all

username122 he's multi-tasking

username123 f1 driver by day, whore by night

username124 i might've seen a reflection of lando’s weenie in the window and i fear the image is now stuck in my head forever

oscarpiastri same

carlossainz55 yeah

maxverstappen1 i agree

charles_leclerc unfortunately

username125 I'M CRYING

username126 the drivers being traumatized for life: a series

lando pleasure's mine @ itsynbitch

itsynbitch i know

♥︎ by lando

username127 WE KNOW TOO

username128 she's the man in the relationship

username129 how do i achieve this level of mothering?

username130 they really uh-uhed in it huh

username131 💀💀💀

username132 the fact that they probably weren't even faking it

itsynbitch take the "probably" out

username133 GIRL

username134 hard launch ❌️ hard while launching ✅️

username135 HAHAHAHAHA

lando good one

username136 boy what 😭

lando

Liked by itsynbitch, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1,081,828 others

lando finally made it on main

View all 14,994 comments

username137 "finally" mf wanted to simp over his girlfriend in public so bad

username138 can't blame him tbh

username139 MY SHIP HAS OFFICIALLY SAILED

username140 wasn't the mv clear enough 🤨

username141 i mean all singers do that

username142 ... no?

username143 they could've been just banging buddies

username144 banging buddies 💀

lando i love when you guys get creative like this

username145 lando trying to make us forget what we saw in that video:

oscarpiastri i wish i could forget

username146 this will haunt him forever

username147 poor oscar witnessed things he was never supposed to

username148 new nightmare unlocked

username149 CUTIES

username150 i wanna cuddle with lando like that too

lando cuddles reserved to y/n only

♥︎ by itsynbitch

username151 AWWW

username152 couple goals

username153 LOOK AT HOW HAPPY SHE IS

username154 my shayla 😭💖

itsynbitch

Liked by lando, oliviarodrigo, chappellroan and 1,398,755 others

itsynbitch my silly boy

View all 15,897 comments

oliviarodrigo favorites ❤️

♥︎ by itsynbitch

lando i love you

♥︎ by itsynbitch

lando i looove you

♥︎ by itsynbitch

lando I LOVE YOU

itsynbitch alright baby i love you too

♥︎ by lando

username155 you know what that is? SIMPly lovely

username156 wait that's so mean (do it again)

username157 max from his private account:

username158 lando will never live it down

username159 the 4 on lando's shirt 🥺

username160 "my silly boy" MY HEART

username161 they look so good together

username162 ikr???

username163 they just make so much sense

username164 freaky and freaky lover

username165 my bisexual awakening i fear

username166 POOKIES

username167 they're so very dear to me

username168 LANDO’S NOSE SCRUNCH

username169 he's just a little bunny

username170 i wanna bite his face

itsynbitch only i get to do that sorry

lando jealous much?

lando KIDDING

lando please don't leave me

italiangirlcoresblog this man has ZERO shame

-----------------••✩🍪☕️🩹✩••----------------

©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

116 notes · View notes

rejectedbytheempty · 2 days ago

Text

from the dirt we rise, ch. 1

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.2k

cw: your boyfriend is an asshole

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

a/n: hello! i’m back, i accidentally deleted my blog :( but!!! i am gonna try and repost all the fics i have so if you see any fic that seems familiar it might be mine lol 🫶

next | masterlist

“christ, going to visit my parents was your idea in the first place, don’t put this on me” your boyfriend lamented, sighing and folding his arms across his chest like a child.

your hands gripped the steering wheel with an audible squeak from the leather along with you gritting your teeth to avoid a number of profanities from slipping out. your boyfriend, nathan, had complained for months that you were never interested in his life, or that you hadn’t seemed as invested in the relationship as he was. never mind the fact that you would plan every date, or that he forgot your birthday and went out with friends instead, leaving you alone at home with a pint of ice cream.

being the good girlfriend you were, you suggested a road trip to go visit his parents, something you supposed you both wanted. you were dead wrong, apparently. the moment you brought it up, he seemed more ambivalent than happy about it and come the day of the trip, he dragged his feet all the way.

so now here you were, driving your car along the english countryside, because his was too nice to drive on all these dirt roads.

“nathan, i was trying to do something nice, for the both of us, and all i asked was that you some snacks for the way.”

he rolled his eyes, huffing with contempt, “yeah. and i did, for me. i figured you were getting your own stuff.”

you looked up to the roof of the car, muttering a silent prayer to whatever gods could hear. “fine, it’s fine. i don’t even care anymore, i.. i guess i should have clarified, i’m sorry.”

he just muttered some incoherent complaints and looked out the window. you sighed slightly and took the silence to allow yourself to admire the countryside rolling by in peace. the hills covered in lush, green grass, cows dotting the landscape. you could almost imagine living here, waking up to the sound of birds chirping for once instead of someone shouting bloody murder outside your flat’s window.

you smiled softly at the idea of walking outside onto the dewy lawn with your bare feet and not having to worry about some junkie leaving behind a used syringe. the daydream was interrupted by your boyfriend shouting your name. the front of the car had started smoking, plumes of grey billowing out from under the hood.

“shit!” you cried out, braking suddenly and jolting the two of you slightly in your seats.

“the hell is wrong with your car?” nathan asked, looking over at you with a glare.

“i- i don’t know. it was perfectly fine yesterday and i took it to the shops a couple of months ago for a checkup. do you mind checking under the hood?” you looked over at him.

he looked slightly taken aback at that, “me? i don’t know about cars, besides, it’s not my car that’s gone and killed itself. why don’t you go check?”

you supposed you couldn’t argue with his logic, it was your car after all, but you still scowled slightly as you put the car in park and popped the hood. you opened the door and stepped out, looking at nathan in the passenger seat, who took about .5 seconds of worrying before looking at his phone again.

you let out a frustrated grunt and stomped over to the front of the car, pulling up the hood. the smoke immediately rose up to meet your face and you waved it away, coughing and grimacing. after a moment of wafting away the smoke, you were finally able to look over your engine and.. all of that other stuff.

yeah, you knew nothing about cars.

you thought that maybe talking a look under the hood would automatically make you a mechanic, but apparently that’s not true. pulling out your phone, you tried to look up on google something along the lines of “my car is smoking. what do i do?” but you had not a singular bar.

groaning slightly, you shut your phone off and began to shut the hood and give up when you heard the crunch of gravel behind you. turning to look, you saw a beat-up old truck heading your way, stopping at the edge of the grass where you had pulled off the road.

you looked between the truck and your car where your boyfriend sat in the front seat, not even looking up from his phone, probably too busy playing clash of clans or some dumb shit like that.

what if whoever was in the truck was a serial killer or something and your boyfriend was too busy playing subway surfers to even notice you getting kidnapped?

you swallowed nervously as the door of the truck swung open with a loud squeak. out stepped a man that made you swallow for an entirely different reason.

he had dark brown hair and a thick, well-maintained beard. his bright blue eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled warmly at you, something so easy about the way he smiled that had your knees buckling. and if they did, then he could easily catch you with his arms, tanned and muscular, the arms of a man who spent his life working in some kind of physical labor.

“engine trouble?” he asked, his voice a deep, rumbling thing that made your brain go fuzzy.

“oh.. uh, yeah, maybe? i don’t know for sure. the car just started smoking so i pulled over to look at it” you said, finding it hard to talk with your mouth having gone dry. the sound of a car door opening and the sight of your boyfriend stepping out made your face fall slightly.

you have a boyfriend, right. almost forgot because you were too busy imagining those arms wrapped around- nathan speaking broke you out of your thoughts.

“who are you?” he asked, in a tone that made you wince. looking over at the stranger though, it didn’t even seem like he flinched at nathan puffing up his feathers.

“i’m john, nice to meet you,” john put out his hand for nathan to take. which he did, hesitantly, grimacing slightly at the force john used.

“right, i’m nathan.” he eyes flicked over to you, “not gonna introduce your bird?”

your cheeks flushed, “oh, uh, yeah” you stuttered uselessly before telling him your name.

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl” he winked at you. your mouth fell agape slightly and nathan inhaled a sharp breath, “what do you want, man? we got this handled.” when john’s eyes flicked back to nathan they hardened ever so slightly, even though he still sported a grin on his face.

“just thought i’d offer my help, i mean, it doesn’t seem like you know what you’re doing if you’re making your girl do all the work.”

at that, nathan’s face contorted with rage and he took a step towards john, whose grin only widened at that. after a second to process what happened, you immediately stepped in front of nathan, pressing your hands to his chest, “babe, stop. he’s- he’s just joking, right?” you looked pointedly to john, waiting for him to back you up. you knew it would only end badly if nathan wasn’t calmed down, not because nathan was going to hurt the stranger but because you definitely knew nathan wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

glancing between you and your boyfriend, john relented, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to offend you. i was just joking.” looking back to nathan, you noticed his nostrils flare slightly in discontent but he backed down.

“yeah, well, don’t do it again,” nathan huffed. you relaxed slightly, letting your hands slip down from his chest to by your sides again.

“look, i’ll make it up to you. i can tow your car to the nearest mechanic. i happen to know the guy and he can give you a friends and family discount” john said, eyes glancing between you and your boyfriend.

nathan eyed him suspiciously for a second but then nodded, “alright, fine.” john then looked to you and it took a moment before you realized he was waiting for your input. “oh! i didn’t realize you were asking me too. yes, of course, thank you, that’d be wonderful” you said hurriedly. nathan shot you a dirty look when john turned around to go grab some equipment from his truck,

“what the hell was that?” he hissed. “was what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant. “you, practically starry-eyed, looking at him. acting as if your boyfriend wasn’t standing right there” he glared at you. “i.. i wasn’t starry-eyed” you said softly, it was a weak defense but you couldn’t help but think he was right. a random man off the road looks at you for more than five seconds and you’re already on your back with your belly up for scratches. “whatever, we can talk about this after the car gets fixed.”

after john secured the straps between the cars he admitted that he only had so much seat space in his truck and that one person was going to have to stay in your car for the ride there. suffice to say, nathan wasn’t happy about that.

“can’t we both sit in the car?” he practically whined.

john shrugged, “i guess so, but there’s no use in adding any more weight to the amount i’m towing, takes unnecessary risk, right?”

nathan’s lip twitched in annoyance but he couldn’t really find a reason to argue with him, “fine, i’ll sit in the truck with you.”

john looked amused at that, “making your girl sit in the car all by herself? it’s really none of my business but-“”fine! she can sit up front with you, then. jesus,” nathan said, throwing up his arms and practically stomping his way over to the car.

you winced as he slammed the car door shut and looked apologetically over at john,

“sorry, he’s just.. stressed.” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “stressed, right.”

you bit the inside of your cheek at john’s obvious lack of belief but said nothing else to persuade him, it wouldn’t do any good. the truck door squeaked open as john opened the passenger side for you, gesturing with his other hand, “in you get, sweetheart.”

you blushed slightly at his casual use of pet names, muttering a small thank you as you got in. john shut the door and then got in on his side, sliding across the worn leather bench, his warm thighs practically pressing against yours. he wasn’t lying, the seating in here was limited and you couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if nathan had tried to ride up here with the two of you.

you’re honestly surprised he didn’t. something about john made you want to listen to him, and you could guess that even though nathan was stubborn, he subconsciously felt the same way.

“so, where were you headed? doesn’t seem like you’re from around here” he broke the silence.

“oh, uh, nathan’s parents’ house, he hasn’t seen them in a while, and we figured it was time for me to meet them since we’re coming up on our third anniversary,” you said, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“ah, the in-laws” he chuckled lightly.

“oh, me and nathan we’re not- i mean, we’re just dating right now. not engaged or anything.”

“three years and he hasn’t put a ring on that pretty finger? hm.” john frowned.

“nathan wants to take it slow. he doesn’t want to rush into anything,” you said, but it felt more like an automated response than something you actually agreed with. sure, there was nothing wrong with taking your time but anytime you brought up marriage or anything like that, nathan would get all defensive. it happened enough that you just stopped bringing it up altogether, and you hadn’t realized until now how much that had hurt you.

“sorry, i overstepped, didnt’t i? laswell’s always telling me i need to stop interrogating people, but old habits die hard.”

“you were in the military, then?” in hindsight you should have guessed something like that, from the way he stood with perfect posture or how he spoke from a place of authority, was likely an officer of some kind.

“yes ma’am, special forces. i served my time, but now i’m retired and trying to put it all behind me.”

you nodded along, “but old habits die hard” you said the words he left hanging in the air.

“exactly” he smiled over at you, making you melt into the seat.

collecting yourself, you cleared your throat then asked, “so what do you do now?”

“ah, inherited a bit of land from my grandad on my mum’s side. decided that when i retired, i would move to the countryside and start a farm.”

you laughed to yourself imagining him chasing around an escaped chicken but quickly stifled it behind your hand. he furrowed his eyebrows but looked at you more quizzically than the scalding expression nathan would have given you,

“and what’s so funny about that, miss?”

you shook your head, “nothing, really. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“no need to apologize, i like seeing you laugh” he said, something that slipped so casually from his lips it almost startled you.

“thank you” you murmured, looking out the window to hide your flushed cheeks. just in time to save your embarrassment, john slowed the truck to a stop outside a small mechanic shop that read ‘tav and riley repairs.’

taglist: (sorry for tagging you guys again but i just wanted to lyk what’s up with the fic, i won’t tag you again til ch 5 is up)

@the-disaster-in-waiting

@night-girl-301

@darkangel4121

@valeissocute

@dneicjefx

@liidiaag

@lilynotdilly

@sleep101

@yellow-cat

@snailss

@nellabear

@eternallyvenus

@bookishthoughtss

@lunerbitch

@horny-bish

@sunna-fangirls

@nexthyperfix

@princeofnonsense

@supernova2205

@beebeechaos

@appl3-0rchard

@shadowwolf8002

@mismatchsposts

@dragonbe-writing

@honestlymassivetrash

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@skeletonsucker

#price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #johnathan price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #price x you #price x female reader #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod fics #my fics

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gotta-winwin · 17 hours ago

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(🐍) ... minghao x reader

⭐ starring: minghao

💌 genre/wc: angst, light fluff / 1.2k

💬 preview: you stumble across old records from a damaged diary that seems to hold the conversations between a student and a boy living within the pages.

tw/cw: slytherin!minghao x hufflepuff!reader, diary format, spoliers for the chamber of secrets, needs previous knowledge of hp lore, abstract death, tom riddle appearance

🪽fic rating: pg

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i'm putting it out in hopes of giving myself some time to work on other stuff hehe. this one's a bit experimental with the format but hope you all enjoy!

p.s thank you so much to @ylangelegy and @diamonddaze01 for beta reading !

hello. fifth year slytherin, here. i found this journal lying in one of the professor’s cupboards - long abandoned, it seems. it looks to contain the mad ramblings of two people, conversing through the pages. i cannot seem to figure out who this once belonged to, pages have been torn out and blurred by water - so i’m writing in hopes another student might.

read it, and let me know if anything comes to mind.

if i have to sit through another class with professor bins, i will avada myself.

finally, something worth replying to. your class notes are utterly boring.

WHAT THE FUCK THE BOOK SPEAKS

…yes, i speak.

go away. you’re speaking over my class notes.

they weren’t good notes anyways. barely competent. abysmally below average.

i cannot believe i’m being insulted by a book right now.

i cannot believe my pristine pages are being vandalized by an incompetent student, yet here we are.

mr. book,

what.

shut up.

mr. book,

what is it now, incompetent student?

can you write my notes for me. pls pls pls i will owe you for life.

that is a very dangerous game to play.

my hand hurts. and you keep saying you’re so smart. write my notes for me.

what house are you in?

hufflepuff. why?

no. i will not write your notes for you.

bro.

what is a bro ??

you know what, never mind. i’ll write them myself. i hope the ink drowns you.

incompetent student hufflepuff girl y/n?? respond to me now.

yes, book?

MY NAME IS NOT BOOK

you refused to tell me your name so i’m sticking with book. mr. book.

can you go to the dungeon bathroom and check one of the faucets for me.

uh. why?

because i said so.

i’m going to waterboard your pages.

you’re quite snappy for a hufflepuff. just go check.

say please.

no.

i’m holding a cup of water above you right now. hello? mr. book?

please. check the faucets.

see? wasn’t so difficult. i’ll go now.

minghao.

what?

my name. stop calling me mr. book

MINGHAOOO

what.

i’m bored.

silly girl. and what am i supposed to do about that?

tell me about yourself. when were you at hogwarts?

a long time ago.

psh. of course i know that.

professor bins was still alive when he taught me. just as boring, trust me.

ooo what else? who were your friends? anyone famous?

i wouldn’t know. i never graduated.

what?

the faucet. did you check?

i did. there’s like a snake or something, but it didn’t do anything.

oh. y/n?

yeah?

don’t go to that bathroom anymore.

why?

just don’t.

hao. people are saying there’s a snake in the walls.

what do you mean?

there was blood on the walls too. talking about the chamber of secrets.

fuck.

minghao? do you know something?

don’t go anywhere alone. promise me. stay with your friends.

i’m scared

you should be.

stop that.

what? hao?

grown fond of your little friend, xu minghao?

tom. stop. i’m sorry, my heart. ignore him.

who? hao, what is going on?

has he neglected to tell you? he isn’t the only inhabitant of this journal. and turns out, he isn’t strong enough to silence me. keep hiding, y/n. i’ll find you soon enough.

hao?

i’m sorry.

i think i’m starting to go a bit crazy.

is everything alright? are you safe?

i’m fine, hao. you worry too much.

i must admit that i’ve grown fond of you.

even if i’m a hufflepuff?

you’re the most tolerable hufflepuff i know.

:) is the uh. tom guy still with us?

my magic suppresses him in short periods of time. we’re alone at the moment.

i still don’t understand. both of you are…inside the book.

tom was here first. the journal was given to me my fifth year, and i spoke to him - much like you right now. from what i’ve gathered, this journal holds a piece of his soul. and a piece of mine as well.

how? why?

[redacted] [redacted]

you are beginning to care for the girl.

i admit she has grown on me.

no. you’ve grown to love her. our souls are intertwined whether you enjoy it or not. do not pretend i cannot feel your emotions.

have mercy. spare her.

are you finally regretting your choice, xu minghao? you once promised me a life in exchange for your life and access to your soulmate. so i spared you, and stored you here with me.

please.

this is what greed gets you, my dear friend. you promised me a life. and i choose hers.

please.

finally. you learn to beg.

she is innocent.

she is your soulmate. the strongest magic our world has. and for that, she is valuable.

my heart.

hao?

i need you to destroy this journal. now.

what? why?

tom must be stopped. i will not let him harm you. destroying the journal will destroy his soul too.

but you’re in the journal too.

yes. a small price to pay for your life.

i won’t do it.

you must.

no. i’m not killing you.

i’ve been dead for a long time, my heart.

i won’t. you cannot make me.

you’re wetting the pages with your tears. stop crying.

hao…

do it. just because the journal is gone doesn’t mean i won’t be with you. every step of the way.

how cute.

note:

> xu minghao: previous slytherin student, renowned potion student. his name is on one of the potion award plaques in the great hall. he died during the second opening of the chamber of secrets, an underground location rumoured to house the slytherin basilisk.

> y/n: referred to as ‘my heart,’ there is no real indication of who she is. while there is a professor portrait in the headmaster’s office who shares the same name, i cannot be certain they are the same person.

> tom: he can only be assumed as he-who-shall-not-be-named, a dark wizard who was killed by the-boy-who-lived years ago.

note:

> the pages are burnt at the edges, erasing most of the conversation that would allow this to make more sense. it is clear to me that someone destroyed this.

note:

> i found something when searching the bathroom mentioned in the first couple entries. i will clip it here.

is he gone?

for now. i cannot contain him for much longer. you must hurry.

you cannot expect me to do this.

from the short time i’ve come to know you, i know that despite being a hufflepuff, you hold the courage of a gryffindor, the brains of ravenclaw, the wit of a slytherin. do not be afraid.

are you not afraid? this could kill you.

i have to admit a part of me still fears death after all this time. but this is my price to pay. i love you, even in the short time we had.

i love you. even if this version of you is only a figment of what you were.

note:

> a point i must bring up: minghao refers to y/n as ‘my heart.’ at first i thought it was just a term of endearment, but upon further research: Soulmates are rare in the wizarding world, although not at all impossible. Soulmates share more than their magic, they share their hearts. One cannot die if the other is still alive -- making soulmates the most powerful form of magic to exist. It may be the only way to cheat death without the use of a horcrux.

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madthetruemad · 1 day ago

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There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 16 | The Lion, the Wolf, and the Not Amnesiac

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

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You fiddled with your necklace as you paced your room. Throughout the rest of the day Jing Yuan had shown you around his castle. To say you were impressed would be an understatement. The place was huge and it was far more than you have seen then in your previous lives. He even showed you the door to his room which was a lot closer to your own room then you previously thought.

And now that you were back in your own room for the night after dinner, you were left with a promise that Jing Yuan would come get you.

You’ve already bathed and done all the other basic hygiene routine, so now you just have to wait… right?

Or maybe Jing Yuan wants you to come to him!

You immediately started to pace the room. Your eyes hastily turning to the door before steadying your breath and deciding to just go for him. That way you can just get this over with and not get any grey hairs while you wait here!

Opening the door, you had accidentally startled Gepard who had so graciously taken up Blade’s- wait Blade is guarding my door too?!

“I- is it really necessary for me to have two guards at my door?”

“Usually one would suffice,” Gepard answered, “but Blade here doesn’t trust me,” he ended his sentence with a pointed glare directed at Blade.

“You are a guard from a foreign land and the princess doesn’t remember you.”

“Funny, cause last time I checked you’re a guard keeping her in a foreign land who she also doesn’t remember.”

The two glared at each other causing you to sweatdrop, oh dear…

“Well, while you two chat I’m just going to…”

“And where are you going princess?”

“To… go to the Emperor’s room…”

“Didn’t he say that he will come get you.”

You fiddled with your nightgown, “he’s taking too long and I feel like I will back out if I wait any longer. Besides, he never said I couldn’t go to him first.”

Blade sighed at your explanation, but Gepard saw this opportunity, “alright then princess, we’ll be right with you.”

Blade grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t say anything else on the matter as you left to go in the direction of Jing Yuan’s room. The two following closely behind you.

“Then it’s just this turn here, right?”

Bingo!

Smiling to yourself as you spotted the familiar door, you went right up to it.

Knock first, y/n.

Straightening your night gown, you then lifted your arm and gently knocked on his door. Your knuckles hitting hard against the wood as a sound reverberated loud.

You heard an irritated, muffled voice from behind the door and hoped he wasn’t mad at you, but it was too late now. Just smile and-

The door opened and you found yourself frozen still.

The maid from the dining room who had spilled your drink on you by pushing Jiaoqiu was standing before you. Her top and skirts where gone, along with her under clothes. The only thing that covered her was a heavy blanket.

“How many times do I have to tell you girls, it’s my turn-,” she stopped herself when she finally focused on who was in front of her. Her lips slowly curling into a small little smirk.

“Oh princess,” she said in a mocking tone, but you weren’t going to have it. Stepping in front of you, Gepard glared down at you, “you dare present yourself to the princess and mock her, maid?”

Push her aside and confront Jing Yuan or go back to your room. You weighed the options carefully.

“Gepard.”

You grabbed his arm and tugged at him to get him to back down.

“Yes, princess?”

“You are not to follow the Emperor’s orders anymore, and Blade. I don’t care if you’re my supposed guard. Gepard is all that I need, so you are dismissed.”

You turned on your heel, “follow, Gepard.”

The blonde was happy to oblige, leaving Blade at the Emperor’s door next to the maid.

“You better get back in there, or the Emperor will wonder what’s taking you so long.”

The maid merely giggled and closed the door back. Meanwhile, you hurried back to your own room and even went as far as brining Gepard in there.

“Uhm.. Princess, I don’t think I should be in here…”

“Gepard, please not now.”

He watched you for a few seconds as you paced around the room, and Sunday’s words echoed back at you on how you needed Blade as an ally, however, you looked to Gepard and made your decision. At one point in time, you and Gepard were friends. He was someone you could trust with your life.

“Gepard.”

“Yes, princess?”

“I don’t have amnesia.”

“I know.”

“In fact, I staged the whole thing of getting amnesia in hopes of the engagement being broken off and so I can go home- wait…. You know? How?!”

“That act may fool the Emperor and Blade, but I’ve known you since we were kids. You have a few tells that let me know when you’re lying.”

“I have tells?! Like what?”

Gepard smiled and kept his lips shut tight on the matter, “if I told you, then you would just try to hide your tells.”

You grumbled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “and when were you going to tell me,” you asked.

“When we were alone or at least near other allies.”

“Other allies?”

Gepard nodded, “I didn’t just come here to be your guard, I came here to get you out too. Your father… talked to some trustworthy people a day or two ago, and we think they can help us out.”

“Who?”

“Do you know who Jiaoqiu and Moze?”

You nodded. Technically speaking, you hadn’t met Moze in this life yet- wait. But Moze literally helped kill you that first time?!

Calm down, y/n. That was a past life and at the time your father hadn’t gotten help yet, so when you died that one time, Moze wasn’t an ally then, but he is now.

“But they are retainers of…”

Gepard nodded again, “we are getting help from General Feixiao.”

Taglist pt 1

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

#There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair #hsr #honkai star rail #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #emperor jing yuan x reader #emperor jing yuan x princess reader

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thestraybunny · 3 days ago

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The Landing|Y.JH Part 1

Pairing: Guide Singer Jeonghanx Afab! reader Full WC: 11.7k Genre: Non-Idol AU, Neighbors to lovers, Rated: M (18+, MDNI) Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy, unprotected sex (practice safe sex yall), idiots in love (and I mean they are idiots), Reader is in denial of her feelings and the obvious, reader is a single mother, toxic ex, mentions of past abuse, drinking, smoking. (Will add more as parts go on and please let me know if I miss any)

Summary: Jeonghan is an asshole. He is blunt, rude, and sometimes its wondered how he had friends at all. But the thing is. He is an asshole to everyone, but two people. A single mother and her son in his building.

A/N: Thank you again to @gam3bo17 for beta reading this. It means a lot! *Reader is a 95er like Jeonghan* As I said in my teaser I contemplated posting this, but I worked hard on this and I am very proud. You will see mentions of Joshua's installment (she is named in this), and you are going to see hints at some future fics, but these fics can be read as stand alone. I hope you enjoy! Please be sure to read my rule/guidelines Rules/Guidlines K-Series Masterlist

**September**

Baby🍑: Hey, Hanni! Can you do me a huge favor??? Baby🍑: I am running late here at work, and Ren is nearly home from tutoring. Mom won’t be able to get him for another hour and I don’t know when I will be getting out of here, could he hang out at your place until either me or her get there? Jeonghan: Of course! I just got off the subway and almost home. I’ll be there soon. He knows to let himself in, he has the code. Baby🍑: You are seriously such a life saver! I will be home soon, and I’ll bring the beer tonight.

Jeonghan smirked as he read your response, before slipping his phone back into his messenger bag to make his way through the crowded subway station; not needing to respond. Picking up his pace slightly once onto the street leading to his apartments since he didn’t want Ren, your eight year old son, to be waiting for him for too long. His place may be a young boy’s dream, he would rather not leave one free to roam in for too long.

Plus, he couldn’t wait to see either of you.

“I am so very sorry,” You gasped out, finally reaching your floors landing, only to find Jeonghan handing off Ren’s backpack and weekend bag to your mother. Both looking to be packed like it was every week he went to his grandparents. The three of them turned toward you before you spoke, already hearing your feet on the staircase.

“Mama!” Ren yelled out with excitement, releasing your mother’s hand to run to you, nearly knocking you back. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, your eyes dropping right to the thick dark mop of hair, a wide smile gracing your lips as you plant a kiss on the top of his head. Making sure to hug him back with all your might. “Mr. Jeonghan got a new Lego set and says he’s gonna wait until I come home so we can put it together. It’s a spaceship.”

“That is so nice of him,” You respond, glancing up toward the other two, catching a glimpse of the dark haired man leaning against the door frame of his apartment, arms crossed as he watched you both. You could see he was fighting a smile before he finally tore his gaze from you. “Thank you so much again for watching him.”

Jeonghan shot you a wink before bidding you all a good night and closed his apartment door. Leaving the three of you alone on the landing. Turning your attention to your mother, you could see the knowing look she was giving you as she walked toward you and Ren. Your son’s bags in one hand as the other reaches for the boy’s hand.

“I’ll pick him up after work Sunday afternoon. That way you and dad could have the evening to relax.” You tell her, letting her pull Ren from your arms and gave her a half hug.

“Don’t worry about it. Me and your father have decided to close the shop Sunday and Monday. So, we can keep him, and I’ll walk him to school.” She waves off your words, looking down at Ren with a smile. He was staring off into space, absentmindedly swinging his and his grandmother’s hand. When she looked back toward you, you were wearing a look of worry, and she waves you off again, “Don’t give me that look. It’s nothing. Your father wanted to take Ren fishing Sunday, and you know with his hip and leg, he won’t be able to move much the next day. Plus, he didn’t want me to open and work the shop alone. He ran the numbers and found it won’t hurt us to be closed a day or two. So stop that worrying now.”

You gave her a doubtful look, not sure if you should believe her or not. Your parents have been running the small restaurant since before you were even born, it was only closed a total of six times in your life. Your birth, when you got appendicitis, important school events like graduation, and the day that Ren was born.

“Besides, I’m sure you would like to spend some extra time with your boyfriend without worrying about Ren here,” She whispers, making sure that Ren was still off in his own world before speaking. This only earned a sigh from you.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Mom, it’s nothing like that at all. He’s a friend and neighbor who helps me out with Ren sometimes,” You shake your head, keeping your own voice low but you wouldn’t look at her. “I don’t want Ren to get the wrong idea about us.”

“You mean, you don’t want to get attached,” She challenges, straightening her back, and this made you look at her, feeling like you were looking at your future self. “I don’t mean or want to sound cruel, but as a single mother, your chances at finding a husband is slim. Most men wouldn’t look at you twice once they learn about Ren, and this man looks at you like you walk on water. I wouldn’t ignore that if I was you.”

“Thanks for that Mom,” Your voice had a dry tone to it, shaking your head again and adjusted your bag onto your shoulder. “He doesn’t look at me in anyway, nor is there anything between us. He’s my neighbor and a friend.”

“Mmmhmm, I made you some dishes, and they are right there,” She points toward the bright pink bundle on the ground next to your front door. Filled with containers of different foods your mother would make you. Always making enough that you didn’t have to worry too much about cooking through the week. “I was going to put everything away, but Ren’s things were already packed. If nothing is going on, then I would be concerned that he has such easy access to your apartment.”

“Me and Ren have just as easy access to his too.” You cross your arms, trying to not show that your statement was not helping your case whatsoever.

“You must be very good friends then,” Your mother quipped, and it was then Ren snapped out of his daydream with a look of confusion. “I’d call you later, but I am sure you will be busy.”

“Mom!” You gasped, as the two of them started down the stairs.

“Bye Mama!” Ren called out, and you had to lean over the railing to make sure he saw you waving.

“Bye Ren baby. Bye Mom.” You yell out before turning to look toward Jeonghan’s closed apartment door. Your mother didn’t know what she was talking about.

There was a knock a few hours later, a soft one that Jeonghan was surprised he was able to hear over the music. Pausing the random song that was playing on his Spotify, the dark haired man stopped briefly to check his reflection in the mirror. Making sure his clothes didn’t have any stains on them, his hair wasn’t too wild, and that he looked good before opening the door. Knowing full well who was on the other side.

In attempts to look cool and sexy, he leaned his arm against the doorframe while wearing his best lazy smirk. Bottom lips between his teeth, and his eyes raking over his guest with interest.

“Stop trying to look cool, you look silly.” You tease, making his eyes look back up to your smiling face, though he wanted to go back to checking you out in the little black tank dress you were wearing. It was one of the ones you would wear when you were home, along with your favorite fluffy bunny slippers. The way it clung to your body made him nearly lose his mind, and it was so easy to slip off you. In one hand you had your phone, and in the other was a six pack of his favorite beer.

Holding up the case of beer, you spoke again proudly, “See, told you I would bring the beer tonight.”

If it was anyone else who told him that he looked silly, Jeonghan may have had a smartass remark ready, or even would return the joke with a more brutal comment about their appearance, but with you, he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he just let out a small laugh as he let you into his apartment but grasped your wrist when you went to walk past him, likely to the kitchen to put the beer away, to make you face him.

The smile on your face softened to a sultry smile, one that didn’t help his sanity one bit, before you closed the distance to kiss him. Quick, but it made him want to grab the back of your head to pull you into another. One that would involve his tongue teasing yours and would probably cause you to drop what was in your hands, but he let you go instead, not wanting to clean up broken glass and spilled beer. Letting you continue your journey into his kitchen to put the beer away. Sans the two that you kept out for you both to drink.

His dark eyes followed you as you walked, loving the way your hips naturally swayed or how the dress hugged your ass. Heat rushed over his body straight to his cock when you bent forward to put the beers away, the dress riding up only slightly to give him more of a glimpse of your thighs.

He couldn’t fucking wait to pull it off you.

“Did you help Ren pack his things today?” You asked him when he joined you into the kitchen, handing him a now open beer. Your phone left upright on the counter, only ever close in case there was an emergency with Ren.

“Yeah, he wanted to show me his new dinosaur collection that you got him, so I figured might as well do it while we were at it. One less thing for you or your mom to worry about,” He answers with a shrug, before looking at you with a look of concern, trying to not show a small wave of panic rushed through him. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay.” You tell him, taking a swig of your own beer while leaning against the kitchen counter. Jeonghan moves to join you, taking another swig. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to though. I don’t expect anything like that from you. Just watching him when I need it is enough.”

“Just that?” Jeonghan questioned you, the bottle barely brushed against his lips, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. Setting your beer bottle down, you push off the counter and stood in front of him.

That sultry smile back on your face, your hands reaching out to touch his chest and the tips of your fingers brushed over the skin that was exposed under his oversized button up. Enjoying that he would leave the several buttons undone, making it easy for you to tease the exposed skin. Soon your arms around his neck, and he moves his beer to the counter to place his on your hips. Bunching your dress in his fists, pulling it up enough that the bottom curve of your ass was exposed.

“When it comes to him, yes. However, for me…” You drop your gaze down to his lips, and Jeonghan’s grip tightened on the stretched fabric of your dress. He held his breath as he watched you move your lips closer to his, heart pounding in his ears every time you were this close to him. He wanted you to run your fingers through his dark hair, commenting how much it has grown since you met, and that you loved the length. The hair barely brushing the bottom of his neck.

He wanted you to tell him how much you wanted him. How much you missed his touch. He just wanted you to tell him anything so you would keep touching him and he kept touching you.

“For you what?” The was a husky tone to his voice.

“Well, for one, there is so much you could be doing to me right now.” Your voice was low, almost a whisper and fuck did it feel like silk wrapping around him like a blanket. Your breath hitting his lips, and he could smell the little bit of beer you drank but he didn’t care. He wanted you to tell him so he could act on it. “And with those things, I expect plenty of orgasms for both parties involved. I heard that the neighbor isn’t going to be home tonight, so we know she won’t be making any noise complaints.”

This made him laugh, since you were the neighbor, a smile on his face that one was designated for you, before kissing you. He loosens his grip on your dress to move one up to the back of your neck, the other staying on your hip. Your own hands moved to cup his face, your tongues gently teased each other’s. A low moan starting to erupt from the back of your throat.

It ignited a fire inside him, his craving to have you taking hold. He wanted you in so many ways that night, and well into the morning. To pull you back into bed when you try to slip out and back to your apartment, trying to claim that you needed to get things done while Ren wasn’t home. Except you never resisted when he did pull you back into the comforts of his arms and his blankets. Starting all over again.

Both of you never able to feel sated long, continuing to chase that feeling well into the morning. Keep going until you were laying together, just staring at his ceiling. He didn’t think that nearly a year ago, that taking pity on a little boy sitting on the landing next to his apartment would bring him here. With you here in his arms, and the happiest he has ever been. All thanks to you and Ren.

The only thing that he would make him even happier, and wished different was your relationship. Or lack thereof. You were neighbors/friends with benefits, two people who found friendship and the comfort of being in each other’s. Nothing more than that.

Ren didn’t know about the two of you, nor did you want him to know. You didn’t want to confuse your son, and that effectively cutting off the possibility of anything more than this.

If this was all you were able to offer, then he would take what he could get.

**almost a year ago**

“You need to fucking talk to her about this shit, not me.” Jeonghan scolded into the phone, absolutely over his best friend calling to complain about his girlfriend and the problems they were having. Problems that could easily be solved by just fucking talking. It was driving him nuts. “At this point, I can’t stand either of you. I am honestly considering changing my damn fucking number.”

Jeonghan loved his best friend more than words could describe, he hated watching him and the girl of his dreams have issues, but he could only hear so much. Especially when the other man wouldn’t take his, Seungcheol’s, or anyone else’s in the group’s advice. Which was just be honest and talk to her. What he would give for a night without hearing Joshua’s problems.

It wasn’t a good look on his usually calm and collected friend and took away from Jeonghan’s all-round cranky glory. It was quite annoying as much as he felt for him and was honestly just effecting his own mood.

“Blah blah blah. Call Coups about this. Maybe you’ll finally take his advice instead.” Jeonghan snapped, fed up about hearing it any longer, and hung up on the other man as he reached his door. “Fucking stubborn ass couple. They’re meant for each other.”

He was so focused on his call and the desire to get into his apartment with a cold beer that he didn’t see the young boy sitting against the wall next to his door. It wasn’t until he went to put in his code that he noticed him, probably no older than seven or eight, with a manga open in his lap. Except the boy wasn’t reading, he was just watching Jeonghan with curiosity. His bangs were falling over his eyes and the glasses he was wearing, still in his school uniform.

He had seen him a few times in passing. His neighbor’s kid.

“What are you doing out here?” Jeonghan found himself asking without thought, his hand still hovering over the keypad. The boy continued to watch him for a moment before finally speaking.

“My mom told me that the battery died on the lock’s keypad, and she’s not able to change it until tonight, so I needed to remember my key.” The boy answered, before looking down sheepishly at his book. “But I forgot them when I left for school this morning. And she’s still at work.”

“Why don’t you go to her work?”

“It’s far away and I don’t know how to get there.”

“And you can’t call her?”

“I’m seven. I don’t have a phone.” He answered, and Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle. He had him there.

“She gonna be home soon?” Jeonghan didn’t know why he was talking to the boy, or even why he even cared so much, but there was something about him that struck something in him. Not liking the idea of him sitting out on the landing until his mom got home. The boy looked at his watch.

“It’s four-thirty, she doesn’t get home until six.” He tells him. If he remembered correctly, primary school students get out around one in the afternoon. Has he been out here this whole time?

Now he really didn’t feel comfortable leaving him out there alone.

“How long you been out here?”

“Not long. I went to play with my friend Soobin at the park for a bit, but he had to go home to help with his baby sisters. He has three!” He held up three fingers, “I didn’t remember that the lock was dead until I got home, or I would have asked him if I could go with him. I managed to get some of my homework done though.”

“Well, if you want, you can come hang out with me until she gets home. Use my phone to call her,” The dark haired man then offered, and the boy watched him carefully. Clearly weighing his options and trying to gauge if it was wise to go into a strangers apartment. Even if it was his neighbor.

Jeonghan didn’t think he was giving off any creeper vibes, but he couldn’t fault the boy for considering his choices. Sure that his mom had educated him to be weary to strangers.

“You promise to not kill me?” He then asked, and this made Jeonghan snort a laugh. Simply because he was caught off by the question.

“I promise that I won’t kill you, kid.” He assured, and the boy scrambled to his feet, grabbing his backpack in the process to follow Jeonghan into the apartment. The moment he had walked through the threshold of Jeonghan’s, his eyes grew wide at the different kinds of posters, figures, model vehicles and buildings, and other things that he loved to collect. Closing the door behind them both, Jeonghan pulled his messenger bag off and moved toward the kitchen. “You got a name?”

“Of course I do!” The boy chuckled, turning away from one of the large displays to look at the older man. “My name is Ren.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jeonghan.” He turned to pull out a couple of sodas out of the fridge. “Thirsty?”

After getting them both drinks, Jeonghan gave Ren his phone to try and call his mom to let her know where he was but only got her voicemail. He left one and the two of them hung out for that hour and a half, with Jeonghan checking periodically to see if his mom had made it home yet. It wasn’t until six-twenty when she had trudged up the steps. Exhaustion and what looked like defeat playing over her features, bag nearly falling off her shoulder, and a large bag of takeaway in her hands.

Clear signs she already was having a long day.

She looked relieved to see Ren when he came out of Jeonghan’s apartment, looking like the weight lifted off her when she saw him. Setting the bags down, she engulfed the boy into a tight hug, and just watching the two made Jeonghan smile. Then she looked up and met his eyes, and the world around him shifted. Everything else disappeared and it was only her. You.

It was the night you and Ren walked into his life.

Your eyes felt like they were permanently rolled back as Jeonghan’s cock thrusted into you, filling you and hitting the right spots from this angle. Legs hooked at the bend of his arms, pressing you flat into his mattress, completely open at his mercy. Being filled over and over by his thick cock, bare and felt every inch. It was heaven to you have him inside you like this, your moans and whimpers of his name and praises louder as they were mixed with breathless curses.

Truthfully, it was an incredibly stupid move on both your parts, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care. Too lost in each other’s bodies, too busy trying to reach peak after peak together. Ones that no one had ever brought you to, let alone putting you ahead of their own, instead of leaving you behind.

Jeonghan’s eyes stayed fixed on your face, his own moans leaving him with his own string of words. Validation while mixing traces of names that would otherwise offend you, encouragement as he watches you come undone under him. Telling you how good you were for him, how gorgeous you looked taking him the way he had you. Begging you to cum for him, that he wanted to feel you around his cock. Coating it with your own release.

“Where do you want me to cum, baby?” His question sounded a little strained, before letting out a moan that sounded like beautiful music; melodies that were only meant for you. You watch his bottom lip find its way firmly between his teeth, his face unable to hide how good you felt, how good he felt as your orgasm rushed over you. Clinging to him that brought him closer to his.

“In… Inside… please…” You pant out, not wanting him to cum anywhere else. Jeonghan and you had only been with each other since starting this, the last time you were with anyone else was three years previous, and you both were clean. You were on birth control, and it wasn’t like this was the first time he had finished in you.

It was a regular thing.

You had to admit it too, you loved the feeling of being full of him, even after he pulls out of you. It felt like he was leaving his claim in you without the world needing to see. That in a way you were his. Something that only the two of you shared, and it was the closest you would allow yourself with him.

His mouth captures yours into a kiss, tongues tangling, as he picks up his pace. With each thrusts growing sloppier and more desperate. Pulling away, Jeonghan’s forehead pressed up against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he filled you. Coating your inner walls with stripes of his cum and refused to slow down until he had nothing left to empty in you. Leaving you full like you wanted.

Something he loved doing just as much as you loved him doing it to you.

Unhooking his arm from one of your legs, the dark haired man’s hand reached to cup your face, both of you trying to steady your breathing. Strands of hair tickling your skin as you stayed that way, neither of you making any moves to detach yourselves from each other. Staying attached while you both came down.

It was you who opened your eyes first, seeing him with his own shut but his face was now relaxed instead of the look of pleasurable concentration he originally had. There was a sheen of sweat over your skins, and you’re spent for the moment. Both of you trying to grasp for your bearings. This wasn’t the last time that night you were going to be in this position, or any other one for that matter, or even well into the morning.

Around Ren, the both of you were able to keep your hands to yourselves, giving off the illusion that you were just friendly neighbors. But he was gone to your parents, and it was just the two of you, it was a different story. Neither of you could keep your hands off each other, only able to go so long without going at it again. With all it taking is a simple look from you, the tips of Jeonghan’s fingers brushing over your skin just right, or when either of your lips would find a weak spots. Ready for each other quickly.

“I got to pee,” You finally broke the blissful silence, your body being the one to decide that it was time to part. Jeonghan made a noise of protest but reluctantly agreed.

Both of you groaned when Jeonghan finally pulled away from you, sensitive to the touch, before flipping onto his back to stare at the ceiling while you got up to hurry to the bathroom. He joined you a few minutes later after you finished cleaning yourself up, to do the same for himself.

“You hungry?” He asked once the two of you were now relaxing comfortably back on his sofa, you back in your dress (just no underwear), and him in a T-shirt and boxers. You had barely taken a swig of a freshly open beer, and not getting a chance to respond before he had his phone out to pull up the delivery app. Checking out all the options available.

“I can eat.” You answer him, picking up the remote that he had tossed to you. Letting you pick what to watch against his better judgement. “What were you thinking?”

“If I felt like leaving, I would suggest we check out this little food stand that my friend Mingyu knows of. He’s been talking about taking all of the guys for over a year now but disappears to go see his girlfriend before the nights over. It’s only open a few hours a night, but we been drinking and I don’t feel like walking. I am sure you don’t either.” He then shot a glance toward you, his eyes raking over your frame with a smirk, “I also plan to have that dress off you again and keep it off you for the rest of the night. Plus it’s cold so that would mean more clothes to pull off you.”

“That is a lot of reasons to not go. I’m good with whatever you want.” You nodded, flipping through the different apps to find something to watch. Pretending to not see the mock dirty look he gave you, since he knew full well that you had every intentions on having him choose. In the entire time you had been seeing each other, he had yet to pick something that you didn’t like and vice versa. Well unless it’s your taste in movies or television according to him, but for the most part, you trusted his judgement. “You have any idea of what you want to watch?”

“I’m good with whatever you want.” Jeonghan retorted back, and you shot him your own look, seeing the playful smirk playing over his lips; ordering from the same little restaurant that you always ordered from. “No fun, is it?”

“You have good taste in food, while you tell me I have bad taste in movies and T.V.” You retort, earning a chuckle from him. “You can’t complain on what I pick then.”

“Of course, I can. I can complain all I want. Maybe so much to the point you will need to sit on my face to shut me up.” The way his tongue ran over his lips as the smirk switched from a playful one to a suggestive one, adding a wiggle to his brows. This made you snort before bumping his shoulder.

“I think the term is ‘kiss me to shut me up.’” You tell him as he turns his phone toward you to make sure you were okay with what he was ordering, which you nod your approval. He places the order.

“I mean, technically I am telling you to kiss me. Just with your other lips.” This time he earned a smack on the shoulder, a gentle one, but he still feigned injured. Only he wasn’t able to hold back his laughter as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and grabbed the remote from you. “I’ve reconsidered letting you pick.”

**November**

“You didn’t call me back last night.” Joshua spoke up after swallowing a mouth full of ramen, looking up toward Jeonghan from across the table. It was their weekly dinner with their other friend, Seungcheol. So far the conversation consisted mostly about Joshua and his girlfriend getting back together, or Seungcheol complaining over work and wedding planning.

Jeonghan, however, had just stayed quiet and listened to the conversations in front of him with very little interest. Focusing mostly on his food and his fourth beer of the night. He gave his input when needed, which was mostly a snide comment or when a call out was needed, but he kept to himself mostly.

“And you still haven’t answered my texts from two weeks ago, but here you are responding to Luci’s messages in front of me. I would say me not calling you back is pretty damn warranted. So, what’s your point?” Jeonghan shot back, catching the way his best friend’s skin tinted a little red at the call out. Seungcheol could only watch the exchange, gauging the situation and Jeonghan’s temperament while chewing his food.

Jeonghan wasn’t just withdrawn at this dinner, but it has been going on for the last month and a half. Especially after his birthday, and this had not gone unnoticed by the other members of their friend group. Choosing to stay home more than usual or appeared checked out when he was around them. At least more checked out than usual. Always appearing to be lost in thought with whatever it was that had been on his mind. Which he was.

You had been pulling more overtime at work to cover a coworkers workload while they were on vacation, so you were working late until they had gotten back. Even having you go in on your days off to keep up with it, which made it hard to match up with Jeonghan’s own schedule. Making it harder to see each other.

Ren had been staying at your parents’ more, either staying late or just staying over completely most night, so Jeonghan had not gotten to really see either of you. Going from seeing each other near daily.

You and him did your best to work something out, but it didn’t feel the same. Instead of spending your free evenings and days off together, enjoying beers and each other’s companies, it was quickies before you had to get some sleep or if Ren was there. Trying to be quick in case he woke up to catch Jeonghan slipping from your bedroom.

What didn’t help was you weren’t feeling well either, unsure if it was a stomach bug, stress from work, or something else entirely. Jeonghan had considered the possibility, and considered bringing this up to you, but he wasn’t sure it that was something to casually ask between quick hellos on the landing or quick hooks ups where the main goal was to just cum. Eventually, he just went with the idea it was likely from stress with work.

Though the thought did linger at times.

But it ended up putting Jeonghan in a bad mood. He missed you. Missed both you and Ren. It put him in such a funk that he didn’t want to go out or really do anything for that matter, just sit around and mope. Hell, he didn’t even want to be at this dinner with the other two ninety-fivers of the group, but he needed to get out of his apartment. Do something other than wait around hoping he would get a text that you were coming over or you would knock at his door.

“You doing okay, Hanni?” Seungcheol then asks, and Jeonghan only sat back from his meal, grabbing his beer to drink in the process.

“Have you ever thought, I know it’s a hard concept for both of you, that maybe that I just don’t feel like talking? I been recording guides all day for other artists instead of recording and releasing my own music. Maybe I just want to rest my voice.” He didn’t stop the annoyance from coming through either, the other two men just watched him pull his phone out.

Acting like he was checking notifications, but really he was opening and checking your messages. Stupidly hoping for a text from you. It was pathetic.

Only the last text that he had gotten from you was telling him to enjoy dinner with the guys and that you were having an early night. Ren was with your parents that weekend, like he usually was, and you had refused to let Jeonghan cancel his plans to spend the evening with you or even come after he finishes up. Stating you were beyond exhausted and still was not feeling too well. Work had taken it out of you more that week than usual and was worried you would bore him with how much of a dud you were feeling.

Which would be so far from the truth, because if it was, he wouldn’t be looking at his phone constantly. Hoping from a text from you to come over. He didn’t give a shit about having sex, it was nice, but he just wanted to see you and maybe fall asleep with you in his arms. Just so he could wake up next to you the next morning. He just wanted to spend time with you, have you around him. This new arrangement was eating at him.

It went from the two of you seeing each other regularly, spending nearly every weekend together, to quick hookups, hellos on the landing, or an exchange of flirty/risqué texts. It was selfish of him to feel this wasn’t enough, finding himself spoiled for getting as much as you as he did. Especially when you weren’t even his. Fuck did he miss you.

“That’s you normally, but nothing like this.” It was Joshua that answered this time, and Jeonghan went to shoot daggers toward him until he saw the genuine concern over his best friends features. It was written over Seungcheol’s too. “You’re more withdrawn than usual, and more irritable then normal. We all have noticed this change. What’s wrong?”

“Why does there have to be something wrong for me to be in a bad mood? I could have slept wrong, or the barista this morning could have fucked up on my coffee order. I could be in a bad mood for the hell of it. Doesn’t mean that something has to be wrong.” Jeonghan closed his phone as he says this, tossing it onto the table with more vigor then he intended, knocking over an empty beer bottle in the process, “Don’t read too much into that.”

“And I am in love with Coups.” Joshua retorted back, earning a look from Seungcheol as if asking why he used that as a response. The other two just ignored him as they continued their back and forth.

“Luci is going to be very disappointed since you two barely got back together. Pretty sure Meg is gonna fight you for Coups here.” Jeonghan didn’t miss a beat, showing he was still on the ball and not that distracted. Joshua and Seungcheol only rolled their eyes at this, while he let out a proud chuckle at the comment. “I would pay money to watch a showoff between them and you two. My money is on them though.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just want us to get our asses kicked by our girls. In all seriousness, though, we are a little worried about you. Both of us know that you aren’t normally in this much of a funk unless something was bothering you.” Seungcheol pointed out before signaling to have a few more beers delivered to the table. “It is work? Family? Girl Problems…Guy? Problems?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Jeonghan sighed, finishing his beer before setting the empty bottle back onto the table, wondering if he really should say something about you and Ren. How he’s been casually sleeping with you for seven months, how perfect you are to him, how much he likes being around your kid. How he’s both the happiest and the unhappiest he has ever been, because he fucked up and fell in love with you. Was he even ready to say it out loud? “I’m just tired, okay? You’re making me regret not bailing on you guys.”

“Liar. If nothing is wrong, then why do you keep checking messages between you and this Baby?” The oldest of the three asked, placing one of the freshly delivered beers in front of him, and Jeonghan’s whipped his head toward him. Eyes wide. The normal cool demeanor briefly shattering at the mention of your nickname in his phone, giving himself away before he could recover. “So, it is…”

“It’s not. She’s literally no one.” The words were so bitter on his tongue, a blatant lie because he was panicking. He had wondered if he should tell them, but now that the moment had presented himself, he realized he couldn’t do it. What would he even say anyways? That he made what should be an easy arrangement more complicated? That you didn’t want anything more than what you had.

No, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face that look of pity from either of his friends. That he was pathetic to put that as your name in his phone and now was backed into a corner.

“If she’s no one, then why is her name that in your phone?” Joshua asked, and Jeonghan now wouldn’t look at either of them. All the color appeared to be drained from him, his mind scrambling.

“She is no one. Just someone I fuck on occasion,” He hated the words that came out of his mouth, even if you were someone he was fucking, but you were so much more than that. It made him feel like shit saying those things and maybe it would have been better if he just was honest. To say the words at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t do that. So he did what he did best. Deflect. “How about you two worry and focus on your own shit then try and pry into my private life because you think you know what’s going on. If I have anything important to tell you, trust me, I would fucking tell you. Nosey ass bastards.”

“You’re an asshole most of the time, but fuck are you a mother fucker when you’re like this.” Seungcheol shook his head while Joshua did the same, finishing his beer in front of him before standing. “Whatever you and this Baby has going on, do what we kept telling Shua with Luci. Fix it, or whatever, because you are unbearable right now.”

“You’re leaving?” Joshua asked, sounding surprised, and Seungcheol nodded.

“Yeah, Meg is waiting for me so I can help her with the guest list and seating arrangements. I am already pushing it by having another beer.” Seungcheol pulled on his jacket and before patting Jeonghan’s shoulder to show there were no hard feelings, but just hard enough to drill in he still thought he was an asshole. “Dinner is on me, my friends. You know where to find me if you need me. Whether I will be brain dead from all this planning is up to fate.”

With that, Seungcheol bid them both a goodbye before exiting the restaurant. Leaving the two men at the table, while Jeonghan didn’t attempt to look toward Joshua. He knew that if he did, he would be met with a look from his best friend, and he might spill everything. He couldn’t and wouldn’t do it.

Joshua already had enough on his plate then to sit around and listen to the problems he created himself. Him and his girlfriend barely got back together and were still working on their relationship. Him, Jihoon, and Hansol were helping their youngest Chan on his new album, and he was looking for a new place since his lease was up at the end of the year. Even with all that going on, he knew that Joshua would take on Jeonghan’s plight while shouldering his own. Try to help him find a solution, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want his help.

Jeonghan had been the one that everyone in their large friend group would go to, he was the problem solver as much as he was an instigator. He wasn’t used to being the one who needed to go to someone for his problems, even to his best friend. He planned to just shoulder it all, since there was nothing to help with anyways. What the two of you had was all he was going to get, and he couldn’t lose that.

“Want to go back to my apartment to hang out? Get wasted and watch T.V.?” Joshua then asked, and that was when Jeonghan looked at him. The other man had sensed his reluctance to talk so he wasn’t going to push, even if he was wanting to know what was wrong, and if it had anything to do with this Baby. But he wasn’t going to make Jeonghan tell him anything he wasn’t ready to say. Instead he offered something that he could get onboard with.

Jeonghan’s eyes flickered to his phone, checking one final time to see if you had texted, but there was nothing. Maybe you actually were asleep, and maybe a night away from the apartment might do him some good. Not sure if he wanted to spend another night knowing you were only on the other side alone in your own bed.

Passing out drunk in a random spot at his best friends sounded a hell of a lot better than falling asleep holding one of his pillows. Wishing it was you.

“Sure, why not.”

The timer ticked down painfully slow, seconds feeling like an eternity each, and all you could do was pace through your living room. Trying to hold down the vomit that was threatening to come up, this time from nerves and stress of waiting for you to be told what you already knew. It took everything in you not to throw up.

The sound of your phone then sounded off from the bathroom, the chosen sound blaring indicating that the countdown was now at zero.

You didn’t actually need to see the results though, you didn’t need to look at the two sticks on the counter waiting for you. Waiting to confirm a cruel fate. You had been through it nine years previous, knowing your body well enough to feel this change, but instead of listening, you chose to be in fucking denial. That your body was just playing tricks on you, and you weren’t. You prayed that you weren’t.

Even though you knew you were.

If only you could go back. Go back all those weeks and do it differently. Not be idiots and wear a fucking condom. Or fucking remembered that you missed a few days of pills the week before. You wouldn’t be in this situation.

The sound of your alarm continued to sound off as you stared into the bathroom from where you were rooted, staring at the counter that was awaiting your fate. You never been so scared to step through that threshold, just to see a word and a set of lines mocking you.

“Just fucking rip the band aid off,” You tell yourself softly, taking a few deep breaths and tried to swallow the lump and bile that was sitting in your throat. “Maybe it’s all in your head, and you’re just fucking insane. It’s all from stress is all. Or just confirm that we are both fucking stupid idiots.”

You wish that since you were already suspecting it, that it wouldn’t feel like a punch to the chest, but it was. That word and two very clear lines mocked you worse then you thought they would, like some sick twisted joke.

Hot tears pricked your eyes, and this time you couldn’t hold back the sick that was coming now, finding yourself hunched over the toilet. Emptying the little contents you had in your stomach.

This couldn’t be happening again. You couldn’t possibly be that stupid to do this to yourself again. You should have been more careful, you should have remembered that you had forgotten to take them a few days the week before and taken the precautions. Both of you should have thought to use protection.

But you didn’t and now here you were.

Pregnant again. This time with someone you weren’t even in a relationship with and was your fucking neighbor.

Jeonghan is galaxies better than Ren’s father ever was and will be. He treated you and your son well even though he didn’t have to, but that didn’t make him yours. He couldn’t ever be yours, like you couldn’t be his. You drew that line when this all started, you were clear that this was nothing more than a good time. You both agreed. It protected everyone that way. Or at least it did.

You both got too comfortable with each other, threw out rules that was set when this all started. God sloppy and too trusting of each other. To trusting of yourselves.

You didn’t how the fuck you were going to tell him, or how he was going to react to this. He had put his trust in you, and you fucked it. You and your stupid ass desire to have him cum in you. That little claim that wasn’t for the world to see will be making itself known.

There wasn’t much in your stomach to begin with, having not been able to stomach anything other than a donut that morning in the office, so you ended up mostly dry heaving and once you managed to stop you found yourself falling back against the bathroom wall. Breaking down and you sunk to the ground. Not knowing what to do, not knowing how to take this information. You didn’t know how you were going to tell your parents, family, or even Ren.

You didn’t want your son to know what was going on with you and Jeonghan. You didn’t want him to think it was going to be anything that it was. You didn’t want to give him hope. He adored the dark haired man so much, and you didn’t want to set him up for disappointment. Now you were going to have to tell him he was going to have a sibling. And that Jeonghan was the father.

Jeonghan… fuck. The very thought of him caused you to spiral more, unable to even know how you were going to begin to tell him. How was he going to take this? Did he even want to be a father? Neither of you ever touched on that topic, it felt like it was building possible expectations that you couldn’t deliver. You told yourself that this didn’t matter to what you were doing, you weren’t going to spend forever together.

But it did.

Everything was changing, and you were hating it. This temporary change with your hours was already terrible and you couldn’t wait for it to go back to normal. Where you got to spend your nights without Ren with Jeonghan, feeling like you were more than just a mother, and truly seen. You were someone when you were around him. You were you. And now you were going to lose that.

You didn’t want to think about that, you didn’t want to think about the pain in your chest at the idea of losing him or doing all this over again. Broken and alone.

The very thought made you want to vomit all over again.

**Seven months ago**

“I’ll be by Sunday after work to get Ren.” You tell your mother, walking her and Ren out of your apartment, handing off his bags to her. Jeonghan had just reached the landing, appearing to be getting home from work, as you were giving your goodbyes.

“Hello, Mr. Jeonghan!” Ren called out with excitement at the sight of the dark haired man, a large smile on his young face. Jeonghan returned the greeting with a smile of his own, and a ruffle of the boy’s hair as they pass. You stood there at your door watching them disappear down the steps. Ren telling your mother all about your neighbor and his cool apartment.

“Kid-free weekend?” Jeonghan asked leaning against his door frame, his arms crossed as he watches you mimic his stance to face him. Taking in the way his dark brown hair fell over his eyes, then over his beautiful face, noticing a little mole on his cheek. He was in loose fitting pants and a black shirt, oversized on his lithe frame, and his messenger bag lazily hanging off his shoulder. There wasn’t anything special about how he looked, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Yeah, sorta. I have to work early Sunday,” You answer him, and he nods, “It does give me a break though. Plus, my parents love having him over, and would take him every weekend if I let them.”

“Got any plans? Hot date?” He teases, and all you could do was roll your eyes.

“Oh totally. I have them beating the door down. Nah, just a couple of beers, enough food from my mom to feed an army, and maybe a really bad movie or two. Just relax.” You tap your chin, as if you were pondering how many movies to watch; conveniently leaving out the plans you had with your vibrator since you had the apartment to yourself. “What about you?”

“Same. Except the food is going to be takeout, and the movie or two will be just Youtube.” He shrugs, a lazy smile playing over his lips, and you pushed your tongue into your cheek. “Had the chance to go out with some friends, but something was telling me that staying home sounded like a better idea.”

You watch him, catching the way his eyes dropped down to your green tank, and how it was showing more cleavage then you had intended. He didn’t hide the way he licked his lips at the sight of them, before reconnecting eye contact. There was a flirt to his words, it had been the last few times you had ran into each other on the landing. It was subtle at first, but now it was becoming more obvious. An invitation, as well as a request from you, and it made you consider a few things.

A very stupid idea.

“Oh, well, I was just going to see if you wanted to join me. I got plenty of beer, and enough food to feed an army. Maybe save you a some won, and have a home cooked meal. It’ll also be less food to throw out.” You suggest slowly, the offer lacing through your words, and were ringing loud and clear. “But I totally get wanting to stay home and becoming a vegetable.”

“What kind are you?”

“A potato,” You laugh with your answer.

“Nah, my friend Mingyu is. I wouldn’t say you were a vegetable, maybe something sweeter. A fruit maybe. Like a strawberry, or banana.” Jeonghan retorted, that tongue was now pressing against the corner of his mouth but did nothing to ruin or hide the lazy but flirty smile he was still wearing. “I said staying home from going out sounded better, but I didn’t have a specific home in mind, nor did I specify one. I’d love to hang out but let me get washed up and change. I’ll even bring dessert.”

“That actually works out for me. Ren left a disaster zone in there with his toys and books. And conveniently forgot to clean up like he was supposed to.” You confess, trying to not show you were a little embarrassed by it. Mess comes with kids, but it still felt embarrassing to admit. “I got to get that cleaned up, so maybe we can meet in an hour?”

“Sounds good. Meet you in an hour then.”

An hour later, Jeonghan was knocking at your door, with his own pack of beers and some ice cream that looked like he dug out of the back of his freezer. Ready to start the night. You two had spoken often on the landing, whenever you would run into each other, when Ren would find his way over to his apartment to hang out, or when he watched the boy a couple of times after that night you met. Friendly, with hidden tones of flirting, but you were not quite friends yet nor had you hung out past those chats.

It didn’t feel like it though, both quickly comfortable with each other, and settled into the evening like it was something that you had done all the time. He was easy for you to talk to, he listened while being full of stories over the years with his friends, and the flirting got heavier. Moving from subtle comments, to finding reasons to ‘brush’ up against each other.

The offer was there, it was written all over both of you with the way you looked at each other, so it wasn’t a surprise that by the time the first movie ended, he was face first between your thighs. Nor was it a surprise that he didn’t leave your apartment, mainly your bed, until well into the afternoon the next day. It quickly became a regular thing with the two of you. Spending a lot of your free nights together, with the agreement that Ren couldn’t find out and there was no possibility of something more.

The line was clear from the start. And it worked for you both, until you both started getting closer than just sex.

Some rules you agreed on were broken, you found yourself looking forward to being just in his arms, to just seeing him. It led you down a dangerous road. One where you were falling in love with him, which only opened you up to being hurt.

“Are you just getting home?” You stop at the top of the stairs when you caught sight of Jeonghan walking up them. Clothes wrinkled, and you didn’t recognize the shirt that he was wearing; it was actually Joshua’s because he spilt beer all over himself. Hair was shoved under a beanie, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

He looked like he had a wild night out and was doing some kind of walk of shame. The idea didn’t sit right in your gut, briefly considering this notion that he had spent the night in someone else’s bed since he couldn’t spend it in yours. It made you sick to your stomach, but you had to push that down. Even if he did, it shouldn’t matter to you because you weren’t together. It wasn’t your business, nor was it your right to feel anyway about it.

“Went back to Shua’s after dinner. Got pretty drunk and passed out on his living room floor. He passed out in the tub. It was brilliant,” Jeonghan chuckled as he reaches the top step, before rotating his shoulder slightly. Over exaggerating his wince from the sore muscles. “Not the most comfortable though. I’m so sore.”

“Well, you’re not in your early twenties anymore. Hit the age twenty-nine and you might as well be in your thirties.” You answer with a chuckle, and you didn’t miss how his hand almost reached for you. Whenever you tease him in the comforts of your apartment, Jeonghan would like to grab your wrist to pull you into his chest so he could tickle your sides until you begged him to stop; only stopping with a payment of a kiss.

But this isn’t the inside of your apartments, this is the landing in front of them. Even if you were the only two apartments on this floor, it wasn’t like a neighbor would see either of you, but it crossed one of the many lines you drew. One of the few lines you held firm too. Going out to dinner or somewhere to hang out was one thing, something friends do, but touching, holding hands, or even kissing was only for the apartments.

You knew he hated it, and you did too, but you already let too many lines get blurred. Putting you in this exact position you are in now.

“True, I think I might need a massage though,” He teases back, the flirty suggestion heavy in his tone until he saw you were dressed in a pair of jeans, a black shirt, boots, and your large winter jacket; instead of your usual little tank dress you wore when home. You had your bag hanging from your shoulder, and an earbud in, the other in your hand. “Where you going?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I… I have some errands I got to run, and then I’m gonna help my mom out with the restaurant for a few hours. Dad’s hips acting up where he can hardly move and the most he can do is run the till.” You scramble to give him an answer, unable to tell him the truth just yet, and Jeonghan caught that you wouldn’t meet his gaze. The made him take a chance to reach for your forward to catch your chin. Tilting your head up, he made you look at him. Your eyes meeting and you had to look away quickly, scared he would know just by your eyes. “Jeonghan… not here…”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, and you nod a little too quickly. Too quickly and it looked like he was having a hard time believing you. At all. The doubt was heavy in his voice as he said your name softly, and you tried to look everywhere but him. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I actually don’t need to tell you when I come and go, or where I go, it’s not really your business and should be happy I fucking tell you anything.” You grimace as you instantly regretted snapping at him like that, more so when you saw the taken aback look on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the best of moods. I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I wasn’t exactly planning to spend my day the way I am.”

“If you aren’t feeling good still, then you need to stay home. Not push yourself. It only prolongs getting better.” He tells you, his tone as tense as his jaw was at that moment. It was his turn to not look at you and you had to swallow back what felt like a fresh wave of tears. You thought you ran out of those hours ago.

“I’m okay, I promise. I actually have been feeling better, I have just been under a lot of stress with work and didn’t sleep well. I’m about to grab an energy drink at the store.” You cast a glance toward him, knowing that you were going to have to tell him as soon as possible. Even if you aren’t going to be in the right frame of mind, maybe spending an evening with him again will help. Maybe it will be easy to tell him. “Maybe if you are up to it, we can hang out when I get home… I miss hanging out with you.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond for a long moment, looking at a spot on the wall before turning toward you. Regarding you with a steady gaze, and you weren’t sure if he was considering your offer or if he was just trying to decide if he wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself. Which you deserved from your comment. Then he finally spoke, “I miss hanging out with you too.”

Hearing that almost broke you, your chest aching and bursting at the same time. He has told you this before in text, when you both were wishing each other a good night, but it was always different to hear him actually say the words. You needed to hear them, but with what you were going to be telling him when you did hang out, you wondered how much longer he would feel that way.

“Just text me when you get home,” He nodded as he spoke, his words and jaw were still tense, but at least he wasn’t refusing to see you. Reaching out, you squeezed his arm gently even though all you wanted to do was throw yourself into his arms. You let your touch linger for moments longer then you should’ve, eyes glossy. Jeonghan noticed this too, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” You answer, finally pulling your hand back, starting down the stairs. “I’ll text you when I’m home!”

You didn’t look back to see if he was still standing there, even though you wanted to.

You hurried through the crowded streets to your destination, trying to not run into anyone and spill the two hot drinks in your hands. You were late, running into Jeonghan had thrown you back several minutes and then the coffee shop you stopped at was packed, and it didn’t help your already guilty feeling mood. Your cousin was doing you a huge favor by opening the clinic for you and your predicament, after getting a panicked text from you once you were able to pull yourself up the floor. The least you could do was be on time.

“You’re late,” Wenhyun muttered when he unlocked the front of the clinic to let you in, his voice sounding more tired than annoyed. His short hair sticking in all directions, wearing a pair of track pants and a hoodie, and didn’t look like he owned the small clinic.

“I’m sorry, I got caught in line at the coffee shop. I texted you my ETA,” You retorted, handing him the hot coffee you had gotten him. The only payment he would accept from you, or any member of your family in fact. Originally you had texted him asking him if he had an opening that Monday, when the clinic was open, but he didn’t want to wait. “Thanks for seeing me. Are you sure you’re okay with seeing me today?”

“Shut up,” He mumbled motioning you to follow him to one of the examination rooms, drinking his coffee as he went, “My mom has been helping out through the week, and I am pretty sure you don’t want your parents to find out through her. It’s better this way, and she won’t see that your charts been pulled. Plus, if you break down and shit again, I can comfort you then have to rush you out or hide you in my office until after I see the next patient.”

Wenhyun was over ten years older than you, son to your mom’s older sister, but he was more of a big brother to you. He had been the one who had confirmed your pregnancy with Ren and saw what was happening with his dad before anyone else. He had also been the reason for where you were now, getting you and your son out of the situation you were in. Your apartment, your job, and even Ren’s tuition was because of him. You were the youngest of five cousins, with him being the oldest and by default like a leader of you all, and you were always his favorite of them all. Even his own siblings.

You barely sat your bag and hot tea down when he was shoving a cup in your hands.

“I don’t think I have to tell you what to do,” He points in the direction of the bathroom, cutting you off before you could even form the words, “From what you told me in that rushed ass text, date of conception, last missed period, the pregnancy tests we already know it’s very likely going to be positive. I still got to do my own test though. It also gives me time to finish get everything together. We’ll be doing an ultrasound too, but that’s gonna cost you.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“I’d say you’re first born child, but Ren is a little too attached to you at this point, so I’ll just settle for another coffee. Now go,” Wenhyun waves you off, and you do as he requested. Returning a few minutes later with the cup partially filled and closed. “Go sit.”

You take a seat on the examination table, wringing your fingers together nervously.

“Who’s the guy?” Your cousin suddenly asked, his back to you but you knew what he was doing. Doing his own pregnancy test. “It’s not…”

“Oh, god no. I haven’t seen him since he tried to crash Ren’s sixth birthday. Last I heard he was bumming it somewhere in Busan with some woman, but that was almost a year ago. It’s…” You trailed off and he turns to look at you. There was a look of realization on it, because you never said out loud what the two of you were doing. Your mother had suspected, but you never said anything.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but can you at least tell me that you’re okay. And safe?” He didn’t push you, but there was worry written all over his features.

“I am more than safe, I’m the safest I probably have ever been when I am with him. I just… never actually told anyone about us,” You confess.

“Is he a secret boyfriend? Or a friend?” He took the chance to turn back around to check the results.

“I guess you can say he’s a friend, and also… my neighbor,” You said the last words slowly, and this time he whipped around with a look of shock.

“Excuse me,” You winced when your full name fell from his lips, in a shocked but scolding manner, “Are you actually telling me that you’re fucking sleeping with your neighbor?”

“Yeah?” Finally looking away from his disappointed gaze, “His name is Jeonghan. He helps me out with Ren sometimes, letting him hang out at his place on the days I’m running late from work, or if I have to work late and Mom can’t help keep an eye on him. He’s literally Ren’s favorite person in the world… and… he’s also mine. We been seeing and sleeping together for seven months now, mostly when Ren is at my parents. We’re normally pretty careful, but sometimes we…” You didn’t continue that sentence, sparing your cousin the details. He was still family after all, “Let’s just say we became Icarus after a few beers and flew too close to the sun.”

“I prescribe you birth control, don’t you take it consistently?”

“I normally do that too, but…”

“What? Forget because of life? Work? Stress?”

“Yeah…”

“While I do understand this, life can get hectic, it still isn’t a good enough excuse. As your doctor, I have to stress the importance of using protections. More than one form if needed, because I am about to confirm you are in fact pregnant!” He tells you, exasperation heavy with every word, and you could feel yourself deflating like a child in trouble, “From the information you provided me, I would put you at around twelve weeks. I’m gonna have to have you come in sometime this week to get blood tests. Fucking hell, why didn’t you come to me sooner?! When you started experiencing symptoms. Or even, I don’t know, when you missed your period?! Even if it was just to rule it out!”

“Because when the symptoms started, work started getting more hectic with Gunyu going on this month long cruise. I thought it was from stress,” You realize that all you were doing now was grasping at excuses at this point, and Wenhyun knew it too. You knew better, you should have ruled this out before anything else, but instead you chose to ignore the obvious. Trying to hide behind work, “Or I am just stupid.”

“You are stupid, but as your cousin, I need to think that” He retorts, and you give him a dirty look. “Does he know?”

“No,” You tell him, finally feeling your face wet from tears that were now falling involuntarily, “I only found out last night, and I saw him briefly in front of the apartments. Didn’t think ‘oh hey, how are you? I am heading to the clinic to confirm I am carrying your child, okay call you later!’ was a smart idea. I wanted to see you first about this before I tell him. I’m telling him tonight.”

“Are you in love with him?” This question took you off guard.

“We’re not together.”

“You don’t have to be with someone to be in love with them, don’t deflect. I asked, are you in love with him?”

Hope you enjoyed! Part 2 is almost done being written and Hoshi's installment will be out soon! If you like my series, and want to be updated when I post, I am created a tag list.

More one shots and drabbles coming.

#thestraybunnyfics #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen smut

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mediocre-writing · 1 day ago

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Fic recs Yoongi

Some fics I read this week, and I need to make people read them too lol I'll probably do it with the other members too.

Interlude | MYG | Series Masterlist @yoongiofmine (Idol!Yoongi X Deaf!Reader)

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

– This is simply the most beautiful Yoongi series I've ever read.

——

The Consequences of Fucking Up @borathae

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

– You won't regret reading it, trust me.

——

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series @serendipitous-seven

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby

– THIS WAS ONE OF THE SOFTEST THINGS I'VE EVER READ 😭💞

——

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi @dancinglikebutterflywings ( Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader)

- Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

– I feel like this story and this writer deserves much more recognition, MY GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

—

you're okay | myg (m) @taegularities

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

– This here comforted my heart in a way 😭😭💞💞

—

ex-things - m.yg. @namfinessed

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

– That was adorable and made me smile like a fool.

—

impression | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

– This is so cute, I love the husband!Yoongi

—

The Final - Day 02 | MYG | ONESHOT @yoongiofmine

Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

– it made me wild and crazy

—

dissertation | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many people doubted your union, how exactly an artist with as much influence as yoongi be a husband to a wife that is still studying.

– Yoon being the person we all need, This writer is wonderful, please give him a chance. (I'm telling you this writer is amazing)

—

Shy - Yoongi X Reader @7ndipity

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

– This is something cute and warm.

—

YES, I WILL DO MORE BECAUSE WE HAVE MANY TALENTED WRITERS.

#yoongi x you #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi #fanfic #fic rec #fic recs #yoongi recs #suga fic #bts recs #bts fic #bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day ago

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Blurred Lines 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Let's get through Monday yall.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You follow Nick back to his house. It's a long ride. You're so caught up in your anxiety that you don't even turn the radio on. The silence feeds into your nerves.

When you park, you notice your phone light up. It's Joey. You want to answer but you can't. You're not sure you can keep your cool.

Nick's cryptic behavior worries you. If you lose this job, you're not sure the next one will be enough to keep Joey in school. You don't put in the long hours because you enjoy scrubbing floors, you want to do the best by your daughter and your husband.

You get out and catch up to your boss as he struts inside. He has the garment bags over his shoulder.

"I could take those--"

"I think I can handle it," he scoffs.

"Sir, uh, about, er..." you stumble over your words as your thoughts tangle. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. When you sent me home--"

"We're past that. You're back now." He opens the door and lets you through first. "So do what you're told and stop worrying."

He shuts the door behind him and strides up to you. He dangles a dress bag on one finger. You take it as the tension strangles out any protest.

"Go get ready."

"Ready?" You echo thinly.

"Big dinner. Pull yourself together."

He sidesteps you and struts off. You look after him, confused. You sigh and carry the dress to the half-bath behind the staircase.

You shut the door and hang the garment bag. You put your purse on the counter and sift through it. You have a tube of gloss and some mascara. Oh, some old liner that might do if you wet it. You're good stuff is at home.

You do your best. You just need to be presentable. It wouldn't matter if you had your BB cream or some blush, you can't get rid of the wrinkles or the spots.

Your hair. There's a comb but it's not much use. You use your fingers and find some pins in your bag. Again, nothing special, just something.

The door handle clicks and you spin around. Nick wears his new suit. It's perfect on him. The jacket is perfectly cinched and the pants hemmed just so.

"Can I get a bit of help?" He smirks and wiggles the paisley tie at you.

You stare at it and take it. Your cheeks are taut. He steps into the bathroom and unfolds his collar. You loop the tie around his neck and focus on knotting it.

"I should've asked if you needed anything else." He says.

"The dress is very nice, it will do," you assure him and tighten the tie. "There. You're all put together."

"And your not," he challenges.

You meet his gaze, "I'll be quick."

His brows flick up and he turns to unzip the garment bag. He takes out the dress and feels the fabric. He faces you again and holds it up. You gently grab it by the sleeves and pull it away.

"Thank you, sir."

"Nick. For tonight, call me Nick." He insists.

"Yes, s-- Nick," you repeat as you turn and examine the velvet.

You wait and he lingers. Finally he backs out and shuts the door.

You ignore the mirror as you change. The dress is no better the second time. In fact, it feels tighter. Your chest is compressed beneath the fabric, your cleavage bursting. You wish he'd put an end to this already.

You find the shoes in the bottom of the garment bag. You sit on the closed toilet and put on the heels. You haven't worn those since Joey's graduation. You don't miss the painful arch.

You stand and tidy up your clothes. You fold them and stop before the door. You contemplate the other side before you open it.

You step out and find Nick waiting. He comes close and you watch him senselessly. He takes the clothes from you and sets them on the bench near the wall.

He returns and offers his arm. His mouth is slanted in a silent taunt. Your lips pinch and you put your hand in the crook of your arm.

He guides you down the hall and into the entry way. You feel as if you're making the walk down a plank, about to jump to your fate. Earlier when you pulled up to see your husband, you couldn't predict any of this.

"You look good, by the way," Nick says as you reach the door. "Really good."

Your cheek twitches. You get it. You know what he's doing. He's reminding you that he's in charge.

"Thank you, Nick."

He opens the door and angles you through. You focus on your feet, on not letting your ankles bend. That small task is much simpler than the unknown you find yourself wandering into.

🔷

You enter the room of finely dressed people. Despite the new attire, the price tag that made your stomach drop, you feel out of place. The men are in ties and brocade and velvet, the women in satin and silk. The latter are all at least a decade younger than you and many sizes smaller than you.

Nick touches the middle of your back and drags his hand down. He slips around your hips and pulls you against him, urging you across the room. A man greets him, beckoning him over with a wave of his large hand.

You catch his stare, the question mark in his forehead as you approach. He's taller than Nick, broader too. His jaw is speckled in dark stubble and a thick line of hair covers his upper lip. He's handsome with his bold blue eyes and cleft chin.

"Walker," Nick greets him. You glance at the woman with curly black hair on the man's arm. She's gorgeous and sips daintily from a stemmed glass.

"Fowler. Late. Again."

"Always here exactly when I'm needed," Nick banters.

"Sure, we'll see what Pine says about that."

"Pine's head is so far up his ass, I doubt he'll notice," Nicky rolls his eyes. "Aliana," he turns to the woman, "I still don't see a ring."

"Fowler," Walker warns.

"Forgive me. You'll get there, in time. Like me," he winks. "Oh, and this is..."

He introduces you and reminds you that you're more than just a spectator. You force a smile.

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"August," Nick gestures to the larger man the the woman, "Aliana."

The woman flutters her lashes. You sense the judgement in her gaze. It's nothing cruel, only reality. She no doubt sees your ages and is asking the same questions you would. If this was real...

"You finally brought a date to one of these things. Might get Abnesti to shut up."

"I'm not worried about what he has to say. Not as worried as some people should be about leaving their drinks unattended near the guy."

They laugh and you suppress a frown at the insinuation. You had that talk with Joey. You can never be too safe.

"He thinks he's playing spy games," August snorts.

"Anyway, I should make the rounds," Nick says. "Act like I want to be here."

He ushers you onward. His name comes from your back and you nearly twist your ankle as he pulls you with him. You turn and face a slender blonde man grey slacks and a checkered jacket. His features are sharp but elegant.

"There you are. I thought you might play hooky, as you American's say."

"I told you, I had a thing," Nick counters. "Jonathan," he offers his hand and they shake firmly. He pulls free and gestures to you, reciting your name.

"Nice to meet you," you say and accept his hand as he holds it out.

"A pleasure," he turns your hand and kisses your knuckles. "I must say that colour is immaculate."

You look down and nearly flinch at the sight of your bulging bosom. You want to cover up but that would only make it more obvious. Your face burns. You're not the sort for this. You're too old, too boring. You'd rather be at home with your book. That pairs better with wine than whatever this is.

"Krissalyn is around somewhere. She was unhappy with the rose so likely she's pestering some poor server," he drawls dully. "Stubborn, though she might let some of that go for a bit of grace." He doesn't look away from you even as he speaks to Nick, "I must ask how you met. He never mentioned a lady."

"Oh, uh..." you peek over at Nick.

"She likes to read. We met at a bookstore," he lies seamlessly. "She recommended a good book. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a smarty pants."

"Ah, and what was the recommendation? I can always go for a new addition to my library," Jonathan says.

You blink as you stare back at his expectant eyes. His irises are somewhere between jade and aquamarine. Are all Nick's acquaintances this perfect?

"Oh nothing special, I think it was Odd Thomas," you say. You're not as convincing as Nick.

"Dean Koontz? Yes, I've read that one. Very unique," he praises. "I am disappointed in his more recent publications."

"Yeah, I stuck with Odd series," you reply, comfortable to stay on a topic you know well. "Did you read all of it?"

"A few but I think I've lost track of the story," he replies.

Nick clears his throat, "if you don't mind, I'll just be stealing my date back. I see Turner's here."

"I didn't think you were fond of him," Jonathan remarks.

"Not really but who's really fond of who in this room," he leads you away.

He approaches another man. This one is flustered as he tugs at a lock of his sandy brown hair. His blues eyes rove over the room frantically.

"Turner," Nick calls to him. "You didn't bring another mole, did you?"

"She wasn't a mole."

"She stole your clearance pass," Nick retorts.

The other man huffs, "please, I don't want to hear it."

You feel bad for the man. Nick's teasing doesn't seem in good nature.

"Hi," you interject and introduce yourself. "You work with Nick?"

"Cole," he smooths his hair then fumbles with his suit button before offering his hand. "Uhh, pleased to meet you."

"Of course. There's so many people here," you peer around. "I don't think I was prepared for this."

"Me either," his shoulders lose a bit of tension.

"I'm the kinda person to find a quiet corner, you know?" You say. "Let everyone else get distracted."

Nick's fingers curl into your hip. Is he trying to rein you in? Well, he didn't really give you guidelines.

"Yeah, uh, reminds me of a family reunion," he chuckles nervously.

"Oh, I don't miss those," you smile. "My husband's family was so judgy. I couldn't even make jello without a full critique."

"We should keep moving," Nick says.

"Oh, sorry, I don't want to keep you," Cole says apologetically, "Nick, sorry. I didn't mean to."

Nick grunts and leads you away. You stop and make him do the same. "You're not very nice to your coworkers," you say.

He snickers, "oh, I'm not."

"Well, not really, but I hope you don't mind if I try to be."

"You do whatever you like, sweetheart," he pets your arm and you wince. Your bag vibrates. Again. You've been ignoring the jittering, hoping it's just your nerves.

"I'd like to know why you brought me here," you say.

His grin stays firmly in place, "I told you that. You're my plus one."

You swallow down his reply. He's not going to say it. He's going to draw this out and make you squirm.

"Nick, might you point me to the ladies?"

He squints and his cheek dimples. He points past you, "down there. I can show you--"

"I'm sure I can find my way," you pat his hand as it lingers on your arm and you step out of his reach.

You turn and walk away. You just need a moment to catch your breath and to figure out why Joey's still calling. It has to be something important.

You find the restroom and lock the door. You pull out your phone. Another call comes in as you unlock the screen. You answer and quickly put it to your ear.

"Hi? Josephine?"

The speaker scuffs, then it sounds like the phone falls. You turn up the volume. You cup your hand over your other ear and listen.

"Mr. Barber," Joey's voice is shrill and wobbly, "I think I should--"

"Shh, shh, shh," the low scratching hushes barely reach you. "It's okay, Josie," the deep voice cooes, "you're doing fine. Have I told you that?"

"Thanks, but I think... sir, please, sir..." she begs as you hear the struggle in her tone. "Can you just..."

"It's okay. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you," he purrs. "You're a very smart girl, huh?"

"Mr. Barber," her words crack.

"Call me Andy, baby," you hear a kissing noise. "It's okay, just relax."

"No, no," she grits her teeth. "I'm-- don't, please."

"I'm not hurting you, am I? I'm being nice, baby."

You stare into your own eyes as you glare at the mirror, in disbelief and horror of what you're hearing. Barber. Andy Barber. That man she told you about from her internship. Her boss. And you don't need to be able to see to know what he's doing. To your daughter.

"I'm coming, Joey," you hiss and keep the phone to your ear.

You twist around and storm through the door. You stride out and through the room full of babbling guests and clinking glasses. Your name comes from behind you but you don't turn back.

"Where are you going?" Nick latches onto your elbow and spins you around. You have to keep from slapping him as your eyes fill with tear. Josephine is crying. She's crying for you.

"Mom..."

His eyes search your face and he wraps his hand around yours. He pulls the phone to his ear and listens. He doesn't look away. His jaw ticks.

He keeps a hold of your hand and forces the phone away from his ear. He yanks you after him as he charges for the door.

"Let's go," he snarls.

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #blurred lines #the 355

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starzify · 2 days ago

Note

hiii i love ur work sm! can u write a negan fic?

thank u baby !! so i'm only on s3 but he's too fine…🤷‍♀️

beg me ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing negan smith x fem!reader

warnings smut | blowjob.

MASTERLIST

Over the past few months, you had spent almost a concerning amount of time talking to Negan in his cell. It started with taking him the odd meal, alternating your duty with other people. But over time you regrettably developed a soft spot for him, and dedicated yourself to finding the human underneath his tough exterior. You didn't let him know that though, remaining cold on the outside. That being said, you had pulled some strings for him, he now is allowed daily supervised showers, toothpaste and the occasionally beard and hair trim. All the basic hygiene stuff.

Though the truth is, you are lonely. Rick and Maggie were your closest friends and now they're both gone, so often times, you find Negan being the only person to console in. You've never been much of a social butterfly anyway.

It's midday and you're sat watching Negan finish his lunch.

"All gone, ma'am," he says, popping the final bite in his mouth.

You take the plate from him and sit on your seat. He picks up the tennis ball that he has taken a liking to and bounces it off the wall, catching it, and repeating.

"So, what's the recent gossip?" He smirks. "Is anybody getting boned?”

"Negan," you scold, eyebrows furrowing. "That's none of your business. None of our business."

"Come on…” he continues, blatantly ignoring your remarks, continuing to bounce the ball, a huge mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You shake your head.

"No?" He asks curiously.

“Nope. Nobody’s getting boned, if you’re curious.”

"Fuck, that could’ve been the most interesting thing to happen." He scoffs.

"That's sad," you laugh, raising your eyebrows at him. "So depraved that you're living through people’s sex lives?”

You step closer to the bars, handing Negan his ball, but when he goes to grab it you quickly move your hand away, teasing him.

"You gonna give me my ball, sweetheart?" He smiles patronisingly.

You hold the ball, hovering it ever so slightly out of his reach. "Don't call me sweetheart."

"What would you prefer?" He taunts. "Sweet cheeks? Sugar plum?"

"You've got an awful lot of nerve talking to the only person who comes to see you like that." You warn, pointing your other finger at his face. "Say the wrong thing and I'm gone."

"But you always come back," he replies, cocking his head to the side smugly. "Why is that?"

"You don't get to ask questions." You snap.

"Oh, I like when you get fired up, darling." He smirks.

"I bet you fucking do." You retort impatiently.

"I do." He grins.

You bring your face closer to his and lower your voice, tired of Negan thinking he has you wrapped around his finger. "You also like this top?" You motion to the purple tank top you're currently wearing. "'Cause I've caught you looking at my tits at least ten times in the past five minutes." Your words clearly shock him. "You gonna jerk off to this little interaction later? That’s how fucking desperate you are?" You don't know what has come over you, you just want to finally have the upper hand.

"I'm a man." He smiles cockily, not embarrassed like you hoped he might have been. "I have needs."

He looks you up and down, his gaze burning into your skin, making you feel naked. "And I'd be lying if I said you weren't smoking hot."

You stroke your finger along his jawline seductively. "You thought about me before?" You ask. "While touching yourself?"

"Fuck yeah." He mutters, his eyes transfixed on your lips.

"Tell me what you think about." You demand.

"Baby, I-" but you interrupt him.

"Tell me." You snap, then moving your lips to trace his jawline and "Tell me and I'll suck your cock." He elicits a small groan and you grab his face in your hand, turning his head to face you. "And don't call me baby."

"Fuck, I- uhh..." He says, his voice gravelly. "I think about taking you in every fucking position, making you scream my name. Even fucking you out there," he points out of the barred window, "bending you over for everyone to see. So they can see how good I fuck you."

You look at him through heavy lidded eyes and in this moment you have never been so attracted to someone.

"See that wasn't too hard, was it?" You smirk, your lips lightly brushing his, just enough to give him a brief taste of what he wants.

"God, you're so fucking hot," he mutters.

"What do you want?" You ask him smugly.

"You know what I want." He groans impatiently. Your hands creeps to his crotch and palms him softly through his pants, forcing a small moan from his lips.

"I want to hear you say it." You whisper. "Beg me."

"Fuck, please," he groans. "Suck my cock. Please."

"That's it." You slowly lower yourself onto your knees and unzip his pants through the bars of the cell. You release him from his boxers and see that he is already rock solid, and he is big. Almost intimidatingly big. Teasingly, you trace your tongue around his tip, tasting the pre-cum on his cock. His hips buck at the small contact, not used to anything but his hand for so long. He'd been in this cell for years. Soon enough, you take his cock fully into your mouth and you can't help but get butterflies and the deep, gutteral moan he involuntarily let's out as you do so.

Through the bars he grabs your hair, guiding your head up and down his length. The way he pulls on your hair sends tingles down your spine. His hips thrust and you stop your movements as he basically just fucks your mouth, doing all the work himself.

"Fuck," he hisses, and you can tell he is dangerously close. Concocting a plan in your head, you pull away and he stares at you, eyes wide, looking disheveled.

"No, don't stop, I'm about to-"

"I know," you whisper. "Trust me."

He nods, frustrated, but his eyes light up as he notices you start to lift your top up. You lift it off over your head and swiftly unhook your bra, leaving you topless and bare in front of him. He reaches his hands out wordlessly and you step closer to him, kissing him passionately while his hands squeeze and play with your breasts.

Breaking off the kiss, you grin. "You want me to finish what I started?" You don't wait for his answer because his eyes tell you enough, so you drop to your knees yet again, taking your tongue from the base to the tip of his cock, painstakingly slow.

You look up at him before continuing. "I want you to cum on my tits, okay?" He groans at your words. "Think you can do that?"

Without warning, you engulf him fully in your mouth again and he grabs your chin with one hand and wraps your hair around the other, fucking your face mercilessly, picking the pace up in no time. Tears run down your face but you love it.

It doesn't take long for him to get to the point he was previously at because he hurriedly removes himself from your mouth. You brace yourself as he gives himself a mere single stroke, then his release spills onto your chest. He elicits the dirtiest, most primal sounding moans as he does so and it turns you on beyond belief. You can see him struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss the view.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you run your finger along your chest, gathering some of his cum and licking it off, sucking it off seductively. "Jesus Christ, you're unbelievable."

You pick the tennis ball up, which got dropped at some point, and place it on the chair, along with your black lacy bra, out of Negan's reach. Without another word, you exit the room, leaving Negan breathless, disheveled and hungry for more, reeling from what just happened, sat staring at the ball and the bra that you left to taunt him.

"I'm gonna fuck you next time," you hear him yell as you close the door behind him, eager to have the last word, as always.

tags: @inspiredangel @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented @whisperingdaze @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @urloveada

#cassie writes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 #negan smith #negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #the walking dead #twd #jeffrey dean morgan #jdmorgan

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luxcuriousao3 · 2 days ago

Text

Selfish (Ghoap)

Summary: Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should. Word Count: 3067 Warnings: non-graphic smut, kinda toxic relationship tbh but it's not intentional or out of cruelty, possessive behavior, jealousy, angst/hurt no comfort, mentions of drinking/smoking Notes: Finally compiled all those angsty Ghoap blurbs into a proper fic. I polished them up and added a little bit more to the end, but they are mostly the same. This fic definitely works as an (angsty) standalone, but I may or may not continue this. If I do, it will have a happy ending eventually, but it will also be a "it gets worse before it gets better" type of fic, lol. I do have part of a second chapter written already, but I am only going to post it if I actually decide to finish this fic in long form. All SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! - *** means POV switch, and -*- means timeskip but no POV switch - AO3, Masterlist

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’d just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, to you?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the roughness, the degradation—but most of all, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets. It’s petty, but Soap is desperate to leave—and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS—and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny’s wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

And so they fall back into rhythm with each other, at least on missions. They’re as deadly and efficient as always, bantering on comms like usual. But a certain sense of wrongness lingers when they’re on base, no longer avoiding each other or even refraining from tumbling into bed together—but Ghost notices it nonetheless. Johnny isn’t constantly at Ghost’s side anymore, bothering him with his endless chatter and poorly hidden desire for attention. The look in his eyes when he does talk to Ghost is less intense, too, less painfully open and bright. More befitting of a soldier speaking with his superior. When they fuck, he no longer tries to linger in Ghost’s room, doesn’t even wait for Ghost to get a towel for him, just stands up and limps over to the toilet to grab it himself. At first, Ghost is glad—his sergeant got the message loud and clear, and didn’t even throw too much of a fit about it. They can remain in this limbo of close-but-not-too-close. Ghost doesn’t have to give this up, give Johnny up, in order to keep them both safe. And Johnny doesn’t even seem upset anymore—yeah, he’s a little more distant, but that’s a good thing. He was reaching the edges of what Ghost could tolerate anyway, and now things are back to a blessed normal.

Except that the longer it goes on, the more Ghost misses how things were before.

The silence that used to be filled with Johnny’s rambling starts to feel oppressive, the space at his side where his sergeant should always be is now glaringly empty. The grins Johnny gives him are still large but don’t look quite the same. The shine in his blue eyes has dulled just a tad, no longer so blinding that it makes Ghost feel like the centre of their own tiny universe.

Ghost has no right to miss them, all those little things he’d taken for granted before. He knows that. But just like he knows he shouldn’t continue whatever it is between him and Johnny, he does so anyway.

He never voices any of these thoughts, of course, but the next time they fuck, Ghost doesn’t roll off of Johnny right away once he comes. He lays on top of him for a long moment, pinning him to the bed so he can’t get up and run like he’s taken to doing. Both of them are sweaty and breathing hard, and Ghost watches Johnny’s dark brows furrow in confusion as the seconds stretch on. He starts to shift underneath him, like he’s about to push Ghost off of him, out of him, and Ghost, he—

He snaps, a little bit.

That’s the only explanation for what he does next, sinking his teeth into his sergeant’s shoulder and holding on, like a dog with a bone. He wants to break Johnny’s skin, to taste blood and scar him, to tie them together in a way that no amount of distance can ever erase.

Instead, he gets an elbow to the face and a furious Scot cursing him out in something just to the left of English.

“Ye fuckin’ bampot!” Johnny shouts at Ghost, who’s nursing his bloody nose on the floor, arse-naked. The other man is standing now, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other gesturing angrily in his direction. “The fuck is wrong wi’ ye? Cannae just bloody bite me like some mad beast!”

Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should.

And now Ghost is faced with the consequences of his royally fucked up head and cold heart once again. He gives Johnny a careless shrug, getting to his feet.

“Got carried away,” he offers as a lame sort of explanation, voice thick from the blood dripping into the back of his throat. He carefully feels his nose. Not broken, but it’ll bruise like rotten fruit. “You got me good. We’re even.”

Johnny stares at him for a long moment, too many emotions flickering across his face for Ghost to name them all. But he does recognize anger—anger and hurt, and his chest tightens at that. He doesn’t want to hurt Johnny, keeps his distance so he doesn’t hurt him. Regret settles heavily in Ghost’s stomach. This is what happens when he gives in, when he allows himself to get too close. This is what he’s tried so hard to avoid.

Because Ghost doesn’t know how to love, how to be gentle or treasure someone like Johnny deserves, like Ghost knows he wants. This is the most he can give him. Not love, never love, but a violent sort of possession that could look like love, in the right lighting.

And Ghost knows his sergeant. Knows how stubbornly loyal he is, how self-sacrificing. He will never walk away, never retreat entirely. He’ll growl and snarl right back at Ghost, he’ll put up a few flimsy walls of his own—but he’ll still let Ghost hurt him.

Ghost doesn’t want to hurt him.

“You’re a real bastard, LT,” Johnny snaps, snatching his clothes and hurriedly pulling them on, not even bothering to wipe away the cum trailing down his thighs and staining his hairy stomach. Ghost watches him, wonders if this is it, if this is the end. Hopes it is as much as he prays it's not. Can’t find the words to make it official, so he supposes he’ll have to wait and see.

But Johnny doesn’t say anything else, just leaves as quickly as he usually does, slamming the door behind him. And Ghost—

Ghost doesn’t know what that means. Can’t for the life of him figure out what he wants it to mean. Regrets leaving the choice in another’s hands, giving up control. And at the same time, relishes in the idea that he can pretend they’re still in limbo for just a little bit longer.

That he’s not ruined the one good thing he has going for him.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

-*-

They don’t talk about it.

It's normal that they don’t, really. Routine. They fight, they don’t speak for a few days, but they’re always drawn back towards each other, like moths to a flame. The pull is a siren call, irresistible. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

The next time they fuck, Johnny insists on riding him, clearly not trusting Ghost not to pin him down and bite him again.

That hurts, but he knows he deserves it, so he allows Johnny that sliver of control.

His teeth didn't end up breaking skin, and Ghost is glad for that, in retrospect. He doesn't want to hurt Johnny—and as good as Ghost’s mark on him would look, it doesn't belong there. Johnny isn’t his, can’t be his, doesn’t deserve to be his. Johnny deserves something soft. Something kind. If Ghost were a better man, he’d cut him loose to go find it.

Every time Johnny comes to his room at night—not as often as before, even less so since Ghost went rabid and bit him—he tells himself that he’ll do it. He’ll be better, just long enough to free Johnny of the burden that he is. But he never does.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

They’re at a pub tonight, all four members of the 141. Johnny’s traded his usual spot next to Ghost for one next to Gaz, and Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice, that it doesn’t bother him. He shouldn’t notice. It shouldn’t bother him. They’re teammates, colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like he told Johnny all those weeks ago.

So Ghost doesn’t burn with jealousy when some bloke starts flirting with his sergeant. He doesn’t grind his teeth when Johnny doesn’t turn him down right away. Doesn’t ache when he thinks about how Johnny wouldn’t have entertained so much as a glance at someone other than Ghost, before. He doesn’t clench his fingers around his pint so hard the glass creaks ominously, doesn’t glare daggers at the stranger’s ugly mug, doesn’t feel the urge to grab Johnny and bend him over the table right then and there, show everyone in the damn bar exactly who he belongs to.

Mine, mine, mine.

But he’s not, he’s not, so Ghost just gets up and slips outside for a smoke as Johnny charms the fucker effortlessly and gets free drinks in return. He’s on his way to getting properly sloshed, but he’s not there yet, and Ghost can feel those blue eyes on his back as he leaves. It’s as gratifying as it is infuriating, that Johnny notices him leaving. That he doesn’t hop up to join him like he used to. Like he should.

No, not like he should. Rather, how Ghost wants him to. Wants him at his side, always.

Selfish bastard.

He stares out into the dark street, trying to pull himself the fuck together. He can’t be acting like this. Like a schoolboy with a crush. Like a possessive boyfriend. He’s not Johnny’s, he never will be. He can’t be. Everything Ghost touches, he destroys. He’s breaking Johnny already—he can see how the other man still craves something more from Ghost, despite pulling away. That he always will, that no matter how many pieces of him Ghost steals and grinds to dust beneath his boots, Johnny will never leave, not entirely.

Ghost knows. Sometimes, Johnny looks at him with so much heartbreak and want in his eyes, it takes his breath away.

Ghost is ruining him. Soon, there will be nothing left of Johnny but an empty shell.

A cold sort of acceptance falls over his shoulders, and Ghost stubs his smoke out on the bricks behind him before flicking it away. As he heads back inside, he knows there’s no more running from this. No more being selfish. He will end things. He’ll let Johnny go, even if it kills him.

And Christ, but it feels like it just might.

Especially when he gets back to the team's booth, only to see that Johnny and the bloke that's been chatting him up are both gone. He stops, goes still, stares at Johnny's half-finished pint on the sticky tabletop, wonders if maybe he was wrong, maybe Johnny scrounged up enough survival instincts to leave Ghost after all. Like prey spooking in the presence of a predator.

“He's takin’ a piss,” Price speaks up, reading his mind and cutting through Ghost’s spiraling thoughts. He’s got a hand on Garrick’s nape, the younger man groaning pathetically as he leans against his Captain, green around the gills. “Think Kyle's had too much to drink, gonna bring ‘im back to base. You mind tellin’ Soap where we went?”

Ghost gives him a jerky nod, and Price drags Garrick out of the booth, slinging his arm around his shoulders.

“Ta. See you in the mornin’,” he says, and Ghost watches him lead Garrick outside before sliding into the booth. He stares hard at the door to the men’s room for nearly five minutes, but Johnny doesn’t reappear. He can already feel his determination to do the right thing slipping, and so he gets up and strides over, the crowd parting for him as it always does. Johnny’ll hate him for ending things in dirty pub toilet of all places, but perhaps that’s for the best.

Ghost would rather hurt Johnny a little bit right now than shatter him later.

And he will, if Johnny stays. Ghost will sink his teeth into him and rip him apart slowly, piece by piece.

Ghost wasn’t made for love. He was only made to destroy.

Abandonment is the only mercy he can offer.

The door creaks as it opens, and he’s assaulted by the stench of piss, sweat, and sex. A familiar wet sucking sound reaches his ears, accompanied by a chorus of gags and moans.

“That’s it, baby,” a voice, stuttered and hoarse, grunts. “Take it. Fucking take it, know how bad you want it, been begging for it all night.”

The gagging gets louder, enthusiastic and eager, and Ghost’s eyes drop to the gap between the stall door and the floor. Johnny’s boots stick out, damning.

Ghost turns around and leaves.

He won’t be selfish, this time. He’ll let Johnny go. Just like he promised.

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