#but i guess there always has to be a first

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

[itsactuallylina]

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ☆ YJW

SYNOPSIS: falling for your best friend's cousin was never the plan, but as you and jungwon grow closer, keeping secrets gets harder. Especially when minju starts to notice!

PAIRING: best friend’s cousin!jungwon x f!reader

GENRE: fluff, angst(most of it), flirty jungwon, high school au, love at first sight kinda, mention of panic attacks , A LOT of angst, pov switching, intended lowercase, possible mistakes

FEATURING: enhypen sunoo, illit minju, zb1 gyuvin, kiof belle , bnd taesan

WORD COUNT: 12.8k (ik it’s crazy)

A/N:lol 😝 this is a revamp (?) of my old ass smau which has like 2 chapters LMAO. i was thinking about writing it as a long fic for like a year and finally did it! first long fic too bruh. pls lmk if u like it 🥹 also english is not my first NOR my second language 😭 so sorry if there are any mistakes ; tagging @miumura

check out the masterlist —> here !

“minju, where are we going now?” — you whine, not wanting to walk again, you were pretty sure that you already had over 15 thousand steps today, and yet, minju has another place she suddenly wants to go. “i am tired”

“you’re always tired” she claims, staring into your eyes. “you’ll like it, I promise”

you groan, tilting your head back. “every time you said this, I end up regretting it later”

“excuse me?” minju says baffled, “did you regret the arcade? the rooftop picnic? the train to nowhere?”

“…okay, those were fun,” you admit, narrowing your eyes. “but i’m still tired”

she grins, already tugging your wrist. “it will be quick, just a few pictures. i’ll even let you pick the filters!”you sigh, following her. “fine fine, but if I look half-asleep in them, thats your fault”

“deal!”

you knew that you would give in, you love minju. she is your best friend after all.

the photobooth minju suggested to go to was located in the popular arcade, the one you went to that one time. as you walk in, the neon glow of the arcade flickers above you, minju is already almost at the booth area, you quickly catch up with her, escaping the air filled with buttered popcorn and soda scents. you’re mid laugh, looking at the ridiculous stickers displayed at the entrance when—

thud.

you barely register the warmth of another person before you stumble back, almost falling off your feet.

and then you look up.

wow.

you almost forgot how to breathe.

he is gorgeous. the guy standing in front of you is tall, hands stuffed in pockets.

for a second, his gaze locks onto yours—in this mere moment you notice his boba eyes, lightly curled hair and his catlike features.

you realized you probably looked like a creep, so you break off the eye contact.

“y/n, are you alright? you almost fell down” minju took a hold of your hand, worry visible on her face, before it disappeared as she looks in the way of the person you bumped into.

your best friend scoffs. “ugh, seriously? again?”

again? your brows knit together as you glance between them.

that guy chuckled, his gaze locked on you again. “I’m happy to see you too. didn’t know you had such a pretty friend.” he says with utmost confidence. you can feel the warmth appearing on your cheeks at his compliment, trying to avert your eyes somewhere else.

“oh my god, can you not?” minju sighs dramatically, you never knew she could be so annoyed at sight of someone. huh, guess there is a side of her you don’t know of.

“what? you won’t even introduce us?” he smirks, not looking away from you.

“fine, jungwon this is y/n, y/n this is jungwon, my cousin.” a nth dramatic sigh escaped from her.

so he is minjus cousin…

“nice to meet you, y/n” he says, extending his hand for you to shake, your name rolling off his tongue the way you never thought you would hear.

“uh, yea, nice to meet you too” you stutter, mentally slapping yourself for it. that’s what you say? seriously ?

“you’re really cute, you know?” jungwon suddenly said, you still didn’t calm down from the previous compliment and he throws another one at you?

the blush on your face only deepens, making you look like a tomato. gosh, so embarrassing…

“sorry, but she’s off limits to you, don’t try.” minju remarks before you could even respond.

“off limits, huh. that’s a shame” her cousin replies. “oh well, we can still be friends, right y/n?”

mention of your name makes you jolt, and before you could even think, you agree. “Of course! Yea, we can be friends, no problem”

“y/n?! whatever, just don’t cross any boundaries” ou, maybe you shouldnt have said that.

minju grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the booth. “you can ignore him if you want to”

you let yourself be dragged away, but as you step in the photo booth you make a mistake of looking back.

jungwon is watching you, a smug grin on his face, like his cousins words don’t mean a thing to him.

If only you knew that it was just a beginning.

since it was a little holiday break before the school starts, you decided to visit your favorite record shop to finally buy a vinyl from your favorite group, arctic monkeys.

walking in, you feel the warmth of the cozy atmosphere. the record shop is filled with a quiet melody, which you recognize but can’t put a name on. the air is thick with the scent of old vinyls, worn leather, and a faint trace of coffee coming from the counter. your fingers skim over the albums on display, the rough texture of cardboard meeting your skin. the lighting is dim and golden. it was a place where time slows down. you loved it.

when you find the needed section, you scan the variety, thinking which vinyl you should get. your eyes stop at the familiar black cover with a white sound wave—AM, one of your favorite albums of all time. weird how you never got it, since your first choice song, fluorescent adolescent, is on it.

your hand extends towards the album, and as you almost take it, it disappears from your sight. you firmly turn, hand still in mid-air, eyes locked onto the thief who dared to snatch your treasured almost-purchase. and then—you freeze.

yang jungwon.

the same guy who shamelessly flirted with you back at the arcade, minju’s cousin. but now, the smirk he had the first time you met is nowhere to be found, replaced by an expression that you can’t quite read.

“jungwon?” your own voice comes out before you can even think. maybe you should get that checked out.

he blinks, then lets out a small laugh that gives away his disbelief. “huh, didn’t think that i’d run into you again.”

your gaze flickers to the album he still holds in his hands. “didn’t think you’d steal my vinyl either, but here we are.”

“steal? didn’t see your name on it.” the smugness you remember makes its way back onto his face.

“i literally was about to grab it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

jungwon tilts his head, examining the record while considering something, at least from the looks of it. “you have good taste, but i’m not sure if i should be impressed or offended that your first arctic monkeys vinyl wasn’t this one.”

“i didn’t really ask for your judgment,” you say, rolling your eyes.

he grins, offering the album back to you, but as you were about to take it, he pulls it back. “how about this?” he muses, eyes shining. “i’ll let you have this if you… beat me in a game at the arcade. let’s keep it fair and simple.”

your brows shoot up. “you can’t be serious.”

he shrugs his shoulders. “oh, but i am. you win—you get your precious AM album. and if i win?” he slightly leans in, just enough to make your heart do something stupid. “you take me out for coffee.”

you can sense heat creeping up your neck as he goes back to his original position. “that sounds more like a win-win for you, though.”

“exactly.”

you narrow your eyes at him, pretending to think about your options. jungwon watches you with amusement, twirling the vinyl between his fingers. finally, you sigh. “alright, lead the way.”

his smirk widens as he gestures towards the door with an exaggerated bow. “after you, my lady.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide the flutter the silly nickname gave you. feeling his presence behind you, you go through the aisles of the store. the dim light fades into the neon gleam of the arcade across the street. the distant sound of buttons and clicking fills the air, instantly reminding you of the last time you were here.

but before you can dwell on it any longer, jungwon steps beside you. “hope you’re ready, because i won’t go easy.”

you glance up at him. “never expected you to.”

maybe you should have been a little bit less of a nerd and agreed to gyuvin’s and taesan’s offer to go to the arcade.

you’re losing horribly. you did not expect jungwon to be this good at the games.

it all started with the air hockey—you were in the lead for the first few minutes before jungwon suddenly interrupted your scoring streak and literally humbled you. was it karma for being too confident?

then came the basketball shootout. jungwon scored three points out of five effortlessly. “i’m not going easy this time,” he teased.

“you said that six times already,” you muttered, focusing on the game before you, remembering the basketball lessons you attended in middle school.

your first shot bounced off the rim, making jungwon’s smile wider. “what’s wrong? scared?”

you ignored him, concentrated again, and—swish. the next shot was clean. then the next one. and the next one. and also the last one.

jungwon’s confidence wavered as you scored four points. you won.

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you got lucky.”

you grinned. “sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” it was finally your turn to tease him.

now, the dance dance revolution is happening. the glow of the DDR machine flickered as the game loaded. the platform beneath you slightly vibrated, metal panels cool under your shoes.

as soon as the game started, the arrows flooded the screen. the music played through the speakers, matching your moves. jungwon was beside you, moving effortlessly, barely missing a step.

you, on the other hand, weren’t so careful. your movements were a little frantic, messy, but fun. laughter bubbled up between breaths as you nearly tripped on a tricky move.

“is that all you got?” jungwon teased.

“just wait,” you huffed, eyes locking onto the screen.

the song sped up, so did both of you.

your movements became more precise, matching the beat. the combo is unbelievably high right now, and everything seemed good.

until it didn’t.

you can feel yourself slipping because of the slick material of your shoes. already prepared for the impact, you’re expecting the pain, squeezing your eyes shut—

but instead, you feel warmth engulfing your hand and bringing you back up.

“careful now, it’s still not the end,” jungwon says while holding your hand and continuing to dance.

you, having no choice, but to carry on with your movements, but now, with intertwined fingers with the guy beside you.

laughter filled the air as the music started to fade away before it completely stopped and the game started to count your scores.

you, still breathless, still holding hands with jungwon, look at the screen.

87.

you feel proud, but you quickly glance at the screen next to yours, and it says the exact same thing.

you look at each other’s eyes before bursting into chuckles again.

“so it’s a tie?” he asks, turning to you.

“i guess so,” you reply, chuckling a little bit.

“alright then,” jungwon says while tilting his head towards the exit. “we both get what we want.”

you nod, still catching your breath. “right. first things first—my album.”

“lead the way.”

as you both made your way back to the record shop, the warm scent of vinyls and coffee filled the air again. scanning the shelves, you grab the desired AM album before jungwon could.

he just laughed. “happy now?”

“very.” you grinned, already going to check out.

when you paid for the vinyl, you find a phone right before you.

“put your number in. you promised me a coffee, remember?” he reminded you.

for a second, you hesitated, remembering minju’s words.

“come on, we had a deal.” a little pout appeared on his face, making you chuckle.

“alright, alright.” you take the phone from him and enter your number before giving it back. you feel your own phone vibrate in your back pocket.

“just making sure it’s real.”

“do i look like someone who gives fake numbers?” you scoffed.

“not really. more like someone who’d block me instead.” jungwon hummed.

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, he was already heading toward the exit. “i’ll text you. be ready.”

and with that, you were left alone near the checkout station of your favorite record shop, with the number of a really handsome guy who was off-limits.

the break ended, and you were back at school. the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch. you packed your bag and headed toward the cafeteria to meet up with your friends. when you arrived, you could see your friend group sitting at your usual table.

“hey, everyone.” you greet them, sitting near belle. you unpack your lunch, listening to the conversation flowing around you. belle was excitedly talking about some new drama she started, while minju scrolled through her phone, occasionally nodding. across from you, gyuvin and taesan were locked in some silly debate about whether mint chocolate was a real ice cream flavor or not. the usual chaos filled the cafeteria—laughter, the clatter of trays, and distant complaints about break ending too soon.

just as you were about to take a bite of your food, minju nudged your arm. “so,” she started, “did you end up getting your album?”

you put your chopsticks down. “yeah, why?”

belle perked up. “wait, didn’t you say jungwon was there too?”

at the mention of the guy’s name, minju sighed dramatically. “ugh, don’t remind me. of course he was. he is everywhere. seeing him at school and family gatherings is enough for me, but no, of course not.” she complained further, making belle laugh.

taesan, who was half-listening, raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, as in your cousin yang jungwon?”

minju sighed again. “yes.”

gyuvin smirked, leaning toward your side with curiosity. “this kinda sounds like a wattpad story. you and jungwon at the record shop? what happened?”

you shrugged, not wanting to give details. “nothing much, we just ran into each other,” you say, leaving out the arcade and the bet. technically, you didn’t lie—you did run into each other.

minju scoffed. “yeah, and he used his annoying charm, didn’t he?”

belle grinned. “that explains why y/n looked a little flustered.”

you decided to ignore her comment, but the way minju stared at you made you shift uncomfortably.

before she could interrogate you further, a new presence approached the table.

jungwon.

your breath hitched as he casually walked past, chatting with some of his friends, some of whom you recognized. jungwon didn’t stop, but as he passed, his gaze found a way to you—just for a second. a glance and a knowing smirk.

your stomach did a weird flip.

taesan must have noticed because he nudged you with his elbow. “uh-oh. what was that?”

you quickly shake your head. “nothing.”

minju, however, caught on immediately. “y/n.”

you ignore her, suddenly finding your lunch very interesting.

but your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you had a guess who that was.

jungwon: hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl :)

you locked your phone, hoping no one saw that message.

yeah… this was going to be a problem.

if before you never noticed jungwon at school, now it’s a different story.

minju was right—he is everywhere. you go to the vending machine? he is there. go to your locker to grab a textbook? jungwon is across from you, near his own locker. even in the cafeteria, he always seems to find a way to sneak a glance at you. what’s worse? he makes it obvious. always smirking at you, showing off his dimples. at times, texting you compliments, reminding you of your promise to get coffee with him.

now, as you come out of the teachers’ lounge after discussing your projects with the physics teacher, you really hope not to bump into jungwon.

but luck is not on your side.

as you step out of the teachers’ lounge, you barely take a few steps before a familiar figure casually leans against the wall beside you.

“took you long enough.”

you blink at jungwon, who’s watching you with his signature smirk. “were you waiting for me?”

he shrugs. “let’s say i had a feeling you’d pass by here.”

you cross your arms, raising a brow. “and why exactly would you wait for me?”

“well, i think someone still owes me coffee.” he tilts his head, pretending to be in deep thought.

you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “i didn’t forget.”

“good, because i was starting to think you were trying to escape from our little deal.”

you scoff. “please, if i wanted to, you wouldn’t even see me.”

jungwon chuckled, clearly amused. “is that right? guess i’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

he steps back, shuffling his hands into his pockets as he starts to walk down the hall. “meet me at the front gate after school, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah. don’t be late.”

he grins. “i should be the one saying that, pretty.”

and with that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving you standing there, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

but someone noticed the blush on your ears, and they weren’t overjoyed with it.

minju and you had been friends since middle school. she truly cared about you, thought of you as her best friend. but as she watched your interaction with her cousin, she couldn’t help but feel the disappointment creeping in.

she wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much—maybe it was the way jungwon looked at you, like he already had you all figured out. or maybe it was the way you looked back at him, the kind of gaze she had never seen you give anyone.

minju had always been protective of you—it was a responsibility she felt. she had been by your side for years. through every bad grade, every family argument, every late-night conversation about life. you were her person, and she assumed she was yours too.

but now, watching her cousin tease you with his shameless smirk, watching you try to stop the smile from appearing on your face, she felt like someone had stabbed her with the sharpest knife.

it wasn’t jealousy, as she thought. she didn’t really care about jungwon chatting with her friends, but the thought of him stepping into the space she always thought was only hers, the thought of you abandoning her for her cousin—made her stomach twist in pain.

she knew how jungwon could effortlessly pull people in with his natural confidence, and she knew you too, how easily you could be swayed with kindness.

was she overreacting? maybe, but as she caught the faintest blush on the tips of your ears, she couldn’t shake the feeling that made her feel horrible.

and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

the afternoon sun hung low as you stepped out of the school grounds, only to be met with a familiar smirk. jungwon was already waiting, leaning against the fence, looking too pleased with himself.

“thought you’d run off and break our promise,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “you wish. i take my debts very seriously.”

“so buying me a coffee is a debt now?” he raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

“you practically scammed me into doing this.”

jungwon let out a laugh, his dimples showing. “and yet here you are, willingly taking me to the café. interesting, isn’t it?”

you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stayed silent, making him chuckle as he opened the café door for you.

you both walked to the counter to make your orders.

“i’ll have a peach iced tea, please,” you ordered your usual.

jungwon hummed, looking at you with an amused expression. “peach iced tea, huh? didn’t think you’d be the sweet type.”

you almost looked offended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he grinned, turning to the barista. “i’ll have an iced americano. card, please.”

you blinked. “wait, what?”

jungwon shrugged, handing over his card before you could protest. “consider it a treat. since, you know, you’re already so sweet.” his tone was playful, but the smile told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

you groaned, hiding the warmth creeping up your face. “you’re impossible.”

he simply laughed, nudging your arm lightly as you both stepped aside to wait for your drinks.

you didn’t think jungwon would be an interesting person to talk to.

yeah, he made you feel something, but you just brushed it off as pointless flirting.

but as the conversation between the two of you kept going, you realized there was more to him than just smooth lines and smug grins. he was funny—witty in a way that kept you on your toes. he listened, asked questions, and actually seemed interested in your rants about movies, books, music—whatever else slipped past your lips.

at some point, you caught yourself not hiding the smiles anymore, leaning in a little closer. it was easy—too easy—to get comfortable around him.

still, you reminded yourself: it was just playful banter. nothing more, nothing less.

at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

as the evening settled in, you and jungwon stepped out of the café. the cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth of your conversation. the streets were quieter, bathed in the golden light of street lamps.

“you didn’t have to walk me back, you know,” you said, glancing at him.

“i wanted to.”

you didn’t protest, secretly enjoying the way his presence made the walk feel shorter, lighter—better. the conversation continued, usual teasing remarks mixed with moments of quiet comfort. by the time you reached your doorstep, an unfamiliar hesitation lingered between you two.

“well,” you started, gripping the strap of your bag. “thanks. i had fun today.”

jungwon grinned, but this time, there was no smugness behind it. his smile felt softer. “me too. see you tomorrow?”

you nodded, stepping inside, giving him a little wave he reciprocated. when the door clicked shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

as jungwon walked away from your house, the usual confidence in his steps faltered. the night air felt heavier, and for the first time in a while, he found himself deep in thought.

at first, it was fun—teasing you, watching you get flustered, sneaking in compliments just to see your reaction. it was easy, something he never took seriously.

but now?

now there was this unknown feeling in his chest, one he didn’t understand. the way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up as you ranted about your favorite songs, the way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice—it all replayed in his mind, like an arctic monkeys album on repeat.

he liked you.

the realization hit him. it was both exciting and terrifying because it wasn’t harmless flirting anymore. it wasn’t a game anymore.

and suddenly, fear crept in—the fear of messing up, of ruining the dynamic you already had, of what minju would think, of what you would think if you found out how he was starting to care.

with a sigh, he pulled out his phone, hesitating before typing a message. but in the end, he deleted it, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he continued walking.

for now, he’d play it safe.

but he knew these feelings weren’t going to disappear anytime soon.

minju has been acting weird. not in a way that it’s obvious to everyone—she still laughed at gyuvin’s dumb jokes and rolled her eyes when taesan ranted about some rock band he had a hyper fixation on. but with you, something shifted.

she didn’t text as often, and when she did, her replies seemed distant and dry. at lunch, she still sat beside you, but the stiffness in her posture gave out how she was forcing herself to act normal.

you had a guess it was about jungwon, but there was no direct proof. she hadn’t said anything, nor confronted you. she hadn’t even mentioned his name. when you caught her looking at you, you could see an unreadable emotion—something about it pained you so much, no words would be able to explain it.

the worst part about it all—she pretended everything was normal, when it was clear as hell it was not.

did she think you wouldn’t notice?

you had enough.

after a week of minju’s distant behavior—short replies, the forced smiles, all the excuses—you could not take it anymore.

so when the last class of the day ended, before she could storm off as she did the past week, you gathered up all the courage you had and reached for her wrist.

“minju, wait.”

she froze for a second, carefully turning to you, her expression blank. “what?”

you exhaled, steadying yourself. “can we talk?”

you could recognize slight hesitation in her eyes. but then she sighed, pulling her wrist from your hold. “okay.”

you didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, she already knew what you were about to say.

as the teacher stepped out of the classroom, leaving you two completely alone, you opened your mouth to say something—but nothing comes out. the guarded look on minju’s face made you hesitate.

still, you pressed further. “minju… have i done something wrong?”

her brows furrowed, like she did not expect that. “what do you mean?”

“you have been avoiding me—barely talking, no daily update texts, you don’t even look at me!” you said it all in one breath. “please, tell me if i have done something wrong.”

she scoffed, shaking her head. “you didn’t do anything.”

“that doesn’t sound really convincing.”

she exhaled heavily, gripping the strap of her backpack. “i just—” she stopped herself, biting her bottom lip, before muttering, “nevermind, it’s nothing.”

you frowned. “it is if it’s making you act like this.”

she looked conflicted, her fingers twitched, like she wanted to grab something, maybe steady herself. then, she let out a humorless chuckle.

“you really don’t get it, do you?”

you raised your eyebrow, signaling her to elaborate.

minju sighed. it wasn’t her usual frustrated huff, it was heavier, emotionally deeper.

“it’s jungwon.”

you blinked. “jungwon?”

she nodded, letting out a breath she was holding. “you and him. i see the way you two are.”

you looked at her confused, not exactly understanding what she meant.

she looked at you, her eyes did not hold any frustration behind them, they were hurt.

“i hate it.” her hands clenched at her sides. “i hate seeing you with him. i hate that your smile is brighter with him rather than me.”

your breath hitched at her sudden confession. “minju…”

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way, i know it’s selfish,” she continued, her voice wavering. “but i can’t help it. you were my best friend. and now—” she swallowed hard.

“now, i feel like i’m losing you.”

you could feel your heart ache. minju had always been at your side, and you’re making her feel like this.

you took a step closer, taking her hand. “ju…”

she shook her head, wiping a few stray tears with her free hand. “i just don’t want you to leave me behind.”

you hesitated, guilt twisting inside you. fidgeting with your fingers, you remembered all the times minju had been distant lately, the way she avoided you, the way warmth in her was replaced by something unfamiliar, colder. it wasn’t about jungwon. it was about you. about her. about the space growing between you.

you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her more than you already did.

your arms flung around her, hugging her tightly. you whispered, “i won’t see him anymore.”

minju’s eyes widened. “what?”

“if it brings you that much pain… i’ll stop.”

for a moment, she stared at you, as if she didn’t believe you. then her lips parted slightly, letting out a shaky breath.

“…thank you,” she whispered, hugging you back.

you gave her a small smile, as you continued to hold her. but deep down, you felt something twist painfully.

you ignored the feeling, because if staying away from jungwon would fix things, then that’s what you will do.

you will keep your distance. you will ignore the way your heart pulled you in the opposite direction.

making things right with minju was what mattered the most.

but as you held her, a storm of emotions burst inside you, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this decision would leave a crack in your heart that might never heal.

that night, as you lied in bed, the weight of your promise crashed on you like a big pile of stones. every time you closed your eyes, you saw jungwon’s smile — the way his dimples would appear when he teased you, the way his eyes softened when you reacted to it. you tried to push these thoughts away, telling yourself it was for minju, but to no avail. the harder you tried to fight it, the more his face lingered in your brain. was this really the right thing to do?

you decided to scroll through your chat with him — for the last time, before everything comes to an end. going back to older texts, you stared at your phone, that one message glowing on the screen: “hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl”. a smile tugged at your lips, before quickly wiping it away, remembering minju’s tear-strained face. she was—is your best friend—your person. you had to fulfill what you promised. but then why did it hurt so much, even from a mere thought of letting jungwon go?

you decided to go wash up, maybe a cold shower will freshen you up.

that’s what you thought.

the cold water hit your skin, sharp and biting, but it did little to wash away the mess in your mind. you stood there, letting the water hit you, hoping that it would drown out the thoughts about jungwon. but instead, it only made them louder. overwhelming thoughts clouded your mind. what if this was all a mistake? your—whatever it is—with jungwon. maybe he really didn’t care about you, maybe he was just bored and decided to play with you. but then you remembered the way he looked at you — like you were the only one in the whole world. undoubtedly, jungwon made you feel like it. you remember the way his hand held yours back in the arcade — warm and steady, like the tickling of a clock. even now, you swore you could still feel it, under the icy stream, the ghost of his touch hugged your fingers.

was it possible to miss someone that much?

after what you thought would be a refreshing shower, your mind never cleared up. changing into pjs and trying to sleep—uncountable attempts at emptying your head and tossing and turning in your bed.

concluding that trying to fall asleep was pointless, you went to your small balcony, the cramped comfortable place with a small couch. you always liked it, the way the city noise faded into distant hums, the way the sofa would cradle you when everything was too heavy.

you hugged you knees to your chest, looking up at the star-filled night sky, the cool air brushing against your skin. the familiar comfort of the balcony couldn’t help with the ache in your heart. why did it have to be like this? why did you have to choose between the person who was always there for you and the person who made your heart race in a way that you’d never felt before?

life is so unfair.

you knew that the next day would be challenging. you woke up earlier than usual, just so you wouldn’t bump into jungwon at your locker, just so you didn’t have to regret the decision.

one thing you were grateful for—jungwon wasn’t in your class. belle and gyuvin were—they helped you to empty your mind, they made things so much easier for you. at that moment you silently thanked them for being there.

during lunch, you sat at your usual table, forcing a smile as belle and gyuvin had a heated debate over something silly again. minju was next to you, her laugh ringing out as she teased gyuvin for his unluckiness. she was looking better, happier.

she gave you hope that everything might be okay. when she noticed you looking down, which she always did, she took a hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly. you looked at her, smiling and squeezing her hand back, signaling that everything was okay.

it was a lie.

you noticed jungwon coming closer to your location with your peripheral vision and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking, but you had to. you could since the way his gaze lingered on you for a second too long. you couldn’t reciprocate it, you shouldn’t. so you didn’t, you simply ignored him, rather engaging in a chat with your friends about who knows what.

this choices pained you, but you didn’t pay attention to it. thinking everything will be alright as long as you don’t acknowledge it. just to make sure, you squeezed the hand in your again, hoping the gesture would help to relax, but all it did was remind you of the promise that could be broken with a single glance.

it will be fine.

that’s the phrase you kept telling yourself, over and over, like a mantra. but as you sat there, surrounded by your friends, their laughter and chatting filling the air, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were lying to yourself and everyone else. you didn’t wanna believe it, refusing to accept your own thoughts. everything will become easier.

right?

the rest of the day passed in a blur. everything was as usual—you answered some questions in class, nodding along your conversations, even laughing at the right moments. you tried to delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, and you almost succeeded. in the back of your mind, thoughts about jungwon still lingered.

when the last bell rang, you let out the sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. you hurried back to your locker, you had to go home as quicker as possible, you didn’t want to encounter with anyone. but to your luck, fate had other plans for you.

“hey”

the familiar tone of his voice made you freeze. slowly closing the door to your locker, you stepped back, to make the distance a little bit longer between you two, as it didn’t feel as an enormous canyon already.

as your gaze met his, for the first time today, you were stunned. there he was in all his glory — jungwon. he was casually leaning against the lockers, hands holding his backpack.

“you’ve been avoiding me” the way he said this was light, but it carried something heavy, his eyes tell everything.

you open your mouth to deny, but you can’t. because its true. you have been avoiding him. you did everything just to not interact with him. suddenly, you can’t look him at the eyes, unable to focus on anything, your eyes run across the hall, just to find something. anything.

“is everything alright?” his soft, somewhat scared tone made your eyes flicker to him again. this time, he wasn’t looking at you, instead, he stared at the floor beneath him.

if the smirk that had a place on his face at the start of the conversation, now it disappeared. his face carried so many emotions, but one stood out the most.

fear.

this is the first time you see him like this, the confident, cocky jungwon, was now too scared to look at your eyes, asking such a simple, but at the same time difficult question. you didn’t know what to do.

one part of your mind whispered—to apologize for ignoring him, to hug and to comfort him. you want to say that you didn’t want to make him feel like this. but on the other hand, someone screams at you to go away, to stop seeing him, to tell him to block your number. and the one thing that pulls you to do so, is the promise between you and minju.

you never have broken your promises, never. even in the third grade when you got one C, you promised your parents to get 100 in all the classes next semester. that you did, even when you were sure that they wouldn’t mind if you got less. even in the 7th grade, when you promised to bake cookies for all your friends, with zero knowledge of baking. you still did it, even if the taste wasn’t that amazing. you still did it.

you can’t break the promise you made yesterday, the promise to your beloved best friend.

what you were about to do will hurt you, and you will definitely regret it, but it just had to be done.

“lets stop this” you say sternly, trying to hide away all the pain that your own decision brought you, hoping that it will ease the impact on jungwon, fully knowing that it wont.

“what?” his head shot up, a surprised look evident on his face. for a moment, he just stared at you, as if waiting for you to laugh and say it was a joke. but that moment didn’t come, his expression shifted, confusion and hurt played on his face, along with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.his eyebrows furrowed, “are you serious?”, his voice cracking slightly.

you just nod your head, despite the storm and explosions inside your brain. fixing the bag strap on your shoulder, you just walk away, like it didn’t bother you, like you didn’t care about the record shop, arcade, cafe, like every his message didn’t bring you joy, like you didn’t care about him.

each step was heavier than the last one, you could feel the way he stared at you from behind, even when you wanted to, you wouldn’t dare to meet his eyes. if you did, you were sure you’d break.

tears welled up in your eyes. you want to apologize, want to say that it was just a stupid prank. but you couldn’t. not even for him.

as you walked away from the school grounds, you let tears spill, not able hold them back anymore. you wiped them away, but they kept coming, they were serving a reminder of what you just did, what you just lost.

as you walked home, the weight of your decision settled with unexplainable pain in your chest, a constant sickness that didn’t fade.

when jungwon arrived home after that night, he started thinking immediately.

should he confess or should he wait? if the first, then how? where? with flowers? with a plushie? with a vinyl?

as he thought about these, the moments of your talk flickered in his memory. not wanting to forget a single detail, jungwon grabs his notepad and writes down everything he remembers.

even after scribbling down his thoughts, his heart didn’t calm down—it still raced, he couldn’t understand, it was the first time he felt this way, he didn’t think that someone would be able to make his stomach flip with every emotion known to the world. he leaned back in his chair, spinning mindlessly around his room as different outcomes played in his mind. he was fed up with all this overthinking.

he should rest.

that’s the conclusion he came to. jungwon rushed to the shower, turned up the coldest temperature and screamed in terror.

that’s not what you do, idiot

after adjusting the temperature, he basked in the comfortable rain, calming down his mind and heart. that night he slept almost worry-free.

the week went smoothly, usual eye contact with you at lunches became something more, little waves joining the routine. jungwon tried to talk with you during breaks more too, finding you at your locker or vending machine in the backyard of the school campus.

sometimes you would share short jokes with each other, laughing quietly. the other, you would get to know each other more, playing 21 questions, this way jungwon was able to show you the picture of maeumi and find out that you adore dogs, especially the small ones. that small fact brought a smile on his face, he started to imagine the walks that you two would go on, he’d bring maeumi along, and you would have a nice picnic date, maybe.

he was quickly snapped back into reality with your next question, pretending that he didn’t just imagine how you would intertwine hands.

one time, you were quiet with each other. it could’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t, it was comforting actually. the wind gently blowing on you, carrying faint noise from other classes along. you two would just laugh at that while making eye contact.

everything seemed to go smoothly, jungwon was already brainstorming ideas for his confession—already sure with his choice. there was just one question left to ask: what is your favorite arctic monkeys song.

and he was sure that today he would ask it.

the morning went as usual, he got up, brushed his teeth, got dressed and went to school. his first period was math, but even that couldn’t ruin his mindset, which wasn’t unnoticed by his friend, sunoo.

“what’s up with you today? you’re never this hyped for mr. lee’s class”, he asked, looking at jungwon like he grew 2 heads.

“it’s nothing, just have big plans” and that he did, jungwon planned to take you to the vinyl shop where you met during the break. listen to some albums and ask you the question he badly needed an answer to.

“something related to y/n?” sunoo asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

instead of a response, jungwon just smiled, the red cheeks answered for him. and when he heard the giggle his classmate made, the blush only deepened.

up until lunch, jungwon couldn’t contain the happiness he had, smiling through all his classes, even through chemistry. his classmates looked at him like a maniac, i mean, who smiles during organic chemistry explanation?

he didn’t care about all that tho, all he wanted is to see you at lunch, look at your eyes and smile.

when he met up with jay near the cafeteria, he knew that they would pass your usual table, he mentally prepared himself for that moment.

he walked in your direction, that way, you would face each other perfectly, and when he almost waved, you refused to meet his gaze, preferring to engage in a conversation with your friends.

the smile on jungwons face immediately faltered. he felt an instant drop in his chest, confusion overtook his expression, if the cafeteria wasn’t so crowded, he would definitely stand like a deer.

jays arm was placed on his back so he would continue walking, and jungwon couldn’t help but submit. a wave of emotions struck him. what was that just now?

he could only keep walking, but the only thing replaying on his mind was how you turned away from him. over and over.

did i imagine that? maybe y/n just didn’t see me, yea that has to be it.

he tried to reason with his own brain, but the more he thinks about the interaction, the more doubt he has. you looked at everyone else, hell, jungwon swore, you looked at his direction for a millisecond. you saw him, you just—chose not to.

the weird feeling appeared in his stomach, not the one from before, no. it didn’t make him giggly and happy, instead, it made him sorrowful, doubtful.

jays words don’t even make sense now, jungwon can’t hear them, all he can think about is: what did i do wrong?

when he met up with his other friends, his mind was somewhere else, he didn’t answer their questions, he couldn’t even hear them, he was deeply immersed in his own thoughts. every single possibility crossing his mind. he had to ask you what was that.

after lunch, he could not focus. if in the morning it was because of the happiness that distracted him, now it was the misery casting upon him. he had to get out of this class immediately. jungwon counted seconds until the bell. and when finally it rang—he ran to the backyard with all his strength. he doesn’t mind his friends who look at him confused, he has to go to your spot. and when he arrives—

nothing.

jungwon is met with emptiness of the backyard, if you wanted to come here, then you would, your classroom was literally a minute away, unlike his. but you didn’t.

you’re not near the vending machine, not sitting on the bench, and you’re not even crouched down in the corner where you two would usually sit.

then it hits him. it’s not a coincidence.

you’re avoiding him.

jungwon just stands there, not knowing what to do. he takes in the silence—the emptiness. the place that was associated with warmth was colder than any winter.

now he must talk to you. he checks his watch, it was 2 minutes before the bell on the last lesson. he had no choice but to come back. when his friends tried to question him, jungwon just shrugged, signaling that he didn’t want to answer anything.

he just has to wait for another hour. damn it.

when that painfully long 60 minutes passed, jungwon stuffed all his things into his backpack, not caring if it was messy, which was unlike him, he always made sure that his notebooks are all organized. the mess in his head made his actions look chaotic.

when he arrived at the lockers, he saw you. rushing to put all your textbooks in a tiny blue locker. why were you in such a hurry? is it because you didn’t want to see him?

jungwon shakes his head, there was no time to overthink, he just had to ask, you were right here, in front of him.

as he tried to calm his mind down, you were almost done. he leaned against the lockers, almost whispering:

“hey”

jungwon could see you stop in your movements, this little detail made his heart sink, his hands gripping the backpack strap so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

as you carefully close your locker and take a step back, which breaks his heart, you finally look at him, at that moment, jungwon felt mute, he couldn’t get any words out of his mouth, and he had plenty. he wanted to curse at you, question you, adore you, but all that he is able to muster out is — “you’ve been avoiding me”

you look stunned, like you didn’t expect that question, but quickly that expression transformed into one of regret? that only made jungwon more curious at what you had to say. he felt despair, he was dying to know what prompted such behavior from you.

after noticing how your orbs scanned through the school hall, he couldn’t continue looking at you, instead, shifting his gaze to the floor, wishing that it would swallow him as a whole. “is everything alright?”, he manages to whisper.

few seconds later, which felt like an eternity, you look at him, with a stare so harsh, that it felt like a hit by a metal bat.

“let’s stop this” you say, and jungwon can’t believe his ears. his breath got caught in his throat. you didn’t have to specify what you meant by ‘this’. it was obvious, you both acknowledged the growing tension between the two of you.

he felt like a deer in headlights. “are you serious?” he asks, because he feels like you’re joking. he is waiting for you to laugh at him, to point his expression, just say something, anything.

but you don’t, you just nod, rubbing salt into the wound. and when it couldn’t get worse, it did. you turned away and walked away. just walked away. the ache in his chest spread all over.

jungwon felt devastated. after everything — you just turn away from him? he wants to cry, to break down, but doesn’t find any strength in himself to do so.

he just watches your figure slowly disappear when you walk towards the direction of your home.

you cried the whole evening.

when you just got home, you broke down, disturbing everyone present. your mom looked so heartbroken at the sight of her daughter in such misery. and she couldn’t do anything but give you a comforting hug and offer your favorite tea, which was enough.

your dad decided to give you space, which you were grateful for. you didn’t know what to do and what to think. you just…had no idea.

even your older brother gave you some space by not teasing you for your tears, feeling that it was something serious.

when you went up to your room, you dropped your bag, which resulted in a loud noise, but you paid no mind to it, you just wanted to cry.

not bothering to change out of your school uniform, you collapsed onto your bed. the dampness of your pillowcase only reminded you the reason why you were crying.

jungwon.

the way he looked so hopeful, but so doubtful at the same time. visions of him only strengthened the flow of your emotions.

you want to apologize, to call him, to confess in everything you felt, how he made your heart race, or how you couldn’t think straight way back when you two met at the photobooth.

and then you remember minju. how happy she looked, like she was released from the heaviest load. or how she looked when she admitted her feelings, how much stress she buried within herself.

all these overwhelming feelings made you tremble. your fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, gripping it so it could somehow steady you, like it could calm down the storm in your mind. you tried to take a deep breath, but it only made everything worse—you could smell the scent of cinnamon of your shampoo, the one that jungwon teased you for all the time.

you exhaled. shaky and unsteady.

why did it feel like this?

every time you though of him—his eyes searching yours in the sea of others, his smile with unforgettable dimples, that made you giggle too—it felt like a weight pressuring down on you. you squeezed your eyes shut in attempt to forget those memories, but they clung to you, like lyrics of the song you loved.

you had done the right thing.

then why was the pain so sharp?

monday was a dread. the start of the work week, the sudden change in the sleeping schedule and an overwhelming amount of tasks and responsibilities weighing over you.

but this week, it’s even worse. because this week, you had to face him again.

you still weren’t over the emotions that consumed you over the weekends, still feeling regret, melancholy and sorrow. and that showed in your academics. you had no energy to even talk, there’s no need to mention solving an equation at the board.

thanks to your good reputation, teachers decided to let you rest, that you needed. honestly, you wouldn’t have come to school, if not for the physics quiz, but there is one.

your friends—belle and gyuvin—seemed really worried, asking you numerous questions about your well being. you didn’t wanna explain, so you just said that you didn’t sleep well. an excuse that works all the time.

you felt bad for lying, but you felt that the moment his name will leave your lips, you would break down in tears, not wanting to embarrass yourself further, you saved yourself the trouble.

your look hasn’t changed at all when it was lunchtime. barely making your way to the cafeteria, dragging your legs across the floor. when you did arrive there, you felt overwhelmed, your mind clouded with scrabbled thoughts, and suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe.

trying to compose yourself, you get to your usual lunch table where everyone else were waiting. plumping yourself on the seat and greeting others, you pick on your food, having no appetite, even though you haven’t had breakfast in the morning.

all the words don’t make sense, whatever minju is telling you, it goes into one ear and leaves through the other, you can’t focus on anything.

the struggle to breathe came back. dropping your utensils, you grab your head, not being able to deal with all these noises. you could feel tears forming in your eyes, daring to roll down. the heartbeat went far away from normal.

this is not you, focus y/n

you try to tell yourself, but to no avail. you could feel like the control of your body slipped away from your grasp.

suddenly, there was a sharp sensation, someone is trying to wake you up, shaking you. its minju.

“y/n? y/n! Y/N?”

it is definitely her. her voice stands out from the crowd. you could finally see what’s happening around you, blurry, but good enough.

“follow me. inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale” minju repeated worryingly, imitating what she meant.

you did as she asked, inhale and exhale, and repeat.

feeling the warmth of the real world, you gasp, your hands quickly taking ahold of whatever first came into contact, which happened to be your best friend’s arms.

“y/n! are you alright? what happened?” all the eyes were on you, staring into your soul.

“i…don’t know, i juts lost myself for a second, i guess…”

“come with me, ill walk you to the nurses office” minju says and immediately brings you up, giving you no room to refuse.

having no choice, you follow her, hoping to get a little bit of silent time.

jungwon watched this unfold from few meters away.

the moment he saw you, tirelessly dragging yourself to your friends, he couldn’t tear away his gaze from you, not even the pain you brought stopped him. he just knew that something was wrong.

when the faint sound of chopsticks falling onto the table could be heart, he became tense, stopped eating himself.

the tears that formed at your eyes made his eyes widen, and his posture weird, like he wanted to stand up and come to you.

jungwon’s fingers twitched against the table, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, but he wanted to.

while he was in the internal conflict, his body moved up on its own, but not making more moves, like testing his limits, if he can hold himself back.

but his mind was too slow. his own cousin was already helping you, trying to snap you back into reality. he could feel his chest tighten at the sight.

was it jealousy? was it sorrow? maybe both? jungwon didn’t know, only you were on his mind.

how he hates to see you in pain and how you pained him. the contrast was overwhelming, but before he could even decide what to do, you were walking away, in the arms of minju.

what was he supposed to do? was he supposed to do anything? questions filled his mind.

he didn’t even notice how he sat back, his mind being too clouded.

jungwon hopes he will have a chance to know if you’re well.

the moment you lied down on the bed in the nurses office —you fell into a deep slumber, having no worry in the world, it might have seemed like that, but it was actually the opposite. the overwhelming amount of things that clouded your mind made you pass out.

to be frank, the sleep was nice. but the sound of someone calling your name disturbed it.

and just like that, you were woken up and met with the face of your own mom.

she sweetly said: “sweetie, i’m here to pick you up. your homeroom teacher told me what happened. are you okay?”

“im fine now. what time is it?” you answer her, scratching your head, ignoring the mess that formed there.

she looked at her watch and looked back at you. “2:30, you won’t miss much, don’t worry”

“alright, should we go now?” you stand up on your feet, holding her hand.

your mother just nodded at you, saying goodbye to the nurse.

when she finished filling out the form, she took ahold of your shoulders, as to steady you.

“im alright mom, i wont fall”

“better be safe than sorry” she said softly, but worry was evident in her voice.

“if that makes you feel better”

as you both sat down in the car, the feeling of drowsiness appeared again. the drive to your house was not short, so you decided to sleep for a bit. your mind was clear as day, like it was washed, which is so unusual for you, especially in the past few days.

when you arrive at the house, you decided to check your phone, several messages appeared, some from social media, some from other stuff, and a lot from the specific group chat.

it was your friend group chat — and multiple messages made it clear that you made them worry a lot.

minju: y/n pls text when you’re feeling better :(

belle: yes! and don’t forget to drink lots of water and rest a bunch TT

taesan: belle is right, you should rest. don’t come to school tmrw

gyuvin: you made us worried bro 😭 don’t scare us like that the next time

smiling at their care, you quickly type a response.

you: sorry everyone! thank you for all the support, and i don’t think ill come tmrw either TT

you: im alright now tho, just gonna rest a lot lol

a few bubbles appear immediately, wishing you a good rest, and saying that you should take better care of yourself.

you reacted to their messages, silently promising that you will do as they said.

putting your phone on the charger, you change into more comfortable clothes and go back to your bed, ready to make up for missing sleep the past week.

tuesday, you, as promised, didn't show up. minju was glad that you let yourself rest, even if it’s just for a day. she was worried about you after all, it wasn't like you to have a panic attack in the middle of lunch.

it was boring though. usually, you’re the one who agrees with minju, the one who would listen to her. it’s not like the others won’t, but it just wasn’t the same.

“whatever,” minju thought. “at least i leave early today”

today was some kind of a family event at her house, her mom loved inviting guests over. jungwon will be there too. minju didn't feel anger as she usually does, talking with you helped a lot more than she thought.

after the fourth period, right before lunch, minju was already packing her bag. as she walked to the gates, she noticed a familiar figure waiting there.

“jungwon?” minju asked, when she was close enough.

the said boy turned around to face her, he didn't seem surprised though, like he was waiting for her.

“oh, hey. my mom will be here soon”

“huh? auntie is picking me up?” minju was surprised to hear that, as she wasn’t notified of this.

jungwon looked at her weirdly, raising one of his brows. “yea? pretty sure, your mom texted you about this.”

minju immediately checked her phone—taking it from her pocket—and jungwon was right. there was a message from her mother that minju will be picked up from school.

“oh.”

awkwardness filled the air; it was weird, the two of them got along just well, playfully bantering, but supporting each other when needed.

“are you alright? you seem pretty out of it” minju broke the silence, genuinely worried for his well-being.

“huh? oh yeah, just fine” he replied, his words trailing off into something barely audible.. “um,” jungwon hesitated.

“is y/n good…?” the question was asked impulsively, jungwon was surprised himself.

minju looked at him weirdly. “yes, she is. why do you care?” the previous awkwardness shifted into something more sharp and stern. friendliness slowly disappearing.

“i guess, i was worried. looked like she was having a hard time yesterday.” he didn't mind minju’s tone, like it was normal for her, which it kinda was.

their one-sided tension was interrupted by the sound of a car honk. it was jungwon’s mom.

“hey, you two! get in! we’re already late!”

the two teenagers looked in her direction and sprinted off to the vehicle. both of them got into the backseat, on the opposite sides. while minju was talking with her auntie, jungwon decided to wear his headphones and tune into his world of music.

when they arrived to park household, minju and miss yang went to the kitchen to help minju’s mom, while jungwon went upstairs to minju’s room.

“you can go to my room” he recalls her saying.

as he walks in, jungwon is met with a splash of sky blue. her bed is made, with different jellycats on top of it, near it, minju’s desk stands, different makeup tools and school stuff lay on it. but jungwon’s attention goes to the board above her desk. different polaroids and photobooth photos are there, but his gaze is fixed on only one.

three photos with you and minju. you look exactly the same as the day when he first met you. the same sweater, hairstyle and lipgloss.

jungwon’s eyes widened. he doesn't know why. he is aware that you’re best friends with his cousin, so why did his chest tighten?

he still likes you.

that’s right. he still does. even after you said that you gave to stop seeing each other, his feelings still lingered.

“hey jungwon, you should go downst-”

minju stopped in her tracks when she sees her cousin staring at her board with pictures. her eyes immediately landed on what he's staring at—those pictures.

“oh, yeah, lets g-” he didn’t have time to finish his sentence as the sudden door slam scared him.

“what’s up with you? first you ask about y/n, and now you’re staring at her photos? didn't i tell you to stop whatever you're planning?” annoyance was evident in minju’s voice. she hated the fact that jungwon looked like he cared about you, minju knew he didn’t, she hoped he didn’t.

jungwon's chest tightened, his hands formed fists as a habit whenever anyone raised their voice at him.

"what are you talking about?" his voice was quite, but sharp.

minju scoffed at his ignorance. “don't play dumb, jungwon. you know exactly what im talking about. its y/n”

his jaw clenched. the sound of her name felt like a hit in the ribs. “what? i can't ask if she’s okay now?” he tried to play it cool, he didn't want to show his vulnerability.

minju let out a dry laugh. “you don’t get to pretend like you care.”

jungwon couldn’t believe what was he hearing now, he can’t back down now, that’s for sure. “you think i was, am pretending this whole time?”

minju was stubborn, her knuckles turned white. “then explain, why did she stop talking to you, huh? if you truly cared for her, then she wouldn’t walk away, right?”

jungwon flinched. his heart rate picked up and his fingers curled tighter into his palms.

he has been asking himself the exact same thing.

he sharply exhaled, forcing his voice to stay steady. “how about you tell me?”

minju froze, her eyes widened, her hands relaxed.

her reaction wasn’t unnoticed by jungwon. that’s when the realization hit him.

“so it was you? you told her to do it” his gaze locked on hers—piercing, demanding to confess.

“yea, so? it was the best choice for her” minju snapped, but quickly quieted down, as she started to pick ner nails. nervousness took a hold of her.

jungwon let out another exhale. “you cannot be serious now” he took a step closer. “who are you to decide what’s best for her?”

minju was triggered, she was everything he wasn’t to you. “i am her best friend, who are you to decide that you’re the one who she needs?”

“are you calling yourself her best friend when you can’t even see and value her feelings?”

“I-” minju had no words. he was right, she made you stop talking with him out of her selfishness. she wanted to keep you for herself. she didn’t want jungwon to take you from her. she didn’t want that to happen again.

“yeah, exactly.” he looked at her for one last time before rushing to the front door. he needed some fresh air.

“jungwon? where are you going?” “to the shop, i'll be quick!”

minju could hear voices downstairs, she was completely frozen. she was slapped with realization that she had no right to decide what’s best for you. even if she just wanted you to be happy.

tears formed in her eyes, silently running down her cheeks. minju leaned against her door and plumped on the ground, sobbing inaudibly.

she can’t just do nothing now. she was proven wrong. she hurt two of her closest people. the guilt was eating her alive.

minju stood up and sprinted to the front door, shouting “i’ll be right back!” ignoring the yell from her mom, she had no time, she had to apologize to you.

it’s a 15 minute walk from her house to yours, but she made it in 7. she started ringing your doorbell, even when she was still catching her breath.

“minju? what’s up- what happened?” you opened the door just to be met with your best friend breathing profusely, her face slightly puffy. from the looks of it, she looks like she cried. “did you cry? are you alright?”

when minju calmed down and was able to breath properly, she looked at you straight into the eyes.

“y/n, i-i am sorry. i’m so sorry.” she started apologizing, for what? you had no idea.

your brows furrowed. “huh? minju, why are you apologizing?”

her hands clenched at her sides. she looked like she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

you had never seen her like this before—so frustrated with herself, so shaken.

she swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “i’m so sorry y/n, it was me”

you were still dumbfounded. “what?”

minju’s voice cracked, but she kept going. “i was the one who made you stop talking with jungwon” she exhaled sharply. “i thought it would be for the best, but it wasn’t. i acted on impulse and because i was selfish. i thought if you and jungwon got close, you wouldn’t need me anymore. i didn’t want you to talk to him because of that, but i never asked you how you felt, and i guess you really like him, maybe i knew it the whole time, but didn’t want to indulge into the thought that i was in the wrong, but it doesn’t matter” she rambled before making a quick pause.

minju’s eyes were glistening again, her voice barely above whisper. “i hurt you both with my actions, and i want to apologize.” she wiped her eyes harshly.

minju took a deep breath and stepped closer, bowing almost 90 degrees. “i know i don’t deserve it-” her voice was raw with emotions. “can you forgive me?”

you listened to all her ramblings, trying to catch everything. and when you did, your mind went blank.

you had tried to justify what you did—tried to convince yourself it was for the best. but now, hearing minju say it out loud, admitting her mistakes, the truth weighed heavier than you had imagined. a moment of silence has passed before you broke it off.

“minju, i forgive you” you replied to her apology. “i understand how you felt, and i guess it was wrong to just randomly start talking with your relative.”

minju stood straight and grabbed your shoulders. “no! it was entirely my fault! i have no right of controlling who you decide to talk to.”

you placed your hands on her own. “i never knew you felt that way. i’m sorry for not noticing.” you bitterly smiled, feeling guilty.

minju hugged you, shuffling her head into your neck. you instinctively hugger her back, her tears dampening your shirt.

“come on, i’ll make you some tea”

you had spent an hour or two calming minju down.

she kept apologizing even after you told her you forgive her.

you listened to her worried and reasons behind her actions, and you never knew that she felt like this.

“you should confess to him, you know?” minju suddenly said, making you almost spit out your tea.

“huh? who said i liked him?” you looked around, like searching for the guilty one.

“it is pretty obvious. you never get flustered around anyone. the only time i remember was back in 8th grade.” she put her head into her head. “was his name jongseob, or something? you liked him a lot” minju reminded you of an old crush, which made you more embarrassed.

“ugh, stop, it’s embarrassing.” you lightly hit her. “i don’t think jungwon even wants to see me now. not after i said all that stuff to him.” tearing your gaze away from her, you looked around.

“you’re kidding. he literally asked me only about you today. ‘is y/n okay?’ ‘is she doing alright’ blah blah blah” she exaggerated even more by showing talking signs with her hands.

you quietly laughed at her antics. “i don’t know. i think he doesn’t want to see me”

“if there’s anyone he doesn’t want to see, it’s me, i promise you” she breathed out. “we got into a fight which resulted in me coming here.”

you looked at her with pity. “sorry, i guess, i am the reason behind it”

“stop. don’t blame yourself. it was all me.” minju looked at you sternly.

“sorry-“ you couldn’t hold yourself.

“stop apologizing! you should fix that habit of yours, it starts to get annoying”

you laughed lightly at her, almost apologizing again.

when minju came back home, everyone was gone. her place was filled with silence.

“oh, minju, where were you? you missed everything” her mothers voice filled the air.

“sorry, i had to do something urgent. has everyone left already?” she quickly made her way to the living room, where her dad was napping and her mom was watching the TV.

“yes, about half an hour ago. did you and jungwon had a fight? he looked pretty sad.”

“uh, yeah, it was my fault. i’ll apologize to him soon, don’t worry” minju felt guilty at the mention of her cousins name.

“i hope so, he looked miserable. you two always got along well too” her mom sighed, “go to sleep, you have school tomorrow”

“alright, good night” minju said as she went upstairs.

“good night!”

the next day, you didn’t have any trouble with breathing nor steadying yourself. you were just nervous. in the morning, minju pulled you aside, telling you that you need to confess to jungwon today.

after that, your focus was shifted to something else. how will he react after seeing you? to you confessing? will he reciprocate? will he reject you? all kinds of thoughts filled your mind up until lunch.

you wanted to look for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. when you felt his presence near, you quietly turned your head to look at him, just to find him already looking at you.

kathump.

the feeling in your chest was back. your heart rate sped up again.

a light hit made you snap back, it was minju, she wore a teasing smile that literally said “i told you so”

your mind went back to that interaction the rest of the day. you couldn’t stop thinking about it. but when it was the time to talk to him, you were ready to go straight home.

you were scared. when minju noticed your hesitance, she slightly pushed you.

“your prince charming is waiting, look” she pointed at the direction where jungwon stood.

when you turned to look at your best friend, she was already leaving, mouthing you a good luck.

oh you needed it.

as minju disappeared from your view, you looked back at jungwon.

there he was. hands in pockets, standing tall.

you decided to take one step. and you already felt dizzy.

it’s okay. you can do it.

you quietly said to yourself. you swallowed hard. every step towards him felt heavier, like your legs didn’t want to move.

but you that you had to, that you wanted to.

as you were almost there, he looked at you. jungwon just stood there and watched your approach him. even though his hands were barely visible, you swear his fingers twitched—like he was holding himself back from walking to you.

you stoped in front of him.

silence.

the weight of everything crashed down at once .

“I-“ you started, but didn’t know how to finish. you just stared at him.

and he stared at you back. he blinked at you—his expression unreadable, but his eyes, they were curious, like they were searching for the reason you came up to him.

you turned your gaze to the ground below you, unable to stand under the pressure of his eyes. fingers finding the straps of your jacket.

“jungwon, i-“ you took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to look at him again. “i’m sorry.”

his face flickered with surprise. “for what?”

“for-“ your throat tightened like your grip on your jacket. “for pushing you away. for saying things i didn’t mean. for not asking how you feel. for-“

you exhaled.

“i miss you”

the words made their way out before you could stop them. your feelings summarized in three words. you just missed him.

jungwon froze.

he fixed his posture, continued to look at you, waited for you to continue.

your hands let go of your jacket and balled into fists. “i like you, jungwon” you made a slight pause. “i truly do, i don’t know how and when it started, but-“ you let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head.

“i just know because when i’m not around you, everything feels wrong”

jungwon was still staring, like a deer in headlights, but then, in a second—

his hands weren’t in his pockets anymore, they were on your face.

your breath hitched. you could feel the warmth, both from his hands and your fluster.

his fingertips, warm and gentle, carefully traced over your cheeks-like you weren’t real, like you could disappear in a millisecond.

his voice was barely audible. “are you serious?”

you nodded. “i am”

a small, breathless laugh escapes him.

and then-

he kissed you.

the warmth of his lips connected with yours.

your eyes widened, but you quickly adjusted, closing them, your hands made their way to his shoulders.

when his lips started moving, you couldn’t help but reciprocate. it just felt right.

you kissed each other just right. it felt wonderful.

the lack of air made you pull away first, but jungwon quickly kissed you again.

and when he did pull away, he smiled.

you saw the smile that you adored, the cutest dimples made their way back on his face.

jungwon hugged you, pulling you close by your waist. “i like you too,” he whispered into your ear. “i always wanted to say that.”

you hugged him back and lightly laughed. “so, can i be your girlfriend?” you asked him.

“i’d love that” jungwon replied, stuffing his head deeper into your hair.

you and your boyfriend lied in your room, enjoying each other’s company.

arctic monkeys’ ‘AM’ album playing in the background. and it’s all you could ever ask for.

“still can’t believe minju was the one who promoted you confess” jungwon suddenly said as he played with your hair.

“if it wasn’t for her, i’d never look at your direction again, honestly. you should thank her” looking back at him, you enlightened him.

“nah, we’re even.” he joked. “i’m glad she apologized tho, unexpected from her.”

“stop making her sound like a villain!” you hit him, but you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “she’s the one who made me go to that photobooth.”

jungwon held you tighter, kissing your cheek. “whatever, i have you now. the others don’t matter.”

at that you could only hum, closing your eyes.

as fluorescent adolescent—your favorite song—started playing, you drifted into slumber in your boyfriends arms.

[melanchoire]

stepdaughter chaewon who acts innocent with her stepmom but in reality she is a perv and somehow a dom with her mommy? like she comes back home bc of uni vacations and it’s fascinated by the woman, of course she gets her way with the older woman with the excuse “nobody has to know” or “i just want to make you feel good” while she push down her on the couch to eat her out until she squirts on her pretty face :((, her dad has always been a careless man so he tends to leave both unattended for days so when you both are a whole weekend alone bc he left for some business trip, chaewon would sneak into her mommy’s bedroom and wake her up with sweet kisses on her face and lips and saying “i don’t like mommy being alone” just for the kiss to go down her neck, tits and pussy and of course both end up having a heated night fucking (plsss add scissoring and 69 pose if you can, of course with chaewon on top)

cw: dubcon, scissoring, titsucking.

chaewon returns home from a short college vacation with her friends and finds that her father has started dating a new woman?? after his parents’ divorce a couple of years ago, his father never dared to try to have something with a woman again after being devastated when his ex-lover cheated on him with another man and leave him after a short time, but apparently, he was giving love a new chance and deciding to start a new life from scratch. but of course, chaewon didn’t expect her father to be dating a woman who looked young and like a complete milf...

at first, she was surprised to learn your age because you didn't look like someone in their early thirties. there was obviously some maturity in your features, which looked somewhat marked and serious. but she would never have guessed you were that age! also, chaewon gets a little annoyed at her dad for dating someone and having a certain age difference, i mean, he was in his early forties and you were in your early thirties, but chaewon was a bit of a hypocrite because she was in her early twenties and wouldn't mind dating you despite the age difference of around ten years! after all, who wouldn't want to go out with a hot older woman?

chaewon is playing the role of a sweet and good girl, pretending to be interested in her stepmother just so you will tell her things about your private life so she can get to know you better… she even has the nerve to ask you about your youth, getting you to show her pictures of when you used to be in your twenties, and you hadn’t changed at all! although you didn’t have the same soft, adolescent features and now you looked more mature and like a real woman, her head was spinning just seeing that as time went by you were getting hotter and hotter

she also blackmails you when her father leaves the house for business trips, always being super touchy with you and trying to convince you to let her calm your needs because her father was “too old” to be able to take care of pleasing you as you deserve :( chaewon knows how to fake it very well because at some point you’re considering her proposal no matter how crazy it seems! but you always try to reason with her when chaewon starts wanting to keep her words, trying to convince her that it’s a bad idea and she is just confusing her feelings and thoughts, but she refuses to listen to you! insisting more and more to the point of practically pressuring you to accept her proposal

chaewon sneaking into your room at night, almost drooling at the beautiful silk nightgown you were sleeping in… she would climb into bed, lying down next to you and shamelessly sliding her hands over your body while kissing your lips and starting to leave a trail of kisses all over your neck 😵‍💫 being sleepy at first, you give in to his touch because you think it’s your husband waking you up to let you know he is coming home, but no! you open your eyes to find chaewon on top of you, looking straight into your eyes as she slides her hands under her nightgown and cups your tits 😳

TITSUCKING i’m sorry but chaewon has longed ever since she first saw you to be able to get a real glimpse of your tits because no matter if she was wearing a t-shirt or something more covering like a sweater the curve of your breasts was present in the clothing 🫣 chaewon would always blatantly stare at your chest at every opportunity she could, for example when you were making dinner and putting the dishes on the table; her saying a soft “thank you” as you serve the food on her plate and leave it in front of her, but the moment you lean over to give her the plate, she immediately lowers her gaze to your cleavage because she can see your tits through the neck of your shirt?? it’s a shame that it’s a moment that passes in less than five seconds :(

chaewon degrading you and making you humiliate yourself while she is on top of you fucking you 😩 saying shit like “can daddy fuck you as good as i do?” while she grinds her pussy against yours in a way that has your clit constantly rubbing against hers in a way that makes you writhe on the mattress 😵‍💫 she grins like a maniac when she sees you nodding desperately, your hair scattered on the pillow and your face completely flushed and tears of pleasure running down your cheeks :( she was enjoying having you around like a silly little toy when you were always super sweet to her, treating her like a princess and behaving much better than her mother could in the short time she was present in her life, but she had another vision of you! feeling her panties get soaked every time you called her “sweetheart” or “dear” when they were just sweet terms to address your stepdaughter or someone young you care about! and she was enjoying how the loving and affectionate nicknames came out of your lips every time you begged her to please go faster and stop teasing you

and the moment her father comes home she is helping you prepare dinner! your lover smiling warmly at the loving moment between step mother and step daughter, enjoying how you two have a nice relationship and don’t seem to have a rivalry like other mothers and daughters would have 🥰 giving you a kiss on the lips and announcing that he would go take a shower to relax, only for the moment he left the room, chaewon pushed you against the kitchen counter, getting on her knees and announcing with her eyes that she was “hungry” and she wanted a delicious pre-dinner dish 🤗

[champagnedstappen]

— MUNDANE TALKS

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader. Reader works separately and currently busy in this story, let's just say that the reader works for another motorsport and their schedule is completely different!

Summary: It's just... Them talking about their life and being mundane despite the distance between them. (And his girlfriend basically sipping the tea of the paddock from him—Max's words)

Warning: This is like my slander towards anyone against Max, especially Red Bull. Yes.

Sent to Monaco, from USA.

Her phone rings, she knows that Max needs to talk about it. She understands it clearly that since yesterday—slash that, since few days ago, Max has been talking non-stop about how the management of his team getting worse and worse. Let alone about the management and all, he already talks about how he despises the car before the beginning of the season, even before F175 where the car launch was held.

She picks up while her other hand busily organising some things that she needs while working today—including battery charger that somehow went missing yesterday, she complained, but suddenly appeared again this morning when she doesn't need it. It's always like that.

The first sentence she hears is—

"I don't understand. I've told them that the car is fucked. That it doesn't matter who's the driver, it's completely fucked."

She becomes silent for few seconds before laughing. The immediate inappropriate language from her dearest—that would send Ben Sulayem to nearest hospital completely flabbergast her.

"Morning, Maxie." She says. "I mean you guys held meetings, right? What did you say?"

She can feel that Max is smiling, just by how she calls him Maxie, he's smiling. The woman knows it of course, she knows him, he always has that kind of crisp on his accent when he's smiling. "Good morning, schatje. I mean I did say that I'm against it. Angel, since last year I've told them the problem is the car. Fix it first."

She sits near the TV of the hotel room she stays. "I mean, you backed Checo last year. I don't get it too, Adrian Newey is out of the club too. Damn, Red Bull."

"Yeah." Shot response for few seconds before the Dutchman starts again. "Like, the idea of switching teammates would help to fix the car. What kind of mindset is that?"

She nods, even though she clearly in her right mind understands Max can't see her. "It's like getting a high heel with different size and you complain about it."

"Exactly, I love you."

A hearty laugh burst out of her mouth, indicating how unexpected his words are. But, she knows, again, how unexpected this man can be. But probably what she doesn't understand is that in Max's mind, saying those three words for her are the easiest thing ever.

"Say it back." He demands.

"I love you, too, Maxie." She can hear few sounds, it's like he just opened a can of drink. Probably Red Bull. "So..."

"So?" He asks. "What?"

Her response comes in few seconds after he asked that. "See, I genuinely think that the WCC is again going to McLaren this year. They're insanely fast, it's like seeing your ghost."

He laughs hardly, she immediately smiles. "My ghost? 2023?"

"Yeah."

"I mean yeah, I've guessed, I told you before, they're going to be ridiculously fast. Wasn't expecting that though. It's like they're flying. So this is how it must've felt."

Both of them laugh at the last comment. But deep down, they both know how different the situation is. She has been a fan of motorsport since God knows how long, and it's safe to say the Red Bull her man is driving is completely fucked.

She's convinced if it isn't Max who drives it, Red Bull is Williams reincarnate.

"What's the plan?" She asks, the conversation flowing nicely. Both of them always have something to talk. The thing is, she is confident about her humour, as long she has known Max, he always laughs at her jokes. Even if it's completely sarcastic, or dangerous one. There's no dullness.

"Plan what?"

"Duh, if you have to exchange team to Mercedes?" She says as if it's the most obvious thing in this world.

"Huh? Schatje, what?"

She laughs. "Well the rumours are spreading. It's possible to you to get out of the damned team, exchange your last name to Wolff and kick out a driver." There's a pause. "Oh! Driver... Holy shit, George Russell? If you change your contract—in which you have a clause, and go to Mercedes, you'll be in a team with Russell. Oh, what if you kick him out?"

She doesn't know if a sound that the love of her life makes remind her of a sigh or a laugh, it's blurry. "Oh, schatje..."

One thing, they're both great at talking.

Bonus: (credit to @.maxsredbull on Twitter)

[embervoices]

I think there may have been two or more plots to begin with, actually, and we finally caught where they diverge!

Okay, backing up.

I don't have anything like your whole picture in my own head, even from what you've said in the tags, and it sounds like you're asking a question that requires more personal context than I can address from here - assuming I'd have a useful answer if I knew more, which... like... Quite possibly not? I'm not a mental health professional, I'm just some guy on Tumblr who happens to have experience living with anxiety.

I do want to clarify that I was never intending my answers to be personal to you. You added a totally reasonable question with general applicability to an open thread, and I gave an answer that applied to the question I thought you were asking for the sake of the broader audience. Making decisions about complex situations is challenging for a lot of people, especially if we have anxiety about it. There are some generally useful things to keep in mind about it.

Granted that they are things you already well know! Gods know DBT has piles of mnemonic acronyms to choose from! But that doesn't mean everybody else knows them, so I still point them out.

But I think it's also, in this case, that I was assuming a longer context for the thread than you were. It sounds like you were talking about in-the-moment situations to get out of physically, and I was talking about long-term situations to get out of socially/physically/etc.

Seeking advice is usually more for getting a reality check on repeating or long-term situations one is in - jobs, relationships, social contexts, etc. Therapists can be great for helping us learn to apply internal tools to those and other situations, but they're not going to help nearly so much for in-the-moment decisions unless you're allowed to have them on speed dial or something.

There's a very big difference between

"Should I quit my job? If so, immediately, or should I try to stick with it long enough to line up another job first?"

and

"I'm starting to feel weird. Should I leave the grocery store right now?"

In your specific case, I'm not sure I can help much. I will say, I'm not familiar with any model that ever places feelings and emotions outside? So, I'm guessing you mean outside stimulus? As in, are you reacting to something internal, or is something in the environment prompting the reaction?

Yeah, if that's hard for you to gauge, that's going to make figuring out whether you should depart a specific physical environment way harder, and you're not necessarily in a position to get an external reality check about it when it matters, because it's a problem in real-time. Fair point, and that's a really rough place to be.

Personally, I always aim for calming down first when I start to feel funky, before any other decision making. If I can't calm down enough to make a clear decision, then it's time to get out regardless of why I'm getting upset - whether it's a sensory problem that I don't have the spoons to handle that day, or I'm just having a really off day, or whatever. Many different things can make my thresholds lower for a day, such that sensory input I can tolerate today may be overwhelming tomorrow.

But - and I know this is important - I can almost always afford to just go home when I'm overwhelmed. I get that the same is not true for everyone else, and thus the risks may need to be higher before they make that decision.

I do wish you well, and I wish I had more foolproof answers - or at least more contextually relevant ones!

i wish there was an easier way to tell the difference between an "if it sucks hit da bricks" situation and a "sometimes being an adult means doing things that you dont wanna" situation

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part four .

part  one,  two,  three,  four,  epilogue. word  count.   4.9k a  study  on.   non-linear  storytelling,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  lovers,  stem  girlie!reader,  mechanic!reader,  the  happy  ending  i  promised. author's  note.   OH  MY  GOD  IT'S  FINISHED  !!  this  behemoth  of  a  fic  is  just…  thank  u  all  for  following  me  on  this  insane  journey  that  literally  just  started  because  i  had  a  shower  thought  about  lando  in  an  amylaurie  au.  no  other  reason  except  that  !!  but  god.  thank  god  it's  finished  !  here's  the  happy  ending  i  promised  you  :) the  ending  actually  surprised  me  because  half  of  it  was  already written  to  be  included  in  chapter  3  before  i  sent  a  snippet  of  it  over  to  kae  (  @tsunodaradio  )  that  made  me  realize…  wait,  this  should  be  for  the  last  chapter.  so  muaaahh  special  thank  u  to  kae  especially  for  that  ! but,  yeah,  thank  you  all  for  being  here.  all  the  reactions  to  this  fic  have  genuinely  made  me  feel  like  i  got  on  that  podium  myself.  i  have  so,  so  much  to  say  about  this  fic,  but  i  guess  i'll  save  that  for  the  epilogue  :)  bc  surprise  !!!!  there  is  one  :D mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know  cover  by  hozier,  all  my  ghosts  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  true  blue  by  boygenius,  this  love  by  taylor  swift,  garden  song  by  phoebe  bridgers,  everywhere,  everything  by  noah  kahan,  love  you  for  a  long  time  by  maggie  rogers.

NOW, 2024.

woking, in the summer, is still… well, woking. still grey, still muted in that distinct way that woking always is, except now the air is thick and humid, and the sun hangs just a little too high in the sky for comfort. still, it’s better than winter, better than the biting cold, better than the way february felt like a graveyard of things you didn’t know how to bury.

time heals all wounds, eventually, they say. you don’t know if you believe in that, but time has made them scab over at least. maybe that’s enough.

the mclaren headquarters hums with activity, voices overlapping, cameras flashing, the faint buzz of machinery somewhere in the distance. business as usual. you like it here, more than you thought you would. your laptop and phone are heavy with the weight of a job offer, a future you hadn’t fully considered, not really. it sits in your inbox, waiting. you have until sunday to decide.

it should be a nice day today. it should be fine. it is fine. except it isn’t, because he’s here.

you don’t know why nobody told you. maybe because they didn’t think it mattered, because it shouldn’t matter. and it doesn’t. not really. it’s just— what the everloving fuck? you thought you’d have more time.

but no, there he is, all too familiar, in his team kit, half-zipped hoodie hanging loose around his body, curls unkempt. you can hear his voice even over the ambient chatter of the media crew, see the way he moves, how he carries himself with easy confidence.

his co-driver sees you first, looks at you with a knowing expression, like he’s in on a joke you don’t find funny. your mind moves too fast, filling in the blanks of, oh god, he told oscar fucking piastri about me. about the girl who turned down a formula one driver. kind of.

fuck. great. amazing. splendid, even. that’s just what you are, aren’t you? a story, a joke, something whispered in locker rooms and motorhomes. maybe lando didn’t even mean it in a bad way. maybe he just said it offhand, absentmindedly, because that’s what happened. but still, the thought makes your stomach churn. makes your hands itch to leave.

so you do. you mutter some half-hearted excuse to the nearest person— something about needing to check something, maybe, you don’t know, you just need to go.

it’s not cowardice. not really. it’s just— well, self-preservation. you know the way your pulse picks up when he looks at you, how your breath catches, how the world narrows down to nothing but the space between you. you can’t do that today. not now.

but of course, lando follows.

the hallway is long and white and empty, and it kind of reminds you of hospitals, of clean sheets and beeping monitors and the fluorescent lights of a summer ten years ago, when you broke your arm and he sat by your bedside, legs swinging off the chair, promising he’ll take you to the lake when you’re all better.

(he never did, though. and maybe that should’ve been your first clue.)

he says your name.

you don’t turn around. just cross your arms, stare down the glossy floor. “i think we’ve talked enough, actually, norris. go back to your fans.”

there’s a beat of silence, then: “okay, but i want to stay.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. breathe. in, out, in, out.

when you turn to face him, he’s already watching you. eyebrows drawn together. his expression is unreadable, but his presence isn’t. it’s loud, takes up too much space, even though he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

your throat feels tight. you don’t know what you were expecting, really. an apology? an explanation? none of it matters anymore. still, the words push past your lips before you can stop them. “did you do this?”

lando’s brow furrows. “do what?”

you exhale sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “don’t play dumb, lan, it doesn’t suit you. did you pull strings? talk to someone?”

his face shifts, confusion flickering before something almost sheepish takes its place. “i mean… kind of? i orchestrated the whole media day here because i wanted to see you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

your breath catches, your fingers tighten around your phone, your whole body locks up like you’ve been caught off guard. because it’s not fair, the way he says it so easily, so plainly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like of course he’d do all this just to see you.

so you swallow hard, shove it down, focus on what you really meant to ask in the first place. you shake your head, press your lips together, steady yourself. “no,” you say, voice even. “i meant the job offer.”

his expression drops, realization hitting all at once. “oh.” his head jerks back slightly, eyes scanning your face, searching. “no. i— i didn’t even know you applied.”

and for a second, just a second, you can breathe again. because his eyes widen a little, mouth parting like he’s about to say something else, and you can see it— the genuine surprise, the way his expression shifts into something close to excitement, something proud.

“you applied to mclaren?” he asks, voice almost… hopeful. like the thought of you here— with him— is something good. something worth smiling about.

and for a second, just a second, you think: maybe it is.

maybe you’re not a fraud. maybe you did this on your own, maybe you’re actually good enough, maybe all those nights spent hunched over your laptop weren’t all for naught, maybe—

but no. your mind doesn’t let you have that. not yet.

lando shifts on his feet, glances away for a moment, then back at you. he takes a breath, “can we talk?”

you hesitate. then,  “okay.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree, like he was bracing for another rejection. but then he grins, slow and wide, something warm creeping into his features.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms again. “after you finish on the podium on sunday.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his grin growing impossibly wider. “that a promise?”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance even as your heart is racing, hoping, praying that he doesn’t comment on how red your face has gotten. “just stating facts.”

and— god, he’s smiling so hard now, like you just handed him the goddamn moon, like this— you— are something he wants to hold onto. something worth waiting for. and it’s unbearable, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something precious, like you’re something he wants.

he lingers for another moment, watching you, and you can see it in his face— he doesn’t want to leave. he’s scared you might disappear if he does. and fuck, part of you wants to tell him to stay, wants to reach out, wants to pull him back in like muscle memory, like instinct. but you don’t. you can’t.

instead, you nod towards the end of the hall. “you should probably go.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. then, finally, “yeah. yeah.”

he takes a step back. then another. still smiling, before he finally turns, walks back into the crowd.​​you exhale, half-expecting the breath to feel like release, like something you’d been holding in all this time— but no. you’d been breathing just fine.

NOW, 2024.

your parents’ house still smells like it did when you were ten— laundry detergent and motor oil, the sharp tang of vinegar from the pickled onions your mum keeps in jars by the kitchen sink. the walls are the same too, yellowed from age and the heat of too many summers, though your dad swears he’ll get around to repainting them. he won’t. it’ll be fine.

home is home. it always has been.

it’s familiar. more than anything, more than woking, more than the mclaren headquarters. this is home. and for the first time in a while, you let yourself sink into it.

you don’t watch the race live. your da is still at the garage, sorting through a backlog of clients before the grand prix weekend floods the town with people who suddenly remember they need their cars fixed. your mum has just locked up the laundromat, and maggie is watching her five-year-old, daisy, try and fit her entire fist into her mouth.

you’ve been on your phone exactly twice today. the first was at noon, when you schedule-sent your job acceptance email to mclaren, because somehow tricking your brain into thinking future you was responsible made it feel less like an impending life-altering decision and more like a minor errand. the second is now, as the silverstone race rerun plays on tv, your inbox confirming the email has, in fact, been sent. future you is now present you’s problem.

hamilton finishes p1. lando takes p3. a podium.

you should be happy. and you are, kind of. proud, even. you ignore it, busy yourself with clearing up the empty bowls of crisps and the half-finished drinks on the table, the chatter of your family filling the space around you. you don’t even hear the knock at the door at first.

but then daisy is waddling over, tugging at your sleeve before you can reach the kitchen. “someone’s at the door.” she announces, with all the confidence of a five-year-old.

you glance at the clock. past eight. weird. but whatever. you set the bowls down, brush your hands against your jeans before walking over, unlocking the door without much thought—

and then you freeze.

lando stands outside, looking like he’s either just finished a race or sprinted from the gate to your front door in record time. his race suit is gone, replaced with something more comfortable, but the helmet marks on his cheeks remain, deep and red and criminally distracting.

before you can even begin to process the sight of him, daisy walks over, gripping the hem of your shirt and staring up at lando with wide eyes. “holy shit,” she says. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

a full-body cringe overtakes you as maggie barrels in, already mid— “daisy, what have we said about swearing—” only to cut herself off when she sees lando standing there. she blinks. “holy shit,” maggie echoes. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

lando, menace that he is, has the audacity to laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, are actively considering whether it’s possible to spontaneously combust from secondhand embarrassment alone.

“we’re trying to have daisy unlearn some words,” you mumble, staring at the floor.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lando says, grinning. then he hesitates, glancing between daisy and you, before gesturing vaguely. “is she…? is there a reason why you didn’t…?”

you register what he’s implying exactly two seconds too late, and the sheer embarrassment slams into you like a freight train. “oh my god, no,” you blurt out, voice an octave too high. “jesus. she’s maggie’s.”

maggie, the fucking traitor, giggles before ushering the rest of the family back inside, leaving you alone with lando at the doorway.

and just like that, you’re thirteen again, standing in your parents’ garage while lando tells you he’s going to be a formula one driver someday, and you tell him— with all the confidence of a preteen who thinks she knows everything— yeah, i know.

you don’t know what to say. and he, apparently, doesn’t either, shifting on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. the silence stretches, almost unbearable, until he clears his throat.

“i think you owe me a conversation,” he says, and you hate the way it makes your heart stutter.

you force yourself to shrug, crossing your arms. “we didn’t schedule it.”

“i can wait.” he smiles, small but certain. “i’m good at that.”

you don’t know what to do with that, with him standing there like this, earnest and real and so painfully him. you lick your lips, then take a step back, gripping the edge of the door. “i'll be back in woking tomorrow.”

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a second. then he nods. “okay.” another pause. “okay. i can wait until tomorrow.”

he looks like he means it.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you nod, once, and then— because you physically cannot take this any longer— you shut the door, maybe a little too quickly, pressing your back against it as if that’ll stop your heart from racing.

it doesn’t.

when you finally look up, still pressed against the door, you’re met with five sets of expectant eyes staring right at you. your mum, your da, beverly, maggie, even daisy, all watching like they’re waiting for you to do something, say something.

“what?” you say, voice a little too defensive, a little too high.

your mum speaks first, leaning against the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed at you like she’s trying to work out how she ended up with a daughter this emotionally repressed. “are you seriously turning that boy away?”

you sputter. “i— i didn’t— turn him away, per se, i just— he said tomorrow. we’re talking tomorrow.” you wave a hand vaguely, like that explains anything. “besides, it’s not—”

“oh my god,” beverly groans. /

               /     “you absolute idiot,” maggie says at the same time /

  /     — to which daisy gleefully echoes with an, “idiot! idiot!”

“oh my god.” you rub your hands over your face. “you guys are so annoying.”

but then— another realization creeps in, and you glance down at yourself, at your family. your dad, wearing the mclaren quarter-zip you’d gotten from the internship. maggie in an oversized orange long sleeve, beverly with a cap, your mum with the logo on her t-shirt. even daisy’s little socks have a bright orange trim.

oh.

oh, god, no.

that’s why he was laughing.

if you were embarrassed then, you’re mortified now. “i can’t.” you say, groaning. “this is so embarrassing.”

“what’s embarrassing,” maggie says, dead serious, her daughter looking up and mirroring her expression, “is that you’re still standing here.”

daisy gasps dramatically, like this is the most romantic thing she’s ever witnessed.

“i’m not—” you start, but maggie is already moving, pushing you toward the door, and beverly is right there with her, yanking it back open before you can resist.

“go,” maggie hisses.

“before it’s too late,” beverly adds, way too theatrically.

you hesitate for half a second, but then you see lando— still lingering by the gate, walking slower than he normally would, like maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you’d do exactly this.

and your heart lurches.

so you do the only thing that makes sense.

you run.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

you don’t think about it, don’t hesitate, don’t let yourself overanalyze the sheer fucking absurdity of it all: you just move. shoes hitting against the pavement, wind tangling in your hair, breath coming in short, uneven bursts, and you see him, just barely, lingering by a car parked on the curb.

for a moment, your brain doesn’t register it beyond an obstacle, something to swerve around, something that shouldn’t matter.

but then it does.

and oh. huh.

it’s not his usual car. not the one he takes to woking, not the flashy sports car, not the kind of thing lando norris is expected to be seen in. it’s old, a little worse for wear, the once-sleek paint job now dulled by time and familiarity, fitting in all too well with the rest of the street.

and then it clicks.

“you still have this thing?” you ask, breathless, as you come to a stop beside him.

lando startles, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually chase him down, even though he’d slowed down just enough to let you. his gaze flickers from you to the car, and there’s something almost sheepish in the way he shrugs. “thought the sports car would draw too much attention.”

he’s right. it would. but that’s not the point.

the point is— this car. this exact car.

you remember the first time you saw it, back when your dad spent weeks fixing it up for a client. you were six, a little too nosy, a little too eager to be involved, peering over the open hood like you knew what the fuck you were doing. and then there was lando— smaller, scrawnier, grinning wide as he told you he was going to be a race car driver one day.

it’s been years since then, but the memory is so visceral you almost feel like you could reach out and touch it.

lando, squints at you, his gaze snagging on the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. he frowns. “seriously?”

you blink. “what?”

he gestures at the bright orange mclaren logo on your chest, then at the number 81 printed just below it. “piastri?”

you look down at yourself like you hadn’t been wearing this hoodie all fucking day. “they ran out of yours.”

lando stares at you, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the words to properly convey his offense. “they ran out— i’m literally on the team.”

“right, and piastri isn’t?”

lando groans, dragging a hand down his face, but he’s smiling, the kind of soft, reluctant smile that makes your stomach twist.

and then the moment stretches, lingers, because you’re both just standing there, not quite sure what comes next.

so you get in the car.

you don’t ask where you’re going, don’t even think to, because it doesn’t matter. the whole world could be talking about lewis hamilton right now, about his win, about the way he’s just broken a streak of bad luck with a masterclass drive, and you should care— you know you should care— but right now, it’s just lando.

lando, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear stick, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out, like he wants to touch. lando, glancing at you between streetlights, expression unreadable but eyes unbearably soft.

“congrats on p3.” you say, because it feels like you should.

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “kind of hard to care when everyone’s just talking about lewis.”

you offer a weak smile. “i care.”

his fingers twitch again.

the car slows, then stops, and it takes you a second to realize he’s parked.

“you were right,” he says, suddenly.

you blink. “about what?”

lando turns to face you fully, fingers curling around the steering wheel. “february. i put you on the spot. i shouldn’t have done that.”

“lando—”

“no, i mean it,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “you were right. i didn’t think about how it would feel for you, how it would look. i just— i was selfish. i wanted you there, and i didn’t stop to consider how much pressure that would put on you.”

the way he says it, so genuine, so sincere, makes something crack inside of you. you swallow past the lump in your throat. “it wasn’t just you,” you admit, voice quieter. “i didn’t think i deserved it. still don’t, sometimes.”

lando’s jaw tenses, his grip on the wheel tightening. “you do.”

you open your mouth, but he doesn’t let you argue. “you do,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s willing you to believe it. “you’re fucking brilliant, kit-kat, and i don’t know why it took me so long to say it, but you are. i meant what i said back then. i see you, i do.”

it’s not like he fixes you, not like the years of doubt just suddenly disappear— but maybe, just maybe, the cracks in your armor get a little bigger, letting the truth seep in.

you don’t think.

you just move.

you lean over the center console, seatbelt digging into your ribs, and press your lips to his.

it’s dizzying. it’s years of something bottled up so tight that the second it spills, it nearly drowns you.

it’s lando, warm and solid, his lips soft, but still so insistent, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments that could have been, should have been, all the moments that weren’t.

you’re realizing how uncomfortable the position is, seatbelt straining against your shoulder, but you don’t particularly care— you don’t care about anything except the way his hand slides down, fingers pressing into your waist, holding you there.

he exhales against your mouth, shuddering, and it makes your head spin. you scrape your nails against the base of his neck, threading your fingers into the curls at his nape, and he groans— actually groans, and oh god you’re hoping you can hear more of that later— low and breathy, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. it shoots straight through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and you feel drunk on it, on him, on the sheer fucking magnitude of it all.

when you pull back, breath uneven, lando is staring at you like you’ve just upended his entire world. he exhales, then grins. “is it presumptuous of me to ask you to tell your family not to wait up for you tonight?”

your brain short-circuits. so you say the only thing you can think to actually say: “i accepted the job at mclaren.”

lando blinks. then, “why do i find that so hot?”

you don’t realize how much space there still is between you until he moves again, his fingers tracing a slow path down your spine, and then—

click!

the seatbelt snaps loose, and before you can react, his hands are on you again, tugging you properly into his lap, so seamlessly smooth you almost don’t register what just happened.

“did you just unbuckle my seatbelt?” you ask incredulously.

lando hums, utterly unbothered, leaning up to close the distance between you. “mhm.”

“without looking?”

he grins, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, and it’s so unfair, how effortlessly he makes you lose your train of thought. “thank you, driver reflexes.”

you scoff, but it comes out breathless, and before you can come up with something sarcastic, something that might actually wipe that stupid smug expression off his face, he kisses you again.

he pulls back just enough for his lips to brush against yours as he speaks, breathless and wrecked and so fucking lando. “okay, i can't wait to get you out of this hoodie.”

you huff out a laugh, still trying to remember how to breathe. “okay, now that’s presumptuous of you.”

he startles, blinking, and then— “i mean, it’s my teammate’s number,” he says, a little too quickly, like that’s what he meant all along, like he wasn’t just thinking about peeling it off of you. “it’s— i’m just saying, it’s—”

you know.

you know, and you grin against his mouth before kissing him again.

THEN, 2010 … which blurs into NOW, 2025.

the toaster isn’t working.

this, in your opinion, is a grave offense.

it’s been sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks now, abandoned and replaced, but you can’t stop thinking about it. you hate when things break. it doesn’t make sense to you— how something can work perfectly fine one day and then be completely useless the next.

it’s not fair, really, that your parents replaced it already. the new one is shiny and red and stupid. you could fix the old one. you know you could.

so you’ve taken it upon yourself to fix it. of course.

the toaster is in pieces. a dozen little metal parts scattered across the floor of your bedroom, lined up in careful, meticulous order so many little pieces, all clicking and moving together like a puzzle. you love puzzles.

your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth as you grip the tiny screwdriver in one hand, twisting, tugging, wedging the tip under a stubborn screw that refuses to budge. your fingers ache from prying at things that don’t want to be pried at, but you’re close— so close to figuring out what’s wrong, to fixing it. 

you love figuring out how things work.

you’re so focused you don’t even hear your sisters leaving. you don’t notice when the house empties out, don’t register the hurried voices, the sharp slam of the front door. you don’t realize you’re alone.

not until the doorbell rings.

you jump. huh. you weren’t expecting that. you wipe your hands on your shirt, nevermind the grease and dust, carrying the toaster and your toolkit down to the kitchen.

where is everyone?

the house eerily quiet now that you’re aware of it. no footsteps. no murmured voices. no maggie bossing josie around. no beverly humming some stupid song under her breath. a strange, twisting feeling settles in your stomach as you make your way to the door, stretching up on your toes to look through the peephole. and then—

lando is standing on the porch.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.” you frown. “what are you doing here?”

“josie called me,” he says, holding up his phone like it explains anything. “she said they’re at the hospital with beverly. asthma attack.”

your stomach twists.

beverly gets bad asthma sometimes. you know that. you’ve seen it before, seen the way her face crumples as she gasps for breath, the way maggie and josie move fast, faster than you’ve ever seen them move, scrambling for inhalers and car keys and coats.

you swallow hard. “oh.”

lando shifts on his feet. “your parents are there too. josie asked me to come over. to, uh.” he scratches at his nose. “keep you company.”

you’re not sure what to do with that. you cross your arms, eyeing him carefully. “do you have anything better to do?”

he shrugs. “not really.” then he grins. “besides, you’re great company.”

you squint at him, trying to gauge if he’s making fun of you. you’re used to people making fun of you. you’re the smartest kid in your class— actually, you’re the smartest kid in the whole school, probably— and sometimes people don’t like that. but lando doesn’t look like he’s teasing.

which is… fine. whatever.

you step aside, jerking your head toward the kitchen. “well, i was busy.”

“yeah?” he kicks off his shoes, follows you inside. “doing what?”

you gesture to the counter, where the toaster sits in pieces. lando stops, tilts his head. “uh. you know you guys have a new one, right?”

“obviously,” you say. “but this one’s not working. so i’m fixing it.”

he hums, wandering closer. “you sure you know how?”

“of course i do.” you scowl at him. “i’ve read like, ten manuals. and i looked it up. and i’ve fixed other stuff before.”

“like what?”

you open your mouth, then pause. “well. nothing yet. but i know i can.”

lando just grins, like he finds that funny. you don’t get what’s so funny about it.

but then he holds the pizza box he brought, setting it on the table. “you wanna eat first?”

you hesitate, glancing back at your toaster. it’s important, obviously. but your stomach is growling, and lando did bring food, and— well. it’s not like you can’t finish later.

so you nod, dragging the toaster pieces toward the kitchen counter while lando opens the box. he slides a slice onto a plate for you, then one for himself.

you eat while you work, half-focused on the toaster, half-focused on the conversation.

lando’s been karting for a while now, long before you even met. he talks about it sometimes, but not as much as you’d like, because you want to know everything. not about the racing, really— you don’t care that much about that— but about the karts. about the mechanics of it, about how they work, about what makes them faster than normal cars.

“aerodynamics,” he answers, when you ask.

you scoff. “yeah, obviously. but what kind?”

he blinks. “the fast kind? what do you know about aerodynamics?”

you huff, setting down your pizza, wiping your hands on a napkin before grabbing two of the toaster’s metal panels. “okay. see these?” lando nods.

“pretend they’re wings,” you say, holding them up at an angle. “if a car is going really fast, air hits the wings, right? but if they’re tilted down like this, the air pushes against them, which pushes the car down. that’s downforce. more downforce means the car stays on the track better, but too much can slow it down.”

he watches, amused. “what about drag?”

you pick up a wire, twirling it between your fingers. “drag is when air pushes against the car in the opposite direction. good aerodynamics means less drag, so the car can go faster.”

lando watches you, eyebrows raised.

you huff. “you should know this already.”

“i definitely should,” he admits, grinning. “but it’s more fun when you explain it.”

your face feels warm. you pretend you don’t hear that.

after dinner, you pick a movie. you let lando choose, because he did bring the food, after all, and he picks something you don’t totally hate. you sit side by side on the couch, chewing absently on the crust of your last pizza slice, eyes half-focused on the screen. at first, you keep your arms crossed over your chest, but after a while, they loosen, and your head tips back against the couch cushions.

the toaster sits in pieces on the counter. beverly is in the hospital. your parents and sisters aren’t home. but none of it feels as heavy as it did earlier.

your eyes slip shut. just for a second.

when your family comes home, the front door creaks open, footsteps shuffling in. your mum pauses, standing in the doorway of the living room, watching.

you and lando are curled up on the couch, the tv still playing, the glow flickering over your faces. your head rests against his shoulder, his cheek tipped slightly against your hair.

she exhales, soft. “oh, how cute.” then reaches for her camera, snaps a picture.

later, it gets printed, tucked into a photo album, slipped between birthday parties and holiday dinners and old school plays.

(you don’t find it until years later, flipping through old pictures on a trip home, fingers pausing on the slightly worn edge of the page.

"oh, that’s a sweet one," your mum says over your shoulder, like it’s just another picture.

you slip the photo out of its plastic sleeve, take it back to your flat, left forgotten as you toss your bag onto the counter, too lost in the flurry of work and groceries.

later, someone else finds it. picks it up from where you left it on the counter.

“we were always like this, weren’t we?” a voice says, and when you look up, he’s already smiling.)

fin.

[mushroomsneedystuff]

Timeskip!UA Teacher!Izuku, Healer!UA Nurse!Reader

CW: smut (obviously), in Izuku's personal office, cream pie, unprotected (wrap it up beforehand yall. we don't want accidental pregnancies irl), mentions of highschool (but smut starts when you're both mid 20s), reader has a pussy (but no mention of gender)

*Feel free to tell me how to improve writing. I suck at it lol*

How did helping out the heroics teacher with grading turn into this?

You were helping Teacher!Izuku with grading since you luckily didn't have much work to do throughout the school day of being UA's new healer. You couldn't stop looking at each other, the tension growing between you both since the start of the school year. You both vaguely knew each other back from your UA days, and he was a frequent visitor of the nurse's office.

You used to help out Recovery Girl, aiming to be a healer based hero rather than someone out on the field. You were always in Recovery Girl's office, learning from her and helping her with minor injuries such as bruising and small, harmless cuts. You also took it upon yourself to try to spend time with the fellow students who had to stay and rest after Recovery Girl's quirk was used.

Izuku Midoriya was one of the main culprits of Recovery Girl's quirk. That boy got hurt more times than all the UA staff could count on their fingers and toes combined. You and Izuku both started to get to know each other better, and you were one of the first people to see him once he came back to UA for shelter after his vigilante arc.

Now, you're both back in UA. Izuku is the new heroics teacher, grumbling about students who "didn't know how to control themselves" while you understood fully well what he meant. You were the one to heal those who he specifically mentioned.

The tension through your school days had built up for years, and it was almost laughable how quickly you found yourself melting at his voice, at his gaze, at his sarcasm. It'd be funny if it didn't get you in your current predicament.

You were so easily picked up by him. Even if he couldn't be a "proper" pro hero anymore, he still had the body and build of one. He still went to the gym weekly, if not daily, and you weighed less than a feather in his eyes. Your body, held close to his and laid down onto his desk so perfectly, felt hot. Really, really hot.

Whether it was from the swarm of lust in your stomach or because his heated gaze was setting you on fire from the inside out was completely unknown. Both seem like fair guesses.

It didn't take long for the clothes to fall off, the office door locked securely. His pants were hazardously pushed down, yours completely discarded God knows where on the floor.

His cock was eagerly getting pushed through your wet cunt. It was perfect, both of you getting lost in the pleasure and letting go of the built up tension. His hips piston against yours, reminding you exactly of why he was a contender for being a Top 3 Hero in just his second year. His thumb fit so perfectly right up against your aching clit, making you dizzy enough to let out breathless moans of his name.

Any other thought except Izuku was completely gone from your brain. What were you even doing before? Did it have something to do with the scattered, ungraded tests on the floor? At this point, who fucking cared. Izuku's cock, stretching your walls so perfectly that it left you whining and moaning 'more' and 'too much' all at once, had completely scattered your sense of self anyways.

Grunts and groans of apologies leave the greenettes lips, but he didn't mean them. Why would he apologize for the reason of being able to finally hear his favorite symphony? Admittedly, he's been dreaming of it like he was a hormonal teenage boy since the first sight of you at the staff meeting weeks before the school year started. Every apology he said, it was really a thank you. A thank you for letting him feel your warm, tight cunt around his cock, and a thank you for letting him absolutely destroy you from the inside out.

His lips couldn't decide where to stay: on your lips, sucking your tongue, sucking and nipping at your neck and collarbone, glued to your breasts... There was just so many places he never wanted to pull away from, there were so many different things he wanted to try with your body (with your consent, of course).

He was fucking you like he couldn't decide if he absolutely despised you because you kept his precious pussy away from him or if he was so utterly in love with you because he finally had you in his arms and your his pussy was squelching lewdly with every thrust he gifted it.

It doesn't matter though, he'll have fucked you stupid and made love to you by the time the sun rises tomorrow.

The sight of your pussy squirting around his cock as he stills and cums deep inside you was just the alarm he needed to know it was time to bring his precious little healer home.

[bugixxxbunny]

I'll call B4 I Cum

How I think BSD boys would act before they cum, inspired by the Outkast song!!!

Content Warning: food play, dry humping, mentions of suicide and once again swearing!

Word count: 6,484

"I'll call before I cum; I won't just pop over. Out the blue, I hope that you do too!"

song here!

Dazai in the port Mafia is a teasing man. He knows how your body will react. His hips move painfully slow, making you beg and cry out, "Stop being so meannn!" You whine out pretty dribbles of spit run down your swollen lips and chin. "Oh, Belladonna, I won't until you agree." He has a lazy smirk. You can't see with your face being shoved into the puffy mattress. His other hand shoves your back into a deeper arch. Your back aches from doggystyle, and so does your stuffed cunt, begging to be given proper attention. You had always denied Dazai's request for a double suicide. This time was different because he put you in a hard spot between life and pleasure. Maybe it was sick and twisted, but it was surely hot. A loud smack was heard in the stuffy room, making you cry out, "Come on, Belladonna, you know I hate waiting." Dazai whines, his cock aching to release as he smacks your ass harder, "Fine." You moaned; this makes Dazai speed up instantly. His pace was brutal, making soft "Ah ah ah" come out of you on impact of his hips on the fat of your ass. His head was tossed back, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead, "F-feels good, Belladonna." This was your first time hearing the executive stutter. Dazai's deep moans grow with his pace. He gasps, Dazai's deep moans grow with his pace. "I'm going to have such a fun time teasing Chuuya, I got to fuck you, and he doesn't." "m'gonna cum!" His voice is like wind chimes; it's unexpected; it's quick and airy. You turn your head back to witness the flushed, messy Dazai's rugged breaths spill from his bitten lips. Pretty handmade bruises and hickeys left from your fun earlier. "You close darling?" His voice was soft. Your pussy flutters around him. You nod, focusing on him. His face twists with pleasure as he stuffs you with his cum. His large, nimble hands squeeze your ass as he tosses his head back, letting out a few high-pitched whimpers and moans as you both cum.

Ranpo, the greatest detective, loves sweet treats or any treat, in fact. It was Ranpo's 27th birthday. You both had finished up the little party at the agency. You and Ranpo headed home. You took on the duty of making Ranpo's cake. After putting the final touches of whipped cream, you had created a system. Your left hand was dedicated to popping on the strawberries, and your right took care of the very needy. Ranpo whom sat on the counter: "Ngh, faster!" Ranpo's eyes were open slightly; they looked hazy. His jaw slack, hot puffs of air escape; his hips needly thrust up into your soft palm. "Ranpo," you said warningly, "You're going to make me mess up!" he whimpers, "I'll take my hand off." Ranpo huffs in this bratty nature, "I'll be good," he said reluctantly, not trying to have the warmth of your hand leave his leaky cock. He waits patiently with a lot of deep sighs, huffs, and wiggling. "Finally, I'm done!" You smile looking back at the finished cake. Ranpos whines, "Can I please get my birthday gift now?" This was your time too, huff. "You don't appreciate me, Ranpo." You dip your finger in the cake and swipe some on his lips. "Here, try it." Ranpos's warm tongue trails across his mouth and your finger. "Mmm, it is good." You snicker, grabbing a handful of cake and shoving it into the distracted Ranpo's mouth. He licks his lips. You switch hands, smearing cake on his twitchy cock. Ranpo moans in shock. That's why Ranpo loves you; you keep him guessing. He barely can read you; that's why when you flatten your warm tongue on his cock to clean him up, all he can do is squirm in pleasure, his eyes fully open, watching you taste your great creation lathered on his cock, "Gah! Too much off, off, I'm cumming," he whined, not wanting to finish so quick. He tried to push your head away, but too bad for him, he busts on your face. "Ranpo, now I have an even bigger mess to clean up. Well, let me not leave my first mess unclean." It's not too long before Ranpo's cock is stuffed back into your jaws.

Gravity himself Chuuya Nakahara, loved old, expansive wines, so when he invited you over to try some, you knew something was fishy. Chuuya hated opening his nice wines and would gladly wait years to pop open a bottle of the blood-colored liquid. You decide to go anyways but brought along sweet old Dazai. When Chuuya answered the door, he seemed displeased to see the chestnut-haired man. "Aww, Chuuya, are you not happy to see me? You should know we are tied at the hip." Dazai pulls you close so your sides mush together. Chuuya grumbled, "Shouldn't you be trying a new method? for suicide unless you'd want me to kill you." Now the three of you sat in Chuuya's living room, hammered. Dazai's phone wouldn't stop ringing off the rails. "If you don't answer the fucking phone, Dazai, I will wring your neck." "But Chuuya!" Dazai whined, "I just know it's Mori, and I have some earned to run for him." "Just make it quick; I know you can," you said, trying to encourage Dazai. "Oh, fine." And in one swift motion, Dazai stood up and walked off to answer the phone. "Tell me why you brought the freak here." "Then tell me first why you even invited me to wine tasting in the first place?" Chuuya grumbles, his freckled cheek dusted red, "I wanted to get closer to you than that idiot Dazai." You just giggle, "Oh Chuuya, you're so strong but so stubborn." You crawl closer to the redhead and take your seat on his lap. "Tell me how you feel; let it all out, Chuuya." At first, Chuuya had some trouble talking about his feelings but then spilled it all out. "I think Dazai is a stupid prick and—" but before he could continue, your hips cut him off as you slowly grind on his growing bulge. "Keep going, you're doing so good, Chuuya." Chuuya's body shudders at the prasie, but he perseveres with talking, his voice wavers. "And you're absolute it's not fair that someone like him works and is so close to you." Chuuya pours his heart out to you about his petty jealousness, but by the end, he's mewling, pulling at your hips to rut against him faster. He's drooling and panting like a dog. "Arg, you're so good at this," he slurs, "shh Rember Dazai's in the other room" his hips pop up against yours he bites his lips to stay quiet. "You going to cum?" He nods vigorously. He whimpered like he was kicked, his blue eyes rolling into the back of his head as he gasps. and soils the front of his jeans twitching with pleasure. You leap off his lap as you hear Dazai's heavy footsteps. "I'm backkkk."

omg sorry gang this is quite short, and I fucking disappeared. I know I was also supposed to do Mitsuya but I couldn't help myself! also if anyone wants to specify any characters, they want me to write for you can js ask me!! again sorry for the length and being gone so so long missed y'all won't make these mistakes again!

-bunny ♥

[blorbocedes]

Lando is on top of the world, lounging on AirMax, heading into summer break as the championship leader.

The team had hoped he'd be leading the championship by a clear margin by now, allowing them to institute a 1-2 and bring home both the championships. But Oscar was still close enough that that made it insulting, to play second driver when you're one DNF away from leading the championship yourself. Lando was fine challenging Oscar on merit, and he'd done so far, innit?

Although the way the media spun it... let's just say he's glad the focus is on Max potentially leaving RedBull now, after he was spotted speaking with Toto in Mercedes hospitality.

The RedBull's kind of been a shit show. Max has been clawing at that distant P3 but only barely, and the behind the scenes internal drama, the struggling second seat -- he does not envy Max getting grilled about that every weekend.

"So, is it true?" Lando asks, raising an eyebrow. "You and Toto sitting on a tree?"

Max sips on his gin&tonic, with an air of 'you know I can't say that.'

"Come onnnn," Lando persists. Max hands him his drink and he takes a huge gulp, washing out the champagne flavour from his mouth.

Max turns to him, completely serious. He picks his words carefully. "Sometimes you can spend your whole life with a team, right? And the partnership is good. But if they do something that makes it intolerable, it's better to walk out. If they break your trust."

Lando nods quickly, taken aback by Max's seriousness. Things internally at RedBull must be worse than reported. "Course. You can be loyal to a team but you're also a driver at the end of the day, you have weigh your options and your future." Max is father now, after all, which is still surreal to think about. His lockscreen is the baby girl.

Max softens. "First one's always the best. Enjoy it, Lando. I know I did."

"It's not over til it's over." Lando says, but crosses his fingers.

What hurt the most is that it really was out of the blue for him. He'd never ever ever expect it.

Zak pulling him aside, telling him they're willing to pay out his whole contract and then more. That he'll always be a part of the papaya family. Their first world champion after Lewis in 08.

It was an out of body experience, like wading through water, the words washing over him. He kept repeating, "I don't understand."

"Kid, it was out of my hands. Once it was official Verstappen showed interest, I had to report it to the board -- and Bahrain." Zak tried to soften the blow, hiding that he had been the one aggressively courting Max. Showing him confidential information of their projections of the new car.

None of it made sense. Lando's entire world was coming to a crash. The 2026 car was a gamble, they and Mercedes were neck and neck, they were powered by them after all, but '27 was supposed to return to form for McLaren with the new regulations.

"Believe me, you and Oscar were the dream pairing." Zak always emphasized the R in Oscar in his harsh American accent.

"Oscar." Lando said faintly. Oscar who came second to him, who he beat all 3 years they've been teammates. Why? Why him? Hadn't he proven himself, hadn't he won the title, hadn't he been with the team through fucking everything when the car barely worked? Andrea's comment vaguely echoes in his head, Lando is our present, Oscar is our future.

"You don't put two big dogs in the same team. You're a big dog now, Lan." Zak had his hand on Lando's shoulder like that was supposed to make it better. Lando is McLaren's World Champion and they still chose Max Verstappen.

"Why?" Why kicking him out and not Oscar — it's an unfair thought but he was better. There's a searing, heavy, visceral pain in his chest making it heart to breathe.

"Their reasoning was --" Zak hesitates, "It would've been a McLaren driver winning this year either way. But we don't know how 26 is gonna pan out just yet. And, I guess they were really impressed with how Max won it in '24 when that wasn't the best car, so when he came knocking..."

Zak said more words after that but it all got tuned out. After that his lawyers handled the rest. When the news dropped of Verstappen and McLaren after the season ended, Lando turned his phone off, packed his bags, and headed to Finland with Max Fewtrell.

The 'no thanks' to RedBull was easy. He had no interest in going to Milton Keynes and seeing Max's face, his trophies, his legacy everywhere.

He didn't even ask who he was replacing when the offer from Ferrari came. It's racing, after all.

[winterscaptain]

like a family.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it's soooo late but i will blame the brain damage (lmao). i am SO excited to share this one with you all and throw us back into the mean it era for a while!! we'll be living here for the next few weeks and i am working on a lot of revisions!! to orient us: this is the first case back from suspension!

maybe we get two fics this week as a treat?? i'll throw up a poll.

words: 13.1k content advisories: canon-typical violence, case discussion (acid attacks), language, emotional confrontation, mentions of PTSD and grief

summary: “love implies anger. the man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing.” – edward abbey. october 19th, 2011

Hat, blazer, shoes, phone, wallet, keys…

“You have everything?” Aaron asks. 

You hesitate, patting your pockets, feeling around in your work bag. “Trying to…figure that out.” Your speech is halting, distracted, as if you can’t quite remember the rhythm of this.

It’s been a long time since we’ve had to do this. Four weeks? Five weeks?

You glance at him. “We’re definitely looking at a case this week, right?”

Aaron nods. “Pretty bad, looks like. I've been monitoring a few, but we’ll see where Garcia sends us. My guess is Oklahoma.” 

You pull a face. “Okay.” 

You take a breath and walk over to him, pressing your full weight to his chest. He huffs a little laugh, warm and familiar, and kisses your forehead. 

“We have to go,” he murmurs, hands settling on your shoulders. Gently, he unglues you, holds you at arms length. His thumbs brush little circles over your coat, like a tether. 

“You love your job. We love our jobs. Right?” 

A beat.

“Right.” 

+++

You share a little smile before getting into your respective cars, lingering in the moment just a beat longer than necessary.

It’s been a blissful (and, at times, excruciating) few weeks without work. Stepping back into reality won’t be easy.

Aaron’s face is unreadable at first—calm, collected. But then, just before he reaches for the door, his jaw shifts. Just slightly. A reflex, like he’s forcing something back into place.

You’re not sure if having this much uninterrupted time together has been good for you, or for whatever this relationship is becoming—but at this point, there’s very little that could fuck you up further.

The separation, the boundaries, will be good. Structure. Distance. Something that’s just yours.

He exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing once at his side before closing around the car handle.

You pull your door open, mirroring him. Baby steps.

+++

“Look, master of all things Italian, I am having a Fellini festival at my house this weekend and I must serve the beautiful food of his country.” You turn as Penelope and Dave walk in, no doubt discussing the pancetta disaster in her little green tupperware. 

Dave makes a face. “Maybe you should show a Disney film and stick with burgers.”

“You know, Rossi,” Derek says, “you could always give Penelope a cooking lesson.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be amazing. That would be like-- that would be like the Iron Chef meets the BAU.” She pauses, her voice creeping higher. “And we could do it at your house.”

“I don't have a house, I have a mansion.” 

You roll your eyes. When you look at Spencer to share the moment, he avoids you. There’s a little flash of hurt in your chest and you do your best to smother it. Everyone is clearly handling things differently and you’re trying not to take things personally. 

It’s not about you. 

A folder lands in front of you, and you feel Aaron pass behind you.

"Alright, let’s get started."

The sound of his voice—low, steady, too steady—sends a little shock up your spine. 

The impact he has on your heart rate isn’t reasonable or fair—you see him all the time, heard those words hundreds of times, but the added clandestine knowledge makes it so much worse.

It’s the undeniable weight of him in the room, the heat of his presence, the way he exists in your periphery like a living problem. Your heart takes off at a gallop. 

And it’s not just knowing him, now. It’s knowing how his hands feel, how he breathes and the sounds he makes when he’s close, how his pulse jumps when you kiss the scar on his jaw.

Plus, I know what’s hiding under those suits…

Stop!! Focus!

It’s knowing too much—and having to act like it means nothing.

You fight to keep your breathing steady. You can feel the heat creep up your neck. 

The best outcome you can hope for is that nobody’s paying attention to you. 

Aaron smirks out of the corner of your eye. He knows.

Well. Somebody is paying attention to you. 

Bastard. 

You ignore him. Well. As best you can. Eventually, he schools his expression—a fraction of a second too late. Like he almost forgot himself, just for a moment. But then the mask comes back, smoothing over the smirk, the glances, the heat. He takes a small, almost imperceptible pause before opening his folder, treating it almost like a little milestone. He’s focused, now, centered. 

You flip through as Penelope starts, noting the freshness of the paper. There’s new information on this case since this morning.

“You are jetting to Durant, Oklahoma, because in the last three days, two women have been found dead after being sexually tortured and then blinded with a sulfuric acid solution.” 

Yikes. He was right. 

Your body is still reacting to Aaron. Your brain is already spiraling into the horrors of the case. And in that moment, you hate how both things can exist at once.

“Abby Elcott is our first victim.” A photo of a young woman appears on the monitor. “A nineteen-year-old art student. She was headed to campus for an advanced drawing class. She'd been missing for two days.” Garcia clicks again and a few more photos appear. “Same goes for our second victim, Beth Westerly, seventeen. She had just finished her coffee shop shift and was on her way to a barre method class.”

“Low risk,” you note. “Hard targets.”

Aaron exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before adjusting the way his hands rest on the table.

Derek agrees. “And physically similar.” He looks at Penelope. “How close are the two abduction sites?”

“Five miles apart at bus stops. Abby’s cell was found near one, Beth’s scarf near the other.” 

“Where are the dump sites?” Spencer asks. 

“One in an alley, the other in a field.”

JJ’s brow crinkles, her finger supporting her temple as she works through the details. “So he stapled their eyes open, then he blinded them.”

“It's about power and control,” Derek suggests. “Maybe he didn't want them to watch while he hurt them.”

“Or it could be about shame,” Spencer replies. “Perhaps the unsub is disfigured himself. Blinding the victims leaves them helpless, lost, totally dependent. It may be a manifestation of how he sees himself in this world.” 

There’s something loaded, a hidden meaning in his words, and a strange look passes over JJ’s face. You glance at Aaron without moving your head, trying to be subtle. His tongue passes over his lower lip and he swallows. It’s an acknowledgement. 

Later.

Emily tips her head. “It is a form of enucleation, just without the scalpel.”

“His face is the last they see before darkness,” Dave says grimly. 

Damn. That’s dark, Dave.

Aaron compiles the papers in front of him, closing the folder. He clears his throat once before speaking again—unusual, for him. “Garcia, come up with a list of jobs that would give the unsub access to sulfuric acid.” He looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes around the table. “The rest of us, wheels up in thirty minutes.”

You hang back, letting Aaron leave before you start packing your things. 

“You good?” Derek asks. His eyes are creased, concerned. 

You nod quickly, too quickly. “Yep. Just nice to be back. Happy to be back into the swing of things, you know?” 

“Uh huh,” he says, skeptical, but not pushing. He doesn’t completely buy it.  His gaze flicks over you, assessing, before he adds, “Anything else going on? Seems like you ran a mile before coming in this morning or something.”

Your breath hitches—not much, just a fraction—but enough that you have to actively steady it before responding.

"Not sure. Feeling a little jittery, but that’s normal after some time away, right?"”

He shrugs, still watching you, but lets it go. You’re left with Emily and JJ, who are looking at something on JJ’s phone, heads bent close together. 

You smile a little. It’s good to have her back. 

You grab a few random papers—something, anything—and cross the bridge, stopping outside Aaron’s office.

You don’t need to speak. You don’t really even pause. Just a meaningful glance—a beat too long, a breath too deep.

He clocks it immediately. His eyes track yours, and something in his expression flickers. Acknowledgement. Understanding.

You keep walking.

You get down to your desk. Folders in, loose papers out. You don’t really care what they are, but you make a show of it, slow and methodical. Just in case anyone’s watching.

You take them to the copy room.

Sixty seconds later, Aaron joins you. The door clicks shut behind him.

You barely wait a breath. Your body moves before your brain does—a step forward, then another, and then you’re pressing yourself into his chest, arms winding tight around his waist.

He exhales as he catches you, his hands finding their place, firm and sure. One at the small of your back, the other settling between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything—just holds you close, steady, solid.

“Are you okay?” 

You nod. “Just a hard transition.” 

“Yeah.” 

You’re quiet for a minute, content to melt into his arms, let all your stress drop out of you through your toes. “I miss you.” 

He hums. It’s almost an amused sound. “I miss you too.” 

“It’s silly, because you’re right here, but -” 

“No, I get it. Not the same as being at home.” 

You sigh into him. "No, it’s not."

He holds you just a little tighter for a moment—just long enough to tell you he means it.

Then, a breath. A return to center..

"Alright," he murmurs, softer now. "Fake copy that file, and I’ll meet you at the jet."

+++

There’s a thin layer of tension coating the inside of the jet, but it’s easy enough to ignore if you try hard enough. 

Spencer shoulder-checks JJ on his way to put his bag away and you watch, stunned, as he does absolutely nothing to help her as she stumbles, nearly falling into you in the bank of seats by the table. You catch her and let her grab your hand to steady herself. 

“Thanks,” she says. It almost sounds sad. 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She offers you a thin smile and you realize her jaw is tight, her smile only reaches her eyes by the barest amounts. You flip your hand, catching her wrist as she pulls away, and meet her eyes. 

The guilt is eating her up, and Spencer isn’t helping. 

It’s okay. 

She shakes her head, but smiles as if to reassure you, wrapping her fingers around yours and squeezing once. You hold her gaze. 

I gotchu. 

You know she knows. She softens and leans against Emily’s chair, studiously ignoring Spencer as he sits just about as far away as he can get without completely excluding himself from the group. You shift as the rest of the team joins you, taking a place on the arm of the sofa between Aaron and Spencer. 

“Victimology is very similar,” Aaron says, almost to himself. “Blond-haired, blue-eyed teenage girls.”

“Local PD believes they were abducted close to nearby public transit stops,” JJ adds. You look through the maps, noting the routes of the buses common to both stops. There’s only one, and you file it for later.

Emily holds up a picture of one of the victims. “When was this photo taken?”

“Beth was caught on a bank surveillance camera three hours before she disappeared,” he gestures to the other photo in her hand. “That’s a recent photo of Abby.”

“So, she wasn’t found in the same clothes she was abducted in?” Emily asks. 

You lean forward. “Maybe the ones she was wearing were burned by the acid?” 

“It’s possible,” Spencer says. “Sulfuric acid can turn human flesh into soap.” 

Gross. 

Aaron turns to Penelope on the monitor, “Garcia, any recent similar cases in the surrounding area?”

“Actually, yes. Two months ago a prostitute and a runaway were both found raped and killed and they had stab wounds to their eyes.”

“Could this be an escalation?” You ask. 

JJ’s brow furrows. “Maybe he practiced on high-risk victims first.”

Derek finishes her thought, “And then advanced to chemical enucleation.”

“Isn’t that a rare paraphilia?” JJ’s question is one you also had. 

You almost expect Spencer to answer, being the expert on all things odd or weird or otherwise rare, but Emily answers instead. “Well. the chemical part is. It would exacerbate the pain.”

Dave makes a comment about Ed Kemper and surrogates, but it’s nothing new. Surrogate murder is almost cliche at this point among serial killers with a specific victim profile. 

Aaron makes assignments and you land with JJ and Spencer, headed to the abduction sites when you land. You watch as JJ attempts to connect with Spencer like you had this morning, but he pointedly looks away from her, studying the file in his lap with a tight set of his mouth. 

This is going to be a long day.  

+++

“So, Beth got off the bus here and headed northwest toward class,” you recap, using the map and tracing your finger along the path. You look down the sidewalk as the three of you walk her last route, seeing an average amount of foot traffic and plenty of witness opportunities. 

JJ seems to read your mind. “It’s amazing no one witnessed her abduction.”

“I was think-” 

Spencer cuts you off. “Emily was buried six feet under and wound up in Paris, so I guess anything is possible, right?”

Yeah. His attitude this morning? Definitely not about you.

“So, that’s what this is about,” JJ says flatly.

Spencer carries on as if she hasn’t said anything at all. “Maybe our unsub's a little bit like Bundy. He feigns injury in order to get her to help him.”

JJ tries again and you feel more and more like an unwanted witness by the moment. JJ cuts him off with her body, stepping in front of him. “Look, Spence, if you want to talk about this -”

He continues to talk over her, “Maybe he tried other tactics, like, ‘Wow, you're really pretty. You should be a model. I can take your photo.’” 

She looks at you with a mixture of hurt and incredulity.  You take a big breath and shake your head. 

It’s not worth it right now. He’s not ready.

Regardless, she persists. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Either one would disarm her,” Spencer says. 

You step halfway between them, hoping to create a subtle buffer. “Charm is quite the killer.”

“So are tears.” He carries on, hardly taking a breath between thoughts. “Whatever his ruse was, the unsub mostly likely used it to get her into his vehicle.”

“Well,” you answer. “If Abby was last seen at a bus stop a few miles away, then he definitely has a means of transportation.”

“Hopefully the disposal site will tell us more.” Spencer’s already walking away before he finished his thought, leaving you and JJ looking dumbly after him. 

After a second, you remember your purpose and follow, JJ on your heels.

+++

You meet Derek and Emily at one thrift store Aaron sent you to and you split up to cover more ground. You share a significant, loaded look with Derek, who then comes up with some way to rearrange Aaron’s assignments. He keeps JJ and Reid together, swapping you for Emily. 

You’re thankful, and your mission is successful. You and Derek find Abby’s clothes, hawked or traded for the items she was wearing when her body was found. The clerk identifies them, confirming that they were genuine 80s vintage sold at his store. 

Helpful, indeed.

On the way back to the station, Derek surprises you with an unrelated question. “So you’re pissed at him, right?” 

You look over at him, driving (to this point) in silence. “Hm?”

“Hotch. You’re pissed at him, too, right?”

You weigh your options. You could exaggerate how upset you are, citing and harkening back to Aaron’s return (leaving out the sex part), or you could be honest. You split the difference. 

“Well, I screamed at him a bunch when he got back. I’m less mad now than I was then, but that’s not a high bar.” You shrug. “I’m more upset about Pakistan than Emily though, if I’m honest.”

Derek nods. “I get that.”

“I know that wouldn’t be the case for you,” you continue, “since you were there when she, you know.” 

“Yeah.” 

You sit in silence for a minute. “So, how pissed are you?”

“I’m not happy, I can tell you that much.”

You resist the urge to parrot him. I get that. “Right.”

“Do I think it was a stupid and hurtful choice? Yeah.” He sighs. “Do I get it on some level? Also yeah. I mean -“ He huffs. “I can also understand the position they were in, you know? I mean, I wasn’t unit chief for long but there’s a lot you can’t -“ He cuts himself off. “I get it. I do. I’m still mad.”

You nod. “That’s fair. And I think I feel the same way. I get it, but that doesn’t help me be less-pissed, you know?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I’m worried about Reid.”

Your mouth twists. “Me too. There’s a lot of anger there and it’s leaking like a shitty faucet.”

Derek shakes his head. “He’s not like us, you know? He’s not good at stuffing his feelings -“

“Not that that’s an admirable quality, or anything,” you add wryly. 

Derek laughs lightly, deflecting. “No, but it can help with stuff like this.”

“Right.”

The two of you sit in silence after that. 

+++

Aaron looks over his shoulder from the board when you and Derek walk in, a little crinkle in his brow. “Where’re Reid and JJ?”

“With Emily,” you answer. When you get closer you murmur, “I’ll tell you later.” 

He nods and turns back to the board, writing labels in his blocky handwriting. “I’ve asked the chief to assemble his shift change officers for a profile delivery,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. “Do you think we have enough?” 

“When Dave and the others get back from the dumpsite, I think we will. Three victims, we have the pattern and can deliver our conclusions from there.” You look over at him, studying the board with your arms crossed, and you know your face softens when your eyes meet. 

It’s so cheesy. So lame. But damn it, he makes you so happy. 

Disgusting. 

The eye closest to the board pinches in a lightning fast wink and you smother a bigger smile as Derek joins you, putting his notes under the photos of Abby and Beth. 

“We getting ready for profile delivery?” He asks. 

“Mhm,” you answer. You mark the latest dump site on the map. “Just waiting on the others to get back.” 

+++

Before the profile delivery, the team holes up in one of the conference rooms to comb through the findings so far. It’s…rough. To say the least. 

Spencer makes another little snide comment. You inhale deeply through your nose, jaw tightening. He’s been like this for days, snapping at JJ, sniping at Aaron. You’ve ignored it. Over and over.

Your fingers tighten around your pen. The back of your neck prickles. 

Breathe in. Hold. Out.

JJ speaks, her voice light but thoughtful. “Could there be something he’s not getting from the women in his life? Something he’s missing?”

“Wonder what that’s like,” Spencer mutters under his breath, but the sharp edge in his tone makes it clear he doesn’t mean the unsub.

Your pen slams onto the desk with a crack. “Goddamn it, Spencer. That’s enough.”

“What?!” He says, his voice crawling up a couple octaves. “What did I say?” He has the gall to look offended that you called him out.

“What haven’t you said?” You throw your hands and sit back in your chair. Hot, ugly anger flares in your sternum and you simply don’t care that the rest of the team is staring at you in various states of shock and concern. “You’re being mean. You’re being mean and pretending like you aren’t and I’ve fucking had it.” 

He has the nerve to look indignant. “Wh-”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard - that we’ve all heard - the innumerable little chirps and passive aggressive bullshit you’ve said to JJ and Hotch since we got back?” 

“They aren’t innumerable,” he snarks. 

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh. So we’re acknowledging them now? And counting them? That’s nice.” You can hear your last name leave Aaron’s mouth as a word of warning. You ignore him. There’s silence for a moment. You cross your arms. “Are you going to say anything else, or are you done? I’m sure either of them would be happy to discuss it with you—if you acted like a grown-up.”  

“Bullshit!” Spencer spits. “They -” he points at JJ and Aaron, whose faces are hard and hurt. “- weren’t acting like grown ups when they lied to our faces.”

“They were, actually.” You sound petulant, but you can’t really bring yourself to feel bad about it. 

“Oh, really?” It’s not a real question, but you’re happy to provide him with an answer. 

“Yes, really. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.” Your voice is louder than you want, and you’ve straightened in your chair, jabbing your finger into the table.  

Spencer’s eyes harden. “So, you’re not mad at them at all, right? Academy hotshot, child prodigy that you are, right? Who defends every fucking thing that comes out of Hotch’s mouth, right?” 

Ouch. 

You get quiet. In your peripheral vision, you see JJ cover her mouth to cover her jaw dropping to the floor. Derek plants his hands on the table, moving to stand, and you wave him off. This is not worth Derek being on Spencer’s shit list too, especially not on your behalf. There’s thunder behind Aaron’s carefully controlled expression, and you know he’s holding back his worser instincts. Emily looks down at the conference room table and it only adds to your anger that she looks ashamed. 

She has nothing to feel bad about. 

Beyond that, the jab about Hotch isn’t worth mentioning. Plus, it really hurts. “I’m pissed, Spencer, but I am not -” and regrettably, your volume increases with every word, “- shortsighted and selfish enough to think that my feelings are more important than things that matter, like-“ You gesture vaguely, “I don’t know. Emily’s life and safety and international security.” You stand, pushing yourself out of your chair. “Grow up.”

Silence. A charged, suffocating silence.

No one speaks. No one moves. Aaron’s mouth is a firm, thin line. JJ looks stunned, almost hurt. Derek's hands flex against the table, like he’s deciding whether to step in. Emily won’t look up at all.

You turn on your heel and walk out, letting the door shut behind you. Hard.

Outside, the air is sharp in your lungs, but it doesn’t cool the anger burning under your skin. You take in a deep breath, then another, but your pulse still hammers in your throat.

The fresh air outside does nothing to cool you off, but you do gulp down several breaths before you hear the door open and shut behind you again. You know who it is. Though, given Spencer’s comment, you kind of hoped it was Derek. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Aaron says. 

“I wasn’t kidding. I’m fucking sick of it.” You can’t look at him. You’re already embarrassed. You’ve never yelled at Spencer like that, let alone in the middle of a conference room that may or may not be soundproof. At best, it’s unprofessional. At worst… “You should write me up now and save yourself some time when we get home.” 

Aaron steps up beside you, leaning against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not going to write you up.” 

You sniff. 

“I’m not going to write Reid up, either.” 

Your mouth twists. “We’re all mad. I get it. Some of us are just professional enough to shut the fuck up about it.” 

“Right,” Aaron says. You can hear a laugh in it, though his face doesn’t change. “Like we’re professionals.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He sobers. “I do. I tried talking to him about it but I’ll try again. It’s not fair, to JJ in particular. He’s lashing out at her - it’s targeted and I’ve about had enough of it myself.” He pauses for a moment. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. It’s been a while since you’ve lost it like that.” 

Hot tears prick at your eyes. “I’ve never lost it on Spencer like that. Any of them, really.” 

“Just me, huh?” 

Your eyes flash to him for a moment, the side of your mouth tipping up. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not. But it does tell me you care.” 

You take a big breath and the burning behind your eyes melts away to a simple headache. The heels of your hands scrub into your eye sockets until you see color behind your lids. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back in to apologize.” 

“Take your time. You don’t have to apologize now, or ever, honestly.” He adds the last bit under his breath before continuing. “I’ll separate the two of you for the day and see where we land.” He taps the railing twice and shifts his weight to leave. 

“Aaron?” 

He turns back, looking at you, half-turned toward the door “Hmm?” 

You look at him, your lower lip disappearing into your mouth, hoping he understands. With the smallest of smiles, he reaches out and briefly (briefly) squeezes your bicep and turns, disappearing into the station. 

+++

The conference room is silent when you come back. You sit down and pick up your pen, forcing yourself to twirl it casually between your fingers. Aaron already planted himself in the chair beside yours, his breathing even as he marks up a copy of one of the reports, his right hand splayed over the paper. 

Spencer spins in his chair, a folder in his lap. Emily tapes the latest photos to the whiteboard mechanically, her eyes following her hands just a second too late. 

Dave sits in the corner, his ankle propped on his knee, his hand supporting his face. He looks at you, his eyes the only thing moving. His eyebrow twitches. 

You shake your head. It’s fine. 

Derek stands and taps your shoulder. “I’m going for a drive and I could use your eyes on this before we go for profile with the shift change.” 

You nod and stand, grabbing your coat, recognizing the effort for what it is. At least Derek’s attempting to be subtle about it. 

The door doesn’t quite slam when you get into the car, but it comes close. You cringe a little and settle as Derek rounds the back bumper, checks the trunk, and hops in. 

There’s silence as he pulls out of the station parking lot and gets onto the four-lane out of town. 

“So, where are we going?” You ask. You hope you don’t sound too cross, but you’re not even sure how you’re feeling right now, if you’re completely honest with yourself. 

Derek turns onto the highway. “Out. Figured it would be nice to get out of there for a minute.” 

You pull a face. “Was it that bad after I left?”

“No,” Derek says. He sounds convincing but you’re not sure he’s that good. “But I think everyone could use a little space.”

“From me, you mean.” 

“Including you,” he says, glancing over briefly. “There’s a lot of bad blood in there. Thought you might need a break.”

You’re quiet for a minute. “Was I too far out of line?” You do your best not to sound like you’re begging for affirmation or whining too much, but it may be a lost cause. “I know I’ve never really lost it like that on any of you except - well.” You cut yourself off. “I just want to make sure I wasn’t too ridiculous or overblown or anything.” 

Derek shakes his head. “Reid was out of line, and I’m not surprised you called him on it. You didn’t say anything untrue or hurtful.”

“Favor wasn’t returned, obviously.”

“Yeah… that was…” Derek lets out a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t say it.” 

A moment of silence passes. 

“I don’t defend Hotch that much do I?” You ask, your voice small. It’s not sudden, but Spencer’s comment unlocked some not-so-hidden insecurity that everyone can see through you, that you play favorites and Hotch is the recipient of most of your affection in the field. It doesn’t feel true, but you’re not sure if your perception is warped.

Derek reaches over and clasps your shoulder fondly. “No. We can always count on you to have his back, but it’s not like it’s a punchline or anything.” He pauses. “Why? You worried about what he said?”

“I dunno,” you say, shrugging. “It just struck a nerve and I wanted to check.” 

“It struck a nerve because Reid meant to lash out.” Derek’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice is calm. Too calm. “It was meant to hurt your feelings.”

Your throat tightens. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, easy and confident. “Because it’s not true. You push Hotch just as much as you back him up.” He glances at you, a knowing glint in his eye. “You do it because you love him.”

Your stomach drops. The words hit you with the force of a sucker punch, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Am I that obvious?

Derek continues on blithely, as if he’s said nothing of consequence. “It would be like if someone threw Garcia in my face. I’d jump in front of a moving train for her, so what?” He shrugs and you try to relax. “It’s fine to be close to people, to go out of your way to support them.” He glances over. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, too quickly. “I’m fine.” 

A smile curves at the edge of Derek’s mouth. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid. Though I’m not sure how much of a secret it is anymore.”

This is not helping your adrenaline situation. You turn on the seat warmer and shove your hands under your thighs to hide their shaking. 

“What secret?”

Derek throws you a sardonic look. “C’mon. We all know there’s something going on there.” 

You shake your head and you just know it’s not convincing. You weren’t prepared for this. “Nothing more so than usual. Hotch and I have always been -”

“If you say ‘close,’ I’m gonna pull this damn car over.” 

You just frown at him, hoping it plays at confusion. To your chagrin, Derek sighs and takes the exit, getting back on the highway in the other direction before speaking again. 

“One of these days,” he starts, “you’re going to have to figure out what to do about that. Just -” He huffs. “- just be brave, okay?”

You're quiet. Any attempt to protest would just be damning, and any attempt to explain what you have, in fact, already done about that would nullify your attempt to have something (for once) that’s just for you and Aaron.

And, of course, you can’t mention that what you have ‘done about that’ includes, but is not limited to, Aaron himself. 

Sigh…

Derek surprises you, reaching over again to make contact. You hold his offered hand in two of your own. Maybe some tremors are warranted, now.

The police station is in sight when Derek speaks again. “Is Hotch going to write you up?”

You shake your head. “He’s not writing Reid up either.”

“Good,” Derek replies, releasing your hand so he can park, “best to keep this in-house.” 

You hum your assent and move to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Derek stops you, demanding your eyes with his hand over yours. You look up at him. 

“Remember what I said, okay?” 

You must look lost, because he clarifies.

“Be brave. It’ll be okay. You were brave with Spencer today and -”

You scoff and he grabs your hand. 

“I’m serious. You stood up for yourself and for JJ and Hotch. You did the right thing.”

“Really?” 

“Look - I don’t completely disagree with Reid and I am plenty mad at them, but there’s a way to go about it and that’s not it.” He pauses, making sure you understand. “I’m proud of you.”

+++

When you and Derek return, the rest of the team is ready to deliver the profile. 

Aaron addresses the assembled officers, introducing the team and giving a brief primer on the case and its scope for those who haven’t been on shift since you arrived. “We’re here to help your department and assist in narrowing your subject pool.” He pauses, briefing them on how the profile delivery works and how to apply it. 

With a jolt, you realize it’s been several weeks since you’ve seen him perform this standard task. The last time you saw him deliver a profile, it was before Pakistan, before… everything. 

It’s surreal. 

You don’t know it, but Emily catches you watching him, an unfathomably deep affection in your eyes and a soft smile on your face. She takes a note and tries to see what you see, but instead catches him catching you, meeting your eyes with a dubious kind of teasing in his own. You startle and drop your eyes. He looks back at the officers, a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. 

…Interesting.

“We believe the unsub or unknown subject that we're looking for is a white male in his 40s,” Aaron says, kicking you all off. “This is someone who's reacting to rejection by a woman when he was teenager in the 1980s. He's punishing his victims for their reactions to him by taking away their senses with sulfuric acid.”

Dave adds on. “We believe our unsub could possibly work part-time as a janitor or a mechanic, which would give him access to this chemical.”

“And after studying the disposal sites, we think it's likely that he is homeless,” Derek says. “Now, how do we typically react toward the homeless? We judge them by their looks and smells. It's that same negative reaction we believe that a woman had toward the unsub at some point in the eighties.”

“The unsub's fixation on this woman is now all-consuming,” you add, gesturing easily and casually to your audience. These presentations have become easier over the years and feel second-nature now. “It caused him to develop Obsessive Love Disorder, characterized by compulsive and dysfunctional behavior focused on the object of the unsub’s fixation. He most likely has tunnel vision and believes that she holds the key to his happiness.”

“He will stalk her in an attempt to win her back,” Emily adds.

JJ jumps in next. “He will do whatever it takes to be near his love interest. But her rejection will spiral him into a depression.”

“Which would lead to rape and murder of the surrogates who represent her.” Reid cuts straight to the point, driving it home. “And it's only a matter of time before this rage and anger causes the unsub to go after her directly.”

Aaron thanks the assembled when everyone’s done presenting their findings, and makes himself available for questions. 

+++

You rest your temple on your finger as you look over Emily’s notes, combing through anything you may have missed. The rest of the team is out at the board. You’ve decided to place yourself in exile at this point, not trusting yourself to behave well enough for mixed company. 

“Spence, we have to talk about this,” JJ says, following Reid into your conference room at a decent clip as he blusters into the room, haphazardly collecting and gathering folders to his chest.

Oh, shit. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

JJ persists. “I get it, okay? You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” Spencer says, still avoiding her.

“You know what I think it is?” She asks. “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

And that’s my cue to… get the fuck out of here.

You gather the notes and slip out of the conference room, taking refuge at Aaron’s side. You can’t hear JJ or Spencer clearly anymore and it feels better that way. Sure, you’re all privy to way more than normal colleagues, but this feels uniquely private. It would be intrusive for you to stay, especially after your little display only an hour or so ago. 

You’d almost feel bad for Spencer if he weren’t piling it all on himself. 

“Spence!” JJ calls after him as he backs out of the conference room. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late, alright?” He turns and tries to leave, passing you all at the board.

Emily’s fingers worry the corner of the report she’s holding. “Reid…?”

Everyone’s eyes follow Spencer as he takes your worn path out of the station. When the door closes behind him, the rest of you turn back to JJ, whose lashes are wet. She looks devastated. She takes a breath and turns, hiding from everyone’s eyes. 

You swallow and look at Aaron, feeling useless and helpless. He’s still watching JJ, his face hard. 

+++

“It would have had to have been a woman very close to the unsub to make him react this way,” Aaron says.

He stands at the corner of the table, Dave and JJ seated on either side of him. You stand over Emily’s shoulder, occasionally watching the door. 

Spencer’s been gone for hours now. All of you have texted him, but he’s only responded to Hotch to confirm he is, in fact, alive. 

“Then why go after surrogates?” You ask. “Surely with someone so close, he wouldn’t have to sublimate his rage?”

Aaron tips his head and takes a breath to answer, but Reid’s reappearance stops him short. 

“I don't think we're dealing with a typical homeless person. He's good with chemicals, owns a car.” He walks to the head of the table, by the board, and addresses all of you. “I think the only mistake in our profile was assuming there was something wrong with his physical composition, reducing him to some sort of stereotype.”

Welcome back? 

JJ blinks a few times and casts her eyes downward, studying the wood grain. There’s shame and sadness leaching from her every pore. Your eyes bounce from her to Aaron, whose eyes are on Spencer. Careful. Watchful.

“You think it's only his mental state?” Dave asks.

“I think this guy might be smart enough to use his disability to his advantage so he comes across as harmless.”

Derek nods, considering it. “Then when he's alone and the victim rejects him, he goes off.”

“What if he doesn't live on the street?” JJ asks, her tone flat. “What if he's in a halfway house?”

Aaron already has Penelope on the line. “Garcia, I need a list of halfway houses and mental health centers in the unsub's comfort zone.”

She provides five, and Aaron narrows it further to two with parameters related to the 80s. 

He sends Derek and Emily to the first, and assigns you and Dave with him for the second. 

That leaves Reid and JJ alone. Here. In the station. 

“What about us?” JJ must have the same thought, because she sounds a little worried.

“Stay here and check ViCAP for similar M.O.s and signatures.” Aaron pauses as she leaves her chair, taking the long way around the table. “Reid,” he says in a tone that brokers no room for argument. “If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”

“I can't. I didn't come to your house crying for weeks.”

Reid’s voice is brittle, laced with something harsher than hurt, and it lands like a slap as he glares at you. The accusation is clear—you aren’t as devastated as him, as wrecked, as broken. Maybe you don’t care as much. Maybe you’re weaker for forgiving so quickly, for understanding.

And then, before you can even take a full breath, he’s gone—fast, too fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quickly enough.

Aaron hasn’t moved, except for his eyes—still locked on the door, his jaw tight, unreadable.

You take a breath, roll your shoulders back. “For what it’s worth, I did come to your house crying for weeks.”

Your voice is lighter than you feel, edged with something that isn’t quite humor, but isn’t bitterness either. You’re not sure what it is, really—only that it sits deep in your ribs, thick and unmoving. It’s the thing keeping you from committing fully, probably. 

Aaron finally looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes soften.

“And I’m not that mad at you.”

“I know.” He pauses. “Thank you for being so… understanding.” You know he wants to say more, but there are eyes and ears everywhere. 

One side of your mouth tips up as you stand. “Anytime.”

+++

You’re back before Derek and Emily. Their spot was further and you’re sure Aaron sent them to that one on purpose. The extent of his awareness when it comes to interpersonal strategy can only be chalked up to his background in law. You’re just glad he’s using his powers for good now. 

He gets a call from Derek, who must report back on his findings. He shares yours as well. “We got eleven from the one we visited.” 

Eleven possible suspects, in addition to however many Derek and Emily found. You check your watch. It’s been the longest day of your life so far, you’re pretty sure. 

“Send your names to Garcia. Have her cross-check them against jobs that use sulfuric acid.”

Aaron hangs up and you continue walking down the hall, posting up on the other side of Dave.

“How’s Reid?” Dave asks. 

“He's angry and frustrated. I'm surprised everybody isn't.” He looks meaningfully at you. You shrug. 

Dave also offers a shrug. “Some of us had an inkling.” 

You look incredulously at Dave, your eyebrows furrowed. “There’s no way.” 

“What?” He asks. “I'm good at what I do.” After a pause, you’ve corrected your face and he turns more directly to Aaron. The three of you form a little triangle. “So, are you gonna get psychological counseling for the team or handle it internally?”

You can see the wheels turning before Dave even finishes his thought, noting the dangerous glint of amusement in Aaron’s eyes. “No, I think that if we all just got together, maybe a cooking lesson at the home of one of one of our founders -”

“Oh no,” Dave says, cutting him off. “Not you, too.” 

“It could boost morale,” you add, unhelpful in the extreme. 

Aaron nods. “I think it’s almost a guarantee.”

“Is this an order?” Dave asks, seeming to accept defeat.

“No, it's just a - it's a very tempered suggestion.” There’s humor in his entire demeanor, and you find yourself grinning. 

Dave repeats him sardonically before walking away. “Tempered suggestion.”

You rejoin JJ and Spencer, who appear to be working in tense silence over the ViCAP reports. Aaron assigns you and Dave to call families and get a sense of your eleven possible unsubs. It’s tedious work and half of them don’t pick up. 

Dave looks over at you, tipping his head toward Spencer. “Sure you’re not sick of us?”

You let out a short, breathy laugh, flicking your gaze toward him before returning to your work. “Never.”

Rossi hums, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. He leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough for the words to slip in under your radar.

“Not everyone would’ve turned that down, you know.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t need to.

You don’t look up, your tone dismissive. “Didn’t want it.”

That should be the end of it. And maybe it is—for you.

But Rossi’s eyes flicker past you, toward the figure standing a few feet behind you. Hotch had approached, unnoticed, in the middle of the exchange. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t interrupt.

Just… stands there.

Watching.

And for a split second, Rossi catches something flicker across his face.

“So we interviewed the 19 people released from the group home,” Derek says, returning with Emily. “None of them fit the profile.”

You sit back, dropping your phone on the table. “We’re trying to reach families but it’s slow going.” 

One of the local detectives comes in with a new file. “Tammy Bradstone's parents just filed a report. Their daughter didn't return from homecoming.”

“Her face is similar to our three vics,” Emily says.

JJ’s face is sober, still a little watery from her rough afternoon with Spencer. “She's about the same age.”

“Well, the after party where she was last seen was smack in the comfort zone,” the detective says.

+++

The interviews with Tammy’s friends stretch long into the night, exhaustion creeping into every syllable, every note scribbled too hastily. It was already late before you started—now, it’s edging into cruel.

After Tammy’s boyfriend, you drop your head onto the table, exhaling in a slow, deliberate breath, fighting the yawn clawing at your throat. The words on your notepad blur.

A chair rolls back. Aaron leans forward, his voice even but softer than usual. “Alright. That’s enough for now.” He rubs his temple briefly before straightening. “Morgan and Prentiss, you take the parents’ house in the morning. We’ll keep going with interviews here.”

"Leave your phones on," he adds, already moving toward the door. “But get some rest.”

You drive with Aaron and Emily back to the hotel, taking the backseat to avoid any unnecessary temptation for your taxed and tired brain. 

“Goodnight,” Emily says. She steps out of the car and opens her arms. You step into her embrace and lay your head on her shoulder, holding her tight. You close your eyes and breathe her in, letting the peace of her presence settle you. 

Aaron walks ahead to give you and Emily some time, turning back to wait for the both of you. 

You pull back from her, holding onto her arms with affectionate hands. “Goodnight, Em.”

“Calling the boyfriend tonight?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Emily stops, tilting her head at you, skepticism written all over her face. She lets the silence stretch just long enough for you to feel it. Then—

"Right." A single nod. Her eyes flick to Hotch, standing a polite distance away, and then back to you.

"Not your boyfriend." She pauses, her voice suddenly laced with amusement. “Is that for your benefit, or so that Hotch won’t fly into a jealous rage?”

“Like he’s capable of that. Or would have any reason to.” You roll your eyes and firmly, but with humor, repeat yourself. “Goodnight, Em.”

She idly wonders if you’re terrible at lying, or terrible at being in denial. 

+++

To your shock and awe, you get a text from Aaron before bed. 

11:13pm Check outside your door. 

You make a face. 

11:13pm Why?

Your fingers hesitate on the door handle, your phone still in your other hand.

The response is almost immediate. 

11:13pm Don’t you trust me?

"Jesus." You roll your eyes but open the door anyway.

Aaron is already stepping inside before you can react. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you in together. He doesn’t speak—just reaches, slow and deliberate, pulling you in. His hand runs up your back, warm and grounding, before he exhales into your skin. 

The shift in the air is palpable—he’s here. He’s yours. He’s… close. So close.

Your head tilts, your cheek finding his chest, and you close your eyes.

“This is risky business, Mr. Hotchner,” you murmur, a smile in your voice. 

He leans back just enough to take you in. “I missed you.”

“We’ve been spoiled,” you remind him softly. “We just need to get used to it.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I just…I wanted to say goodnight.”

“Did you, now?” You ask, leaning into him. Your tilt your head up, teasing him a little. 

His arms tighten around you and he smiles a warm, gentle smile. “Yeah. I did.” He pauses, swallows, and wets his lips. “I also wanted to kiss you a little.”

“Just a little? - mmph!”

His mouth is already on yours. Your hands find his chest, wind over his shoulders, your wrists crossing as you settle against him, your bodies flush. 

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing him, of being in his arms. You can feel him smile against your mouth, his touch slow and indulgent. One hand finds your waist, slipping under your shirt, his thumb stroking your skin. The other pulls you against him, spread over your lower back, the curve in your spine. 

For a split second, you consider ruining the moment—reminding him that somewhere out there, a teenage girl is still missing. But if that were the bar, you’d never have a good day again.

And you’ve learned this much: there will always be something, always someone having the worst day of their life.

It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have really good days, too.

He pulls away just enough to plant a chaste peck on the center of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. You breathe him in—the warmth of him, the spice. His hair has been ungelled all week, and you love the way it flops over his forehead.

“I love you,” he says. 

That’s another thing you’ll never get tired of. 

“I love you.” you whisper. “So much.” 

He hums and nuzzles into you, his nose brushing yours. “I think I’ll have to sneak out of here, but I would like to stay.”

“I know,” you whisper, your arms slipping, your hands coming to rest on either side of his jaw. “We’ll be home soon.”

+++

You’re in the middle of an interview when Hotch pulls you. You join him in the hallway with Dave and Spencer. 

“They have a lead on Ben Bradstone, Tammy’s uncle. Morgan and Prentiss are with the parents and we’re trying to get a message to him.”

“What do we need to do?” You ask, mirroring him and crossing your arms. 

He checks his phone. “I just sent you and Dave the addresses to the mechanic shops where Mr. Bradstone picks up shifts. Reid, you go with Rossi.”

+++

You pull up behind Dave and Spencer at the Bradstone house, getting out of the car and jogging up the drive following your field trip. Derek opens the door. 

“Any luck?”

You answer. “He hasn’t been to either of the shops in the past two months -”

Spencer cuts you off. “But the one on Fourth said a bunch of car batteries had gone missing.”

You and Emily share a grim look as the house phone rings. 

“Wait,” Emily says, her hand up to stop Mrs. Bradstone from answering. 

Derek’s phone starts ringing scant seconds after the house phone. You’re almost certain it’s Penelope. He pauses, listening, then confirms, “It’s him.”

Emily gestures toward the phone, her tone gentle. “Okay, go ahead. Just like we talked about.”

Lyla picks up the phone with shaking hands. “Hello?..” Her breath catches in a sob and you know it’s not entirely fake. “Matt got arrested…They think that he hurt Tammy.” She pauses, shuddering and steeling herself. “Oh, God, Cy. I need you…I just--I--I need you to, uh, come over here and-” Emily reaches over, a note in her hand. Lyla reads it and nods, her voice turning almost mechanical. “I need you to talk. I need you to… hold me… Yes, I - Hurry. I have no one else to turn to.” She hangs up and bolts to her bedroom, trying to recover. “He’s coming.”

“You and Prentiss stay with them,” Dave says, gesturing to you and Spencer. “Morgan and I will get the front.” 

You watch from the living room as Lyla meets Cy on the flagstones in the front yard, watches her shake as he embraces her. She doesn’t wrap her arms around him, stiff and uncomfortable. 

“Cy Bradstone! FBI!” Derek appears from the side of the house. “Put your hands where I can see them! Let me see your hands!”

Dave gets closer. “On your knees, now!”

You get Hotch on the phone. 

“Hotchner,” he says. 

“Aaron? We’re coming in with Cy. I think you’ll need your A-game for this one.”

+++

You stand with Emily and Derek in observation, your arms crossed. 

“We need to know where Tammy is, Cy,” Aaron says. He’s in there with Dave, who stands in the corner. 

“We've looked in your car. There's no sign of her.” Dave is half in shadow, lurking on the side of the interrogation room without any lights.

“We know this isn't about Tammy,” Aaron says. “This is about your love for Lyla.”

“Lyla?” Cy asks. “Lie-la!” 

Dave starts the mid-game, prompting Cy to share information he wouldn’t otherwise. Aaron backs him up, prompting him along. Dave gets closer as you watch, affirming Cy’s worldview and redirecting his anger toward Lyla. 

Eventually, he agrees to tell you where she is. On one condition. 

You make eye contact with Aaron as he escorts Tammy’s father into interrogation. You sure?

His expression is sober, serious. We’ll be right there.

Your skepticism may have been well-placed. Aaron and Dave both have a hand on Mr. Bradstone’s shoulders as he lunges across the table at his brother, who laughs maniacally at his brother’s anger, hurt, and fear. 

Good God.

You and Derek head toward the cars, pending an address. You buckle in, your vest already on. 

“Ready?” Derek asks. “It could get bad in there.”

“I’ll be okay as long as we find her alive,” you assure him. “And even if we don’t, I’ll handle it.” 

You’re a little more explicit than you normally would be, but Spencer’s shoddy communication has brought that out of you in the last couple of days. The address appears on your phone, Derek broadcasts it on the radio, and you're off. A follow up text appears, moments later.

2:47pm Be safe.

You reply before stuffing your phone in your pocket. 

2:47pm Always.

When you get to the house, Tammy is alive, but unconscious. Holstering your gun, Emily calls for medics and you look at the shelves full of tapes, pulling box after box with Derek. 

You don’t envy the PD or the prosecutor in this case.

+++

You don’t realize how forlornly you’re staring out the window until Emily sits beside you. You’ve been so focused on not looking at Aaron too much or sitting too near to Aaron or touching Aaron too much or laughing too hard at what he says--

“You alright?” 

It’s exhausting. 

You snap out of your reverie. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

She almost laughs. “It’s funny to see you so eager to get home. He must really be something, huh?” 

You don’t reply right away, but a little smile pulls at the corner of your lips. “I guess.” 

Emily scoffs and you catch Aaron’s smirk behind his tablet. “You guess?” 

“What do you want me to say, Em? Is it a crime to like the person you’re seeing?” There’s no heat in it at all and you grin at her.

Aaron’s expression morphs into something damn-near theatrical for him, looking mock-critical before he shakes his head as if seriously answering your question. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking, keeping your face as neutral and serene as you can manage. He managed to conduct that entirely within your peripheral vision, sitting a couple rows away, just over Emily’s shoulder. 

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal, right? Like, when do any of us date?“

That’s a fair point. “Okay, true. But just because we don’t have lives doesn’t mean you get to harass me, though.” You raise your eyebrows, challenging her. 

“Oh,” she says through a sardonic laugh. “I totally think it does.”

+++

Eventually, you retire to the (shockingly unoccupied, except for Aaron) couch. You stretch, laying down, your travel pillow under your head. Aaron shifts, making a move to get up, and you wave him off. 

“Don’t bother,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “There’s plenty of space.”

He murmurs his thanks and you’re chuffed by your “normal” act. He sounds very casual, as if he doesn’t care either way. You’re impressed. You both know your lines. The blocking, however, could use some work. 

With that in mind, you make sure there’s respectable distance between you and Aaron. You have to, at least, give the impression that you tried. 

You shift in your seat, curling deeper into the couch cushions. Your slipper socks slide against the leather. Absentmindedly, in what could only be coincidence, your leg extends just enough—just barely—to brush against the outside of Aaron’s thigh.

You feel the shift in his breathing before anything else.

Predictably, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t shift away. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. But the weight of the contact lingers, warm and solid, grounding you more than the couch cushions ever could.

Derek, Dave, and JJ have settled, snoozing peacefully at the table. Spencer has exiled himself to the little bank of seats furthest away from you. 

You hear someone - presumably Emily, pass you and sit by Spencer. She’s making the rounds, apparently. 

Aaron murmurs to you once she’s out of earshot. “Are you asleep?”

You shake your head, burrowing deeper into the couch cushions. He sighs and rises, rummaging around in one of the storage areas. Moments later, you’re covered with a blanket, your feet tucked in. He takes his seat next to you once again and settles, his arm up on the back of the couch. 

“Get some sleep,” you murmur. You’re not sure how audible you are. 

A hand pats your calf, and you know he’s ignoring you. 

After a while, you really do fall asleep, the security of his presence beside you lulling you into the dark. 

+++

You finish getting ready, walking into the bedroom where Aaron is slipping his belt through the buckle, tightening it with a practiced tug. The worn, gray knit polo stretches across his shoulders as he moves, soft enough to touch, fitted enough to remind you just how unfairly broad he is. The silver watch on his wrist glints under the lamplight as he pulls on the leather.

"Ready?" His voice is low, steady—far too casual for the way his eyes flick over you. “We could drive separately, but I think they’ll buy that I gave you a ride if you don’t feel like taking two cars.”

You step closer, your fingers skimming along the leather of his belt, slipping the excess into the first loop. His muscles tense, just slightly, under your touch. His breath stays even, but his eyes drop—watching your hands, sharp and focused. Not quite surprised. Just… aware.

Your smile widens. "As opposed to what?”

He looks up, masking amusement with mock consideration. “That we’re keeping this grand secret from them that will surely confirm their sincerely held belief that we’ve been sleeping together for ages?”

You hum, tapping the belt at his hips once before letting go. “I think a ride is a much easier pill to swallow.”

You lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, just the barest brush of your lips against the warmth of his skin. When you move past him, he follows—like he always does, like he always has.

Then, with infuriating ease, his palm finds your backside. A light swat—just enough to get your attention.

You spin fast, forcing him to stop short—his chin retracting, his hands raised in a wordless show of surrender. But his smirk gives him away.

"You keep that up," you warn, tilting your head, “and we’re gonna be late.”

His smirk deepens. Slow. Knowing. "Promise?"

Your stomach flips. You roll your eyes and turn back around, grabbing your coat off the back of the couch. “You drive me nuts,” you tell him, poorly covering your body’s response to him.

Aaron passes you on his way to the door, close enough that the warmth of him lingers. His voice is silk and smirk, low enough for just you to hear.

"As long as I’m driving, baby.” 

You aim a glare at his back. He only chuckles, opening the door for you like the gentleman he pretends to be. But just as you pass, his hand catches you—just a single finger hooked at your shoulder. The warmth of his touch is barely there, but it pins you in place.

You glance up, a question forming on your lips—but you never get the chance to ask.

Aaron tilts his head down, catching your mouth in a kiss that is sweet, slow, and utterly consuming. His palm slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you before stepping into the role of Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief (Even on the Weekends), again.

You exhale softly, a pleased little sound slipping from your throat as your free hand spreads over his chest—broad and steady beneath your touch.

He doesn’t pull away quickly. No, he lingers. Like he’s the one trying to make this last. Like he’s just as reluctant to leave the warmth of home behind.

When he does finally pull back, his lips barely leave yours, his forehead brushing against you as he murmurs, “That should hold us over for a few hours, yes?”

You inhale, eyes still closed, willing your heart to slow. Then, with a smirk you don’t really feel, you shrug and throw on your jacket. "If you say so.”

Aaron huffs, rolling his eyes like he’s unaffected—but you can see it in the tight set of his jaw, in the flicker of his fingers like he’s fighting the urge to pull you back. He locks the door behind you, ushering you into the car. He’s a real gentleman about certain things - ensuring you never touch a door handle again seems to be one of them. 

Aaron’s hand finds yours the second he’s settled in the driver’s seat. Palm up. Waiting. Like it belongs there. You don’t squeeze, don’t fidget. Just let the heat settle between your fingers, a quiet tether in the space between you as the houses blur past the windows.

When you pull up to Dave’s, you release him without a word.

By the time you step onto the driveway, you’ve put enough space between you to avoid any hint of suggestion.

You reach the door first, knocking and letting yourself in. “Hello!” 

“In here!” You hear JJ and Penelope chirp in unison and you toe your shoes off, heading toward the kitchen. 

Dave has several stations set up, and to your untrained eye it looks like you’re making carbonara. He has a demo colander of pasta on the counter, pancetta and eggs out, and three bottles of (very) nice wine on the island near the barstools. You take a seat next to Penelope and Aaron leans on the one beside you, standing behind it. He reaches for a wine glass, setting it in front of you and uncorking the bottle. 

As he pours (generously), you give Penelope a hug and clasp JJ’s hand around Aaron’s back. 

“Thank you,” she says, meeting your eyes. “I know this week wasn’t easy and I really appr-”

“JJ, if you tell me you appreciate that I did the right thing, I’m going to spit in your wine.” 

She snorts. “Alright, fine. But seriously.” 

You take your wine glass by the stem and swirl it a bit, offering it to Penelope for a toast. After you clink glasses, you’re immediately chastised. 

“Wine goes with the pasta! No drunk cooking.” Dave appears out of nowhere, a slotted spoon in his hand. 

You pull a yikes face and place your glass back on the counter, folding your hands in your lap. Aaron clears his throat, hiding a laugh. 

“Thank you both for being on time,” Dave says, looking at you and Aaron. “It’s nice that some people are punctual.”

You share a look with Aaron and he smiles, shrugging. Almost weren’t, but that’s fine.

“Hey!” Penelope says. “JJ and I were punctual!”

“No,” Dave replies. “You were early, which is also rude.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes as you hide a laugh behind your hand. Emily arrives, looking very elegant in her black shawl, and takes a place at the end of the bar, leaning on the counter. JJ pours her a glass of wine and warns her in advance that she’s not allowed to drink it. 

Derek arrives moments later, swinging his keys. “We getting this thing started, or what? “It’s freezing out there.” He comes up behind you, resting both hands on your shoulders. “I dunno,” he says, dragging it out. “You check the weather in LA today? Might’ve been nice—surf, sun, fancy coffee—”

“Are we waiting for Reid?” You ask, pointedly ignoring him. Derek presses a quick kiss to your temple, then Penelope’s in turn, before finding a place to be on the other side of Aaron.

Emily’s mouth twists. “He said he wasn’t sure if he could make it.”

Aaron almost turns his head to look at you, a small crease between his brows as the conversation flows around you. 

“Well,” Dave says, “We can always catch him up if we need to.” 

He takes his place on the other side of the kitchen island, rolling his sleeves and washing his hands. You offer Aaron a little smile and stand, leaning on your chair and mirroring him. When Dave’s done with his little pre-show, he starts. 

"Cooking," Dave announces, dramatically tossing a towel over his shoulder, "is the most sensual art form."

You instinctively reach for your wine glass. Hotch coughs into his fist—probably to hide a laugh and remind you to keep your wine right where it is. You pull your hand back with a little grimace. 

Dave spreads his arms, gesturing to the neatly arranged ingredients. "And these—" he flicks his wrist with the air of a seasoned maestro, "—are my paints."

Penelope, to her credit, tries to keep up. "So, your hands must be brushes."

Dave points at her. "Don’t interrupt."

You bury your laugh in your hand. Emily’s shoulders shake.

Your lips disappear into your mouth as JJ and Emily snort little giggles. Penelope ducks her head and you bump her shoulder. She bumps you back. 

“In a pot of boiling water we cook our spaghetti until it's al dente, firm to the tooth.” He passes out the pasta and you take some, splitting your share with Aaron. He taps his pasta with yours in a little toast, sending you a subtle wink. 

“Here you go”, Dave continues, passing more to JJ and Emily. “Everybody pass it around.” When everyone has some, you take a little bite. “See? Feel the texture.”

“Now…” He turns, headed to the stove. “In a large pan, we fry up our pancetta,” He shows you his work, the pancetta and onions sizzling in the pan. “Keeping a sharp eye that the edges are crisp.”

“But careful not to burn the onions,” Aaron says, a little pasta still in his mouth. 

“Bravo, Aaron!” 

He lights up at the praise, sharing a smile with JJ.

“We saute until translucence,” Dave continues, poking the pancetta with his wooden spatula. 

The doorbell rings and your head whips around with Emily’s.

“Uh-” Derek holds up a hand to stop both Dave and you from moving toward the door as Dave brings the finished pancetta and onions to the pasta. “I got it.” Derek stands and heads to the door. Rossi thanks him in Italian and immediately makes a vaguely Italian noise in JJ’s direction as she attempts to sip her wine on autopilot.

She freezes, her eyes widening as she guiltily replaces her wine glass on the island. Both you and Penelope smother laughter. You snort, and Aaron’s smile widens. 

“Now, we mix in the eggs…” He demonstrates with each mentioned step. “The parmesan… The spaghett… And parsley.” He presents you with the finished dish, tossing it with the tongs. “You see, it's all about timing and rhythm. And if you don't feel yourself doing it properly, please, order a pizza.”

“Sorry I'm late,” Spencer says. To your surprise, he takes the spot next to JJ’s offering her a small, warm smile. Something feels cozy in your chest. 

“Yeah,” Dave says, making a play at exasperated. “And this is why I cook alone.”

Emily raises a tentative hand. “So, uh, when do we get to drink the wine?”

“Almost there,” Dave replies. “Okay. We start at the beginning. You eat what you cook, I'll supervise, but we're gonna do this all together, just like a family.”

“Okay now?” JJ asks, her eyebrows raised.

Dave tips his head and grabs his wine glass. “Now. Salud!”

The entire team takes turns tapping glasses, and ‘Saluds!’ abound. You clink Emily’s, bringing your wine to your lips just as you shift backward—

Right into Aaron.

You feel it instantly, the solid warmth of him against your back, his chest barely brushing your shoulder blade. His hand finds your belt loop, an almost imperceptible tug, guiding you just enough to ease you forward—not pushing, just placing. The motion is so smooth, so practiced, that to an outsider, it looks like nothing at all. But inside, the shift leaves a ghost of heat where he touched you.

You force your body to stay loose, taking another sip of your wine as if you didn’t just feel the deliberate pressure of his fingers hooking into denim.

Meanwhile, Derek is already herding you and Aaron right back together, nudging you toward the station for the pancetta and onions.

“Alright, dream team,” he says, a little too casually. “Make yourselves useful.”

Aaron barely reacts, stepping into place beside you, reaching for a mixing bowl as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You follow suit, grabbing an unlit match from the cabinet and holding it between your teeth as you start on the onion.

“Does that actually work?” JJ asks.

You nod, talking around the matchstick. “As long as you ‘reathe through your ‘outh, it works.”

“Cool!” Penelope says. “How?”

“S’encer!” You call, needing all of your focus to not slice your fingers or breathe through your nose. The onion’s bite still sneaks in at the edges of your vision, making your eyes prickle.

Spencer, ever helpful, jumps in. “The end of a match is very absorbent to both odors and other airborne chemicals. When you breathe through your mouth, the tear-jerking enzymes in the onion fumes are absorbed into the end of the match. Therefore, it creates a filter of sorts between you and the onion.” He pauses. “You may need more than one match, though. They stop working in a few minutes.”

You reach blindly for the matchbox, but before your fingers can graze it, Aaron beats you to it, setting it beside your cutting board without a word.

You turn your head just slightly—just enough to see the corner of his mouth twitching.

“‘Ank you,” you mumble through the matchstick.

“Mmhm,” he replies, already moving to his own cutting board, dicing pancetta into thin, even pieces.

He’s too close—not inappropriate, just… unavoidable. The excuse of limited counter space is a weak one, but you both commit to it. His left arm brushes your right with every pass of his knife, his rhythm perfectly matching yours, neither of you needing to adjust.

He finishes first—because of course he does. You shove aside a thought inappropriate for mixed company.

Scooping his diced ham into a bowl, he reaches toward you—his fingers just barely brushing your lips as he pulls the matchstick from between your teeth and replaces it with a fresh one. You get right back to work, rolling your knife over the diced pieces, dicing them nice and small.

“That should be sufficient,” he says, like it was purely transactional.

For a moment, he lingers, watching you clamp it between your teeth with absolute seriousness, your brow furrowed in concentration. Something about it—your stubborn commitment to such a tiny, ridiculous trick—makes the corner of his mouth twitch. It’s painfully endearing, in a way he’d never admit aloud.

But if he let himself, he might’ve smiled.

Your lips twitch, fighting a smirk. Careful.

He takes your diced onions next, dropping them into the bowl with the pancetta, neatly sealing them into a baggie before tucking it into the fridge.

It’s seamless, effortless, the way you move around each other, like you’ve been cooking together for years.

Luckily, Dave’s kitchen is big enough for the six of you to move freely, taking sips of your wine as you cook. When the prep work is done, Aaron steps just behind you, just past you, his hand briefly finding your lower back as you dump the pancetta and onions into the pan. 

You both pretend you don’t notice.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? For two people who aren’t supposed to be interested in each other, your reactions to each other have never been proportional. 

Across the kitchen, Dave catches it all.

He’s been watching—casually, of course, a sip of wine here, a flick of the spoon there—but he sees the way Aaron’s fingers hesitate just a beat too long, the way your eyes stay on his as the new matchstick slides between your teeth. He sees the small tell in Aaron’s posture, how he angles toward you like it’s second nature.

Derek chops absentmindedly, lost in conversation. He glances up to check in with the rest of the team, paired off on their own individual tasks. 

Derek pauses mid-chop, watching as Aaron’s hand ghosts along your lower back in a casual, absentminded gesture. His touch is feather-light, almost not a touch at all, guiding you to the side as he reaches for the olive oil.

Emily looks up, following his gaze, catching just the tail-end of the moment. The way your movements align just a little too naturally. The way neither of you react. Her brow furrows, her grip tightening slightly on the knife handle.

Nothing overt. Nothing damning. But there’s something…

Different.

"Do you see—" Emily starts, voice low.

"Yep," Derek mutters, still watching.

For years, the tension between you and Aaron had been palpable, practically another living thing on the team, as obvious as a flashing neon sign to everyone but the two of you. Your colleagues had watched you hover in each other’s orbit, lingering glances, excuses to be near each other, the charged silence of things unsaid and left unacknowledged.

The unspoken yearning, the infuriating, barely restrained pining—gone. Excuses to be near each other have turned into excuses to be as far as reasonably possible. No more loaded eye contact or restrained body language; no more carefully measured inches of distance that still somehow felt too close. 

Emily and Derek exchange a look.

"Huh," Emily murmurs.

"Yeah." Derek shakes his head slightly, glancing back down at the parsley.

Penelope’s head turns, oblivious in the extreme “What?” She says, too loudly. Derek and Emily shush her, but you look over anyway. 

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Derek and Emily say in unison, finding a little tupperware for their parsley. They place it next to the other parsley dish, standing back for now. Penelope looks confused, but you just shake your head. 

Nosy.

Aaron removes the pancetta from the heat, bringing it over to the trivet. “Pancetta’s ready for pasta!” He says, stepping back. 

“Almost done!” JJ calls over her shoulder. She’s testing some of the spaghetti, letting it dangle off her finger to cool it off before she takes a bite. 

You bring over the eggs and invite the others to help you separate, laughing as the egg whites get all over your hands as you let the egg yolk sit in your palm, the whites running through your fingers and into the sink. Derek offers a bowl and you plop the egg yolk in, letting Penelope have a turn. 

Looking over your shoulder, you shoot a smile at Aaron and idly threaten him with your eggy hands. He holds his hands up, blindly reaching behind him for a towel and throwing it at you. With another laugh, you catch it and get the egg white off, your hands soon returning to their clean, dry state. You throw the towel back at him and he whips it over his left shoulder with a wide smile.

When the eggs are all separated, the pasta is finished. Spencer dumps the hot water and pasta through the waiting colander in the sink. Emily grabs some pasta with the tongs, dropping it in the pan with the pancetta and onions. Penelope and JJ grab the eggs, mixing it while Spencer adds the parsley. You grab a healthy amount of parmesan and sprinkle it over the top, looking to Dave for approval. 

“Bravo, bambini!” He says. “Grab a plate, serve yourselves. Good work.” 

The mood is jovial and playful as you all get settled at the table, reaching over each other and pouring more wine. JJ asks for some bread and you pass it over, pouring olive oil and balsamic vinegar in one of the little dishes and passing it over as well. 

Aaron spots you, taking the oil bottle from you and filling the dish nearest him. Despite your best efforts, he landed next to you. 

Your shoulder brushes his as you reach for the salad. He leans back automatically, giving you space, but there’s the briefest of moments where neither of you move. You recover quickly, picking up the bowl and passing it to Penelope. 

“Sorry for the reach, Hotch,” you say, as nonchalantly as possible. 

(You fail.)

“No problem.”

(He does too.)

"Hey—" You smack Derek’s hand as he nabs a bite of your pasta. "You have your own!"

"You let Hotch take some," he fires back, pointing. 

"I did no—" You turn—just in time to catch Aaron swiping a crispy little piece of pancetta off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

Your jaw drops. "Oh my god!"

Aaron, chewing, raises an eyebrow like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

"Aaron Benjamin Hotchner," you declare, scandalized. "You keep your hands to yourself."

Something lights up in his eyes and you level him with a glare. 

Penelope “oohs” at him. “You just got middle-named, sir.”

Aaron lets out a laugh and shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine. You feel wholly undignified and thoroughly attacked. Even then, your lack of dignity came at a fair price. Spencer is smiling, and better yet, smiling at you and JJ and Aaron in turn. 

Worth it. 

+++

tagging: @chronicallybubbly @derekluvbot @jhiddles03 @soupyamanda @percysley @duchesschameleon @ssaic-jareau @viennasolace @youngcowisland @beyscape @reidfile @littlemisskavities @acidicbloody @sochalant @lessonincanvases @froggiefruitcake @realtrashcan

[gf2bellamy]

Hi!

If it's alright, can I please request Spencer finding out that the cute new neighbour he has a crush on works is now working in the FBI as her new job (whether or not she's a profiler for the bau can be up to you) or maybe vice versa where there's a cute new hire at work and Spencer is head over heels for her only to find out later that she is his neighbour?

next-door — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader is new to the team ( a month or so ) , mention of working on a case a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <3

Spencer Reid had always considered himself a creature of habit. His life was structured, predictable in its own way, and he liked it that way.

But everything changed the moment you sat down next to him on the jet, flashing a smile that made his heart race.

You were new. New to the team, new to the world he’d known so intimately for years, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel intrigued by you.  

“I like your socks,” you said, pointing to his mismatched pair.

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. He glanced down at his socks, as if seeing them for the first time. They were mismatched, as usual—one blue, one red—and he was pretty sure he’d been teased about them once or twice by the rest of the team. 

To his surprise, you pulled your feet up onto the seat next to you, showing him your own mismatched socks—one striped, one with dots.

“Thanks,” he stammered, his voice betraying him as his cheeks flushed slightly. “I… I like yours too.” 

“I guess we’re sock twins,” you said with a grin, your eyes sparkling.

He nodded with a small smile, suddenly aware of the way his heart was beating a little faster than usual.

The rest of the day blurred by , but every moment spent with you only cemented the fact that he was more drawn to you than he had ever been to anyone. Spencer found himself thinking about you constantly. 

By the time the week came to an end, Spencer was completely smitten, his thoughts consumed by you.

He couldn’t stop replaying every moment you’d shared—the way you laughed at his jokes, how your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, and the way your voice sounded when you said his name.

When you sat next to him on the jet again, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter as you greeted him with that same warm, easy smile.

The jet ride was much the same as it had been before—quiet, with the whirring of engines in the background—but all Spencer could focus on was you.

As he attempted to read his book on the metro ride home, his mind kept wandering back to you. Every word on the page blurred together.

When he arrived at his apartment building later that night, Spencer paused at the door to his apartment. He glanced back down the hallway, noticing a car he didn’t recognize parked outside. His brow furrowed as he brushed it off.

But as he walked up the stairs, something caught his attention, a familiar voice carrying down the hallway. 

“Yeah, Garcia, I think I could make it on Sunday,” you mumbled into your phone. Spencer froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the voice was yours. He looked up, only to spot you standing at the end of the hallway, speaking softly into your phone. 

You must’ve heard him then, because your head snapped up, eyes meeting his. The phone call ended abruptly, and your mouth dropped open in surprise as you took a step toward him.

“Garcia, I’ll call you later,” you said before hanging up, a wide grin spreading across your face. “Spencer, hi.” 

Spencer’s feet seemed glued to the floor as he processed the sight before him. There you were, standing at the door of the apartment next to his. He blinked twice, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“We’re neighbors?” he asked, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and disbelief. 

You smiled even wider, as though the idea was just as strange to you. “Apparently so,” you said with a small laugh.

Spencer stood there, staring at you, his heart still racing. He had spent the past week thinking about you more than he should have—more than he had thought himself capable of. And now, as if fate had played some elaborate trick on him, you were standing right there.

His mind scrambled to form a coherent thought, but all he could manage was, “This is… unexpected.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah, I’d say so.” Your eyes scanned his face. “I hope that’s not a problem?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

A problem? Spencer nearly laughed at the idea. If anything, it was the opposite. He shook his head a little too quickly. “No. Not a problem at all.” 

Your smile deepened. “Good,” you said simply. 

For a moment, there was only silence. Spencer’s brain worked on overdrive, his mouth opening and closing as if debating whether or not to say something more.

You seemed to notice his hesitance because your smile turned a little softer. “Well, I should probably get inside. It’s late.” 

Spencer nodded, stepping aside as you turned toward your door. But then, just as your hand reached the doorknob, something in him panicked at the thought of the moment ending. 

“Wait,” he blurted out, surprising even himself. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder with curiosity. “Yeah?” 

His brain scrambled for something—anything—reasonable to say. “Um… do you—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He was an agent, for God’s sake, yet talking to you felt harder than solving complex behavioral patterns. “Do you like—uh—coffee?” 

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to smack himself. Of course, you liked coffee. Most people did. What kind of question was that? But instead of laughing at him, you simply smiled, leaning against your doorframe. 

“I do,” you answered slowly, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Why?” 

Spencer swallowed, feeling strangely warm under your gaze. “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away. I usually go there on Saturdays.” He shifted on his feet. “Would you, um… want to come with me?” 

Your lips pressed together, as if hiding a smirk. “Are you asking me on a date, Dr. Reid?” 

Spencer felt his face burn instantly. “No! I mean—yes? Maybe? Only if you want it to be! It doesn’t have to be. It could just be coffee. Or not. If you don’t want to. I just thought—” 

You laughed, cutting off his rambling with a shake of your head. “Relax, Spencer.” You grinned, reaching for your door handle again. “Sunday sounds great.” 

Spencer blinked, processing your words as his brain short-circuited. “Really?” 

“Really,” you confirmed, biting back another smile. “Goodnight, neighbor.” 

And with that, you disappeared into your apartment, leaving Spencer standing in the hallway, heart hammering, mind spinning, and a smile slowly spreading across his face. 

[sheerfreesia007]

Office Loner

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 3,206

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You’re a bit of a loner at work but when Felix joins your department his nerdy ways manage to draw you out of your shell and the two of you become friends. But what happens when the office mean girl finds out the new hot nerd has befriended you?

A/N: Divider was created by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

The office is lively as you walk in for your shift, you see some of the employees all standing around Dae’s desk talking about what they did this past weekend and you grimace slightly knowing that they’d want you to join in their conversation. Ever since starting at this office a year ago as a data analyst you had been pegged as the “loner” all because you were more of an introvert than the other employees here. You had at first thought it was an unfair assumption of you, you just took a little longer than others to warm up in conversation. You were always polite and greeted everyone in the morning when you arrived and said goodnight to them when you left, you just weren’t very chatty during work.

“Good morning!” calls out Dae and you turn to look at her as the rest of the employees all turn to stare at you silently.

“Good morning Dae.” you greet her quietly with a soft smile on your face.

“Boss man told me to let you know that there’s going to be a new data entry employee starting today. He wants you to show him the ropes since he’s going to be sitting at the desk next to yours.” she said, sounding self important with a smug look on her face as the other employees all snickered softly at her words.

You nodded your head at her as dread settled like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. You greeted everyone else with a quiet voice before escaping to your desk and seeing that the desk next to yours was still cluttered with all the old equipment that everyone just discarded when it broke. Sighing softly you set your backpack down and took your jacket off before gathering the broken equipment and began carting it all off to the dumpster behind the building. Once the desk was cleared off you grabbed the cleaning wipes and began wiping down the desk in preparation for the new employee.

It was at least another hour before you had the desk finally set up, it was clean of all dirt and dust, a new keyboard and mouse combo were set up and you were bent under the desk connecting all the wires for the monitor and keyboard when you heard your boss’ voice calling your name. Forgetting yourself you tried to stand up quickly only to knock the back of your head on the underside of the desk, you yelped in surprise and pain as you slowly crawled out from under the desk to finally stand up. You bowed quickly to your boss who smiled softly at you before he nodded his head.

“This is Lee Felix, he’s going to be our new data entry specialist and he’ll be working close with you since both of your positions go hand in hand. Please show him everything that you know about the office and workflow. And thank you for setting up his desk, I had asked one of the other techs to do it. I guess they forgot.” he informed you and you nodded your head silently before you turned to Felix.

You stood there shocked, staring at Felix with wide eyes, he was hot. Your boss walked away after patting Felix on the shoulder and you had to quickly mentally shake your head before you moved to let Felix set his things down. He was wearing a simple red and white flannel shirt over a black t-shirt and worn distressed blue jeans. His shoulder length hair was platinum blonde and he wore circular wire framed glasses, he looked the epitome of what you would think of when you heard the word nerd but he was gorgeous so it didn’t really fit to call him a nerd. At least not to you.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you’ll help me get comfortable with the job.” he says to you with a slight bow of his head and you flinch at his gesture. You wave your hands dismissively between the two of you trying to stop his formal gesture.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” you tell him softly and he smiles widely at you when he straightens his posture. “And don’t worry I won’t lead you astray.” you tell him confidently before moving to your desk and sitting down in your chair. Felix watches you quietly before smiling softly to himself and taking his own seat.

And that was how you had met Lee Felix, your new coworker who was now your pseudo responsibility since his job worked side by side with yours. You were staring at your computer screen with tired eyes as you tried to make sense of the data that had been entered and supplied to you. Just then a soft thud was heard on your desk and your eyes darted over to the can of soda that was just placed on your desk. You turned and looked up at Felix as he slowly lowered himself into his chair next to yours with a soft smile.

“Caffeine fix, I feel like we’re going to be here for awhile going over this stuff.” he said tiredly and you frowned softly at him.

“You don’t have to stay though, this isn’t your job.” you tell him gently gesturing to your computer screen and he shakes his head at your words.

“I can’t leave my desk buddy to work late. Besides I can help and it’ll get done quicker.” he told you confidently and sighed before nodding your head.

“Alright fine, can you double check the data from advertising? The numbers aren’t adding up for me and I can’t look at it anymore or I’ll go cross eyed. I’ll start working on the data from social media.” you instruct him tiredly and he nods his head at your words before turning to his screen.

“You know this reminds me of the spreadsheets me and my friends make for our gaming competitions.” he says with a soft chuckle and your eyes flick over to him curiously.

“You do gaming competitions?” you ask as you tilt your head to the side. “Like, what’s that game called? The one with the arena?” you asked softly as your eyes turned back to your screen.

“League of Legends?” Felix asked excitedly and your eyes darted back to him to see him staring at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly gaping open. “Do you play?” he asked suddenly and you quickly shake your head feeling guilty as his mood suddenly dampens.

“No, my brother is into those types of games though.” you tell him fondly. “He’s into Wow and Valorant though, at least I think so. Those names sound familiar.” you say and Felix chuckles at your confusion.

“I play League of Legends and Valorant with my friends. Maybe ask your brother for his gamertag and I’ll be able to play with him when he’s on.” he says excitedly and you laugh softly at him before nodding your head. “So you don’t know much about the game?” Felix asked as he reviewed the data on his screen.

“No, my brother likes to talk about it with me though. It’s all over my head but I like how excited he gets for it so I let him yap.” you tell him goodnaturedly and Felix chuckles as he nods his head.

“Will you let me yap about it then too?” he asked teasingly and you blush softly at his teasing tone before ducking your head as you grin.

“If you want to.” you tell him softly as your grin softens while you stare at the screen of your computer. And after those words escaped your mouth it was as if you two had become instant best friends. You and Felix talked about everything and anything under the sun that interested you, your conversation ranged from gaming that Felix enjoyed to books and music that you enjoyed to even your favorite places to vacation around the world. It had become so easy for you to open up to Felix, he made it so effortless and you loved that about your friendship with him. But you weren’t the only one to notice how easy Felix made it for you to open up and talk to him.

One day after lunch you’re on your way back into the office after eating lunch outside on one of the benches around the company building. The weather had been so nice lately that you had started taking your lunch breaks outside just so that you could break up your workday. Normally Felix would join you after grabbing lunch for the cafe in the building but today Dae and the others had pulled him into going out to grab lunch. You had noticed that Dae had grown curious about Felix and had been asking him to come out for lunch and drinks after work lately. You weren’t too bothered by it, Felix was a very social person and loved talking to people so you knew he’d quickly make friends with everyone. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep him solely as your friend and didn’t want to hold him back from making more friends but the way Dae had been smugly smirking at you every time Felix agreed to go to lunch with her and the others or to go out for drinks after work was starting to rub you the wrong way. 

As you entered your office area you saw that there was no one at their desks and were probably still on lunch. You then heard loud raucous laughter coming from the break room as you walked towards your desk. You could hear Felix’s deep laughter and you smiled softly at the sound, feeling happy that he was making friends with the others. But then when you heard Dae’s voice ring loudly mentioning your name you scowled softly and slowed your pace wondering what she would have to say about you.

“I’m surprised that you’re so social Felix.” she said cheerily and you could hear the others snickering softly. “You’re so nerd coded, I thought for sure that you would be the nerd in the office. But our resident loner still holds that title completely.” she said with a loud laugh. “She’s more of a socially awkward nerd than you are. It’s so nice of you to take pity on her and befriend her like you have.” she says to Felix and you feel your stomach fill with dread. Not wanting to hear anything more as your chest tightens with hurt you quickly walk past the break room drowning out the rest of the laughter from the others.

After lunch has ended Felix is eager to get back to his desk and the normal camaraderie that he shares with you. Lunch had been an awkward affair of Dae trying to make herself look good as you told him about how much of a loner you were in the office. She had warned him that you were socially awkward and liked to keep to yourself more often than not, which according to her wasn’t something that he should want for himself. Yes, she knew that you were an exceptional employee and were highly sought after in your field but you were so quiet and didn’t interact much with anyone in the office that it had left you alone.

Felix had effectively shut down her faux concern for him by letting her know that he could pick his friends for himself and that he didn’t need her help figuring out who were the good people in the office. Dae had been put out by his firm words but had quickly brushed it all under the rug with a huff and her nose stuck in the air. But now as he walked back to his desk he smiled brightly when he saw you already at your desk with your head buried in your computer screen.

“Hey, have a good lunch?” he asked fondly as he quickly sat in his desk chair and you hummed softly at him as your eyes stayed trained on the computer screen. He doesn’t think much of it knowing how engrossed you get in your work sometimes.

Felix continues to try and drag conversation out of you throughout the rest of your shift. He can tell that something is bothering you but no matter what he does to try and get you to talk about it you just stonewall him. He’s starting to get worried that he might’ve done something to upset you or that something really serious had happened when his normal trick of telling horrible puns and jokes doesn’t even get a little smile out of you. And as the hours get closer to the end of the shift he starts to feel desperate to make sure things are alright with you but you refuse to engage with him.

When it’s time to go home you get up and start packing your stuff away and Felix is quick to follow suit, he’s worried about you and doesn’t want you to go home upset or not have someone to talk to you about whatever is going on. He reaches out and gently touches your elbow, hooking his fingers around the crook of your elbow. You look up at him worriedly before you frown softly and he knows for sure now that something happened at lunch time and it has to do with him. But just as he’s about to open his mouth Dae calls out to him.

“Hey Felix! We’re going for drinks after work, want to come with?” she calls out to him and Felix frowns softly at her wondering why she would ask him that after what happened at lunch. He feels you tug your elbow out of his grasp after he hesitates to speak up to Dae and he turns his head quickly to look after you as you begin walking towards the exit of the building.

“I’ll catch up with you guys at the restaurant.” he says dismissively before rushing after you. “Damn she’s quick.” he says softly as he exits to the lobby and spots you already walking outside heading to the bus stop. He breaks out into a full run as soon as he makes it out of the front doors of the building and makes a beeline straight for you. He’s moving too quickly and has no time to stop himself as he nears you, so he wraps an arm around waist and pulls you close as he slows his run, effectively sweeping you up in his arms as he comes to stop a few feet from where you had been walking. You stare up at him blinking owlishly as you lower your hand that had been raising to put your earbud in your ear. He huffs softly at you as you continue to blink up at him while he holds you close, you’re adorable and he momentarily forgets why he ran after you. But then you both hear your coworker exiting the building and you’re quick to right yourself and step out of his arms. “Are you okay?” he asks softly and you look over at him before shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” you tell him softly before your eyes dart to the other coworkers who are looking over at the two of you. “You should go out with your friends and not worry about the loner nerd in the office.” you say sarcastically and Felix feels understanding wash over him and he huffs softly at you while grimacing.

“You must’ve heard what Dae had said about you at lunch.” he said softly and you scowl softly at the ground for a moment. “But I bet you didn’t stick around to hear what I said to her.” he says knowingly and your eyes dart up to look at him curiously. “I told Dae off for calling you a loner nerd. She’s a bit a pompous mean girl isn’t she?” he asked softly and you scoffed at his question.

“Always has been. I don’t like talking to her because she’ll use anything to get her way and climb the corporate ladder.” you tell him honestly and he nods his head at your words.

“Yeah I figured that.” he said while nodding his head as he stepped closer to you. “I shut her down though. Told her that while you may be a loner you certainly weren’t a nerd and I took that title very seriously. Also told her that you were kinder to me and everyone in the office than anyone else even if you weren’t super comfortable talking with others and took a hot minute to warm up to people. Told her that even if you didn’t understand all the things that I loved and enjoyed you always listened to me and let me talk about them while we worked and that meant more to me then going out for drinks or lunch. You showed me that you care about me just by listening and trying to understand the things that I loved.” he said softly and watched delightedly as your eyes widened at his words. “Dae didn’t like that at all and hated it even more when I asked everyone at lunch to stop calling you a loner. Because you’re not, they're just too impatient to allow you time to warm up to them.” he told you and you gasped softly at his words which made him smirk proudly.

“Why would you stick your neck out for me like that? Dae will make your life hell.” you said knowingly and Felix frowned softly at the knowledge that Dae hadn’t made your worklife easy.

“You were my first friend here. You showed me how easy it is to be kind to people even when there’s a slight disconnect. You’re always so secure in your life and don’t need to bow down or pander to the workplace social life to be happy, you’re just happy to come in, do your job, talk to me and then go home. Plus I’ve had a little bit of a crush on you since my first month of working here.” he admits softly and you jerk back in surprise and he grins down at you. “So what do you say to going out for a dinner date with this office nerd?” he asks smoothly and his excitement gets the better of him as he giggles proudly while widening his eyes. “That was so smooth of me.” he says in a soft whisper that makes you burst out into happy laughter as you reach out and grab his forearm.

“That was super smooth of you until you ruined it. But yes I’d love to go on a dinner date with you.” you tease him and he giggles excitedly as he pulls you closer to him and begins to guide you towards his car.

“Don’t bring me down. My crush just agreed to go on a date with me.” he says proudly and you laugh at him while cuddling into his side with a bright happy smile on your face.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

[sweetdispatch]

Plane seat - V. Mancini

masterlist pairing: Victor Mancini x fem!reader summary: You and Victor met on the way to Vancouver and slowly fell in love with each other warning: none note: special thank you to the person who asked if i can write something for moose and to @hockeyboistrash who made a super cute blurb with him! they motivated me to sat down and finish something that was laying in my drafts❤️

It was unexpected information. Victor found out that he’s traded to Vancouver and has to arrive there the next day. He packed the most important things into his bag and went to the airport. He didn’t know how to feel. He was aware that trades were happening but deep down he hoped to stay in New York. Now, he was sitting on the plane on his way to Canada, far away from his family and friends. 

You wished that the break would never be over. You were studying in Vancouver but your family was living in New York. Now, you have to come back to the reality of studying and working. You felt nostalgic. First week when you were back in Canada you were always sad that you’re again by yourself. You sat on the plane and noticed a cute guy sitting next to you. You smiled softly to him and Victor smiled back. 

Victor didn’t want to be nosey but he noticed that you were writing in your journal about hockey. He thought you were pretty and he was scared to just start talking but this felt like a perfect change. 

“Hi, I’m Victor and I noticed that you are writing about hockey and…” He didn’t know what to say more and hoped that you’ll talk back to him. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m trying to get the information written in my journal so I have an easier task when I get back home to make an article” You explained to him. 

“So you’re a journalist” Victor said and you giggled.

“Not really. I’m working for a hockey team and there’s been a trade so I need to write an article about it on the page” You showed him your notes. 

“I see my name here, I guess we’ll be working together” Victor pointed on your page to show you.

“I guess we’ll be” You smiled at him. 

For the rest of the flight, you and Victor had been talking about everything and nothing. You two understood each other. You proposed to him that he can stay in your apartment so he doesn’t have to pay for the hotel. At first, he was sceptical about this idea but you convinced him by telling that you’re alone in Vancouver just like he’s gonna be.

When you stepped into your place, you showed him your guest bedroom that now was his room. Victor thanked you and just like that, you two became roommates. You were happy that he agreed to stay with you because most of the time you were stuck by yourself in these four walls and now, you had someone to talk with. 

After a week, it turned out that you and Victor won’t be working together. He was glad about it because he really liked you but he knew how strict the rules are about dating in the workplace. He was training and playing with Canucks while you were doing your part in Abbotsford. It was a perfect solution for you two because you weren’t spending 24/7 together. 

Slowly, the feelings between you and Victor were growing. There were small touches when you were sitting in the living room and watching something or during dinner. He got a habit of kissing your cheek every time he was leaving for a roadie. Many nights you two were laying in your bedroom and just talking about how the day went. It was all perfect. 

With each day together, you were craving more of him. You wanted Victor to be yours. Everyday you wanted to scream that you wanted to kiss his lips and call him your boyfriend but you never did it. You didn’t want to ruin your living together. You didn’t want him to be scared and run away from you. You needed him close no matter how much it hurts you that it’s only friendship. 

What you didn’t know was that Victor wanted you too. Since the moment he saw you on the plane, he wanted to know you better and better. At every occasion he was implying that he wants more than just a friendship. He was kissing your cheek but he wished it was your lips. He was laying late at night in your bed but he wished he could sleep there and hug you tight. But you never reacted, you were always smiling but he didn’t know if this is because you’re polite or because you also want him. 

One night, changed completely the dynamic between you and Victor. He asked you to go with him as a plus one to one of his teammate’s birthday party. Happily you agreed to go with him. You thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to get closer to him and show him that you want him. And you did it but not the way you expected. You got drunk at the party and pulled Victor into a kiss. He was shocked at first but he reciprocated the kiss. 

The next morning you woke up with a hangover and went to grab water from the fridge. You noticed Victor sitting in the kitchen and eating breakfast. 

“Good morning” You greeted him but he didn’t say anything back. That was weird because he wasn’t the smiley and cheerful person like he always is. “Something happened?” You asked him. 

“Do you have any feelings for me?” Victor asked you out of blue. 

“Yeah, you’re my friend” You took a sip from the bottle. 

“Nothing more?” Victor tried to push you to talk. “Because after this kiss, I think we’re more than friends” The realisation hit you. You kissed him and didn’t say a word back. 

“Okay, the truth is that I have feelings for you. I have had them for a long time and I really wanted to tell you this but I was scared. I wanted to tell you this yesterday but I got so drunk that I only kissed you” You told him and looked at him and noticed a smile on his lips. 

“Good because I have feelings for you too. I tried to show you this but I never knew if this is mutual for you too and after that kiss, I knew I had to be sure” Victor stood up and placed a hand on your cheek, gently caressing it. 

“Kiss me please” You whispered and Victor pulled you into a kiss. 

[yuzepi]

well i guess im just posting a bunch of process things now. spent my morning thinking about blorbos and i cant stop yapping. my 100 hour brownie cake of an idea

editing this and adding further thoughts as I think this through:

For jon, being spring, I think a big theme with his could be overgrown. that typical beautiful long hair princess s4 look accompanied with bright and intense nuclear and inhuman greens in contrast to s1 which would be depicted with paler, more restrained greens. perhaps s1 would be in the warmer range, while s4 jumps into the cooler greens? (im always out here thinking about color) i think to some degree his would be symmetrical and orderly too, i have a lot of thoughts on symmetry especially regarding elias and using it to specifically represent the beholding. ah the beautiful art of compositions. also for sure holding the tape recorder or something and the text going from “Jonathan sims” (s1) to “The Archivist” (s4)? or maybe just the archivist the entire time, not quite sure.

For Tim, i think i would want to depict him with some cooler bright summery colors like turquoise bg and in contrast his s3 self against the bright red background of like velvet curtains for the circus or something. Would also be cool to draw him with other characters bc he’s very social, so maybe him interacting with the other archive assistants, and in the final those people would be replaced with mannequins (or, the remains of them at least)

For Martin i have the least ideas for just because idk i really need to dig into the meat of him i think and im currently only on mag 121 (i listened to the first 4 seasons years ago and have like a foggy (heh) memory of what happens) but generally i think it would be easy enough to (especially in contrast with jon) depict Freezing over. Both with the environment growing colder, the color palette becoming more restricted and less intense, and with Martin’s actual clothing.

With Peter Lukas it’s very important to me that he has just a big trenchcoat that kind of hides the actual form of his body. It has to be closed because it’s kind of like you aren’t getting anyyy secrets out of him, he’s not even willing to give you the vulnerability of literal layers of clothing underneath. My thoughts on this might change in the future bc i still haven’t heard much from him, but i think martin could be similarly outfitted with a very blocky and covering outfit, and then i accompany him with my lonely-typical impressionistic art fog or whatever. and icicles and maybe snow

Trying my hand at designing s1 crew. was just going to design Tim but then I drew a Sasha and then I was like ok I’ll draw jmart too i guess. and also some pictures of my real life cat Jonathan (the better, superior Jonathan)

[jayktoralldaylong]

Takes a deep breath.

Montressor has always cared for William.

I started to suspect it the first time.

That very inconsequential time when I thought the Clusterfucks were just a group of people using each other for convenient power plays. When Montressor showed up to Will's room and Lenore had a gun to his back.

It shouldn't have meant anything, it was just Montressor calling Will to go have lunch. Montressor should have easily ditched him and he left. However for some reason Montressor lingered.

(The fact that he recognised Will's toothbrush AND picked it up was crazy to me. Didn't fit the arrogant ruthless persona I imagined him to be).

When Will said he was praying for Montressor.....gave advice. And it's the way he said it. The way he said it damnit.

If he was just a casual atheist, he would have laughed and then left. But he lingered and he said ......something he believed with all his heart. And you can tell that he's not just saying it to mock Will's faith. He's saying something he feels he should have heard ages ago. Like a past anguish weighs heavy on his heart. And that is so interesting to me, because for someone who has denied his religion, Montressor carries that cross with him everywhere. 💀 Bro never takes that shit off! It's so delicious!! (I love religious trauma when it's written well)

Back to Will!

Montressor had no reason to come down here and save Will. It was one guy, probably the weakest member of their team. The most pathetic guy. The guy we all thought was just Montressor's door mat. Not only did Montressor detect that Will was in trouble, he came down in person to save him....and then got his ass handed to him. 💀 (It was a diabolical beat down.)

Pluto nearly shot him. Bro nearly died! 💀

Which brings me to another fun fact about Montressor (stay with me, stay with me here). Or....I guess check out the next post, I'm at a picture limit. 💀

[whowrotethenote]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲

A/N // This is a short story (not short at all lol) from the universe of Biggest Fan. It takes place right before Pt 3 All We Do. If you choose not to read this you’re not missing anything significant within the plot. Just more insight to the characters and their relationships.

Warnings // Minor smut // Consumption of alcohol // Profanity // Adultery // Age gap // Angst // Brief grief

Word count // 8k

Inspo // Company by Trey Songz

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

“Alright, bitches! At midnight our babygirl will officially be twenty-two,” Anthony announces from the front seat. Earning a round of hoots around the black Suburban. Heat rises to my cheekbones. A product of the two shots taken at the hotel, combined with the attention received since our plane landed last night. “First time in Miami. Let’s make it a memorable one. My mission this weekend is simple. Our girl is already paid. So, let’s work on getting her laid!”

“Anthony!” I tug at his wrist, watching the amusement on the face of our Uber, Byron, through the rearview. An older, but definitely not frail, Caribbean man—who if I have to guess is anywhere between sixty and seventy—and to my fascination is seemingly unfazed by the car full of obviously tipsy young tourists. He speeds through the vibrant and crowded streets of Miami, filled with palm trees and half naked pedestrians, without batting an eye. 

“Girl, this is Miami. He’s witnessed and heard far worse in this car. Right Byron?” Anthony asks like he’s known Byron his whole life. The older man offers a hearty laugh following a nod. “See.”

At midnight I shed skin. Twenty-one has been without a doubt, a fucking rollercoaster ride. Twenty-two please be good to me.

Birthdays and I have a funny relationship. It was only two weeks before I turned fourteen, that they sat us down to divulge the worst news a daddy’s girl could hear.

“Daddy’s really sick…they’ve caught it early, but if he has any chance they have to act fast and aggressively.”

His own body was betraying him. Cancer cells growing like weeds. Almost too fast to contain and keep the garden pretty. And it wasn’t in his leg, his testicles, his kidneys, or his colon—or some other part where they could just cut it out. His fucking brain. He was literally at war with his own mind. A battle he won, but ended up losing much more in the end.

Nevertheless, the birthday party I spent hours planning with my mom—I ended up just canceling. It didn’t feel right celebrating life when the ghost of death had swept through our household like a plague. Nothing felt the same. My world went from bustling pastels to black and white. 

And it stayed that way every year after. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and then nineteen. He officially rang the bell that year. But I had already grown accustomed to the colorless motion picture of my own life. 

Demi always went out of her way to make birthdays special for me. Freshman year, she set up a picnic for us and the fleeting crew of girls we came in with. With only fifty dollars to work with, she snagged a cake from Walmart, supplies and decorations from Family Dollar, and made the pit on the south of campus look like a tourist attraction. 

Sophomore year, she convinced the older quarterback who had access to the Sports Center on campus, to let her hold the key to the pool for a night. It was supposed to be just a mere twenty people, two bottles of cheap vodka and wine coolers. Before midnight even struck and I officially turned twenty, the pool was packed wall to wall. There were empty bottles everywhere, and a fight even broke out between two girls—who discovered they were both fucking the quarterback who gave us the key in the first place. Heads still gone from all the alcohol, we laughed all night long until our stomachs went tender, about pulling the girls apart from damn near killing each other, when Demi was in fact fucking him too. 

Last year, we kept it simple. Twenty-one meant no more fake ID. So, I proudly barged into our nearest liquor store to purchase the biggest bottle of Don Julio they had, with my very legit ID. Demi and I barely put a dent in the liter bottle before we went drunk bowling—mostly falling and barely earning spares—before we had to make a swift exit due to me throwing up in the arcade section. 

This year I vow to put the fate of my birthday being special in my own hands. With everything that’s happened since my last one, I've developed a new attitude toward my colorless life. It's starting to feel warm again—the color gradually filling back in. 

So, in the heat of the moment I booked myself, Demi, Anthony, his twin girl cousins— Indiya and Asia, and my biology lab partner—Aaliyah, tickets to Miami. Seventy-two hours. That’s how long we have to usher in another year of my life, get white-girl wasted, stand on couches in a club section, and potentially get laid as Anthony so scandalously declared. 

Three shots each, taken at the grossly expensive W hotel, was definitely setting the tone for the rest of the trip. We exit the Uber—already tipsy and pumped up, singing “get it sexy,” the entire walk down the dock to meet Shiloh—our rented yacht’s captain. Rays from the son maximizing the color of our stringy bikinis and glistening skin. Designer slides scraping over the wood is music to my ears. 

I spot the Azimut yacht with the words Dream Chaser emblemed on her side, just as Shiloh described on the phone earlier this morning. Leading the buzzing group, I start to reach in my purse for the money I promised to grant him upon our arrival, when he jumps down with a heavy thud—sweating with sunblock splattered on his nose.

“Sorry ladies! There’s been a change in schedule. A very high-profile regular has requested the boat. And since you all booked just this morning, I’m afraid I can’t hold it for you all.”

All excitement is vacuumed right out and a ripple of shock cascades through the group, as we all blurt out individual confusion.

“Wait, what?” My arms drop at my sides.

“To be fair there was no deposit sent.” 

“Yeah, cause I told you I had cash. Remember our phone call?” I protest, but it’s meaningless against the persistent shake of his head. I purposely emptied out a cool five thousand dollars cash—courtesy of my Tribal Chief. I did not plan on swiping my card on this vacation. Too much scamming goes on in cities like Miami. 

“I know, but the man has already paid in full. Again, I am really sorry.” I fold my arms across my chest, mouth catching flies, in disbelief still. I thought money could solve all my problems. Now, I know. Money grants access, but only connections can cast you before the next person, who also has a handful of cash. “I have a slot for nine tonight, if you are interested?” He bargains.

“That won’t do. We have reservations for Nobu at nine. Then, it's straight to the section in LIV. I reserved it for eleven.” Anthony reads off the mental itinerary he so graciously made for us on such short notice. 

“Maybe he can recommend another boat?” Asia suggests.

“We checked late last night. Everything is all booked up. It's still spring break season,” Anthony informs.

“I told you we should’ve looked beforehand. Like, last week.” I raise my brows at Demi, who since we met, has always been content with just crossing the bridge when we get there. The bridge is usually closed by the time our unconventional asses arrive. 

“There’s gotta be something.” Aaliyah pulls her phone. 

“We could always just get drunk on the beach,” Indiya proposes.

Amidst the dysfunction and throwing of ideas of how to pass the time, Demi leans into me. “This might be a reach—but I know he has to have a boat out here.”

“No.” I block her shot of a suggestion immediately, upon realizing exactly the he she refers to. “No,” I repeat. Ignoring her poking bottom lip. “I cannot ask that.”

“Oh—but it's okay for him to call in the middle of the week for your company and services?”

With a shake of my head, the bitter taste of the truth she speaks resonates on my tongue. As of late, the texts from Paul have been more frequent and sporadic. It's hardly ever just a weekend anymore. Weekends and day trips have turned into weekdays and flights at the most unimaginable times. I’m fortunate to have such an amicable relationship with my supervisors and professors; otherwise my ass would be failing and jobless. 

“Just ask, Lana. The worst he can say is no.”

“You know I don’t communicate with him directly unless I see him in person.”

“So, call the Wise Man and ask for the Big Man.” She speaks low through tights lips, as to not alert the rest of the group. I survey them—all on their phones, brainstorming and scouring the web for an alternative that didn’t exist. My eyes drift back to Demi, awaiting my next move.

“Fine.” I give in. 

Byron is gracious enough to have been watching the whole ordeal play out with the Captain who never was. He says he didn’t want to pull off until he knew we were safe and situated, as he’s seen young girls from all over come to this city and get taken advantage of.

I gave him the bizarre task of taking me to the nearest payphone. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they’ve done away with most of the pay-phones in the city.” His eyes flicker to the phone planted in my grip. “Everyone has a mobile phone now. There might be one in the train station.”

“And where is that?” I inquire, not remembering seeing one on our way to the beach. 

“Maybe twenty minutes. It's in Brickell.”

I huff. “Oh, no. That’s damn near an hour to get there and get back.”

“I don't get this whole pay-phone situation anyway.” Demi blurts. “I mean, maybe in the beginning—but it's been a year now.” A dent forms between her brows. “It’s one thing to not be able to get to him. But you can’t just call Paul?”

Another gram of salt on my tongue, courtesy of my outspoken and strongly opinionated best friend. The pay-phone mess is and has always been a pain in my ass. Especially right now, when I just need a quick yes or no.

“I’m calling,” I declare, before I overthink myself into doing nothing. The phone rings in my ear as I watch Demi’s small figure descend back to the group by the dock. Pacing, I hang up mid ring and call again. 

“Lana, I hope this is an emergency.”

“Define emergency.”

“A call from a reporter—or TMZ. Pregnancy. A near death situation.” My lips twist as he lists off all the things that are definitely not in relation to why I am calling. 

“I need to talk to him.”

“About?”

“I just have to ask him something.”

“Is it in relation to your current arrangement?”

“…No,” I hesitate. I’m sure Paul’s been given his own special course of action to follow, when being contacted by one of his regulars. The man is always moving about for work matters and if he’s not, he has a full house to tend to, that I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist. However, that harsh reality is nearly impossible to be stricken out. A very ugly stain on a pristinely white dress shirt. A huge pimple on an otherwise glass-skin adorned face. Or maybe it is me that is the stain—the pimple. The ugly dot on his perfect life that he pretends for majority of his days, doesn’t exist. Then again, if his life is so perfect and intact—what was the need for me?

“It's a simple and quick question that requires a simple and quick answer. How is it that he can always get through to me and I can’t ever get through to him?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The high of vacationing in another city and the thrill of taking on another year begins to dwindle, as thoughts I constantly have to force into a deep pit inside my psyche assault me. Paul’s latest comment—another blow to it.

It seems it's so obvious to everyone that what’s happening here is wrong. Yet and still, it remains. Every encounter making it more intricate.

“Can you just get me him. Please?” I ask in a flat tone. An uneasy feeling resting inside of my throat. 

He releases a deep breath after a beat. “I’m only doing this because I think I like you.” Not entirely confident that I’ve been paid a compliment, I don’t bothering extending gratitude. 

My leg bounces frantically to the sound of the ringer. I can’t go back to the group with nothing in my hands—not even the answer of no. 

“Paul!” His voice—abundant with charm and the comfort of a man at home. Sucking in a sharp breath, the butterflies invade my stomach, but quickly transform to dust, hearing tiny high-pitch screams out of recreation, or whatever other reason a little one would scream. “What’s going on, man?”

“Eh—you might want to get alone.”

Sounds and artifacts of a full house seem to get louder for a second, before fading and dispersing altogether. I breathe again. 

“Everything okay?”

“Joey, I have Alana on the line…”

In between making out his background, getting lost in the warmth that is his voice and picturing what he looks like in the light of day—I don’t realize that might’ve been my cue to talk, until there’s nothing to listen to for a while. 

“—Hi,” I blurt into the silence of the call. 

“Did something happen? What’s going on?”

“No—no. Nothing’s wrong.” I rush to disarm him. Your secret thing on the side, calling midday is grounds for immediate anxiety. “I just really need to ask you something, that’s all.”

“…Okay.”

“It’s—and you can say no.” I offer a disclaimer, but no, is not something I need to hear right now. “It’s my birthday and—”

“Happy birthday.” His deep voice intercepts. 

“Thank you…It’s tomorrow—but still, thank you.” The clearing of Paul’s throat, magnifies just how awkward and abnormal this whole exchange is. “Uh, we booked a boat. But when we got here, the captain told us he gave our slot away to someone else, since they already paid a-and they’re a regular customer of his.” Get to the point, Lana. “I guess I’m just—I don’t know—maybe you have a boat or something that we could use?” I wince at the deafening silence. Preparing myself to hear the word—

“No captain? Just the boat?” 

There’s an underlying amusement in his tone— a resemblance to the man I’ve spent countless erotic nights with, lying in an unnecessarily large bed, pillow talking.

“Yeah, I would need a captain too.” I bite my lip in an effort to not laugh. 

“Right. Where are you?”

“…Miami…South Beach…” 

All the times he’s requested my presence, it’s never been this close. I’ve never been this close. We don’t touch Florida. No—Florida is where Joe, happily married with five kids lives. 

“You’re in Miami? Right now?”

“Yes,” I reveal—holding my breath in angst for whatever comes next. 

“…Alright…I got it. I’ll make something happen.”

If Paul were in front of me, I’d stick my tongue out like I used to when my brother painted me as a villain, just for my dad to wave a hand at any wrong doing from his only daughter. 

“Thank you—”

“There is one condition,” he adds. 

“Yeah?”

“You’ll come see me later?”

A familiar tingling invades my core and my face grows hot at him doing this in front of Paul. “Where?”

“Not too far from you. Reach out to Paul when you’re ready.”

“Okay—and Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I stroll back to the group with good news and better plans than we originally had. We wait—and wait—and wait. Buzz from the alcohol and meter of excitement plummeting with every fifteen minute interval that passes us by. We walk down to the beach to get our feet wet and pass the time. To escape the raft of the Florida sun—we all bunch together under a palm tree for a while, before walking back to the deck where I assume whatever captain he sends will meet us. 

The time on my phone reads 10:51 A.M. An entire hour and a half past the time we arrived. Releasing all the air in my lungs, I uncross my arms and turn to face the ocean. Demi leans on the rail bars beside me with the rest of our group beside her. Everyone on their phones, heads hanging to the side in defeat. Anthony sits on the cooler we brought, filled with  two bottles of 1942, most likely floating in water in place of the ice now. 

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Naive. And more importantly, delusional. If in their heads they all judge me in this moment, it's well deserved. Expectation invites disappointment. This is not us. It's not apart of this thing we have. Favors, promises and whatnot. I don't know what I was thinking even asking that of him.

A low snicker beside me, pulls me from my dispirited thoughts. Raising a brow, I turn my head at Demi, whose shoulders are shaking in laughter.

“You know when people call their life a movie?” I frown awaiting for her conclusion. “Ours must be a fucking Telenovela.” She nods to the pathway we had to walk to get down here.

The sight that greets me as I turn around has my jaw hitting me the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Hello, ladies!” He beams before he even reaches us. “My name is Paul Heyman.” He places spread fingers over his chest. Sun reflecting off the brown tinted sunglasses adorning his face. Linen short set flapping from the breeze of the salty Atlantic not far from where we stand. “And I will be your humble captain aboard today.” Clasping both hands togethers he scans the young faces pointing back at him. Not a Telenovela, but a fucking horror movie.

I stare at him. A cloud of angst looming over me hoping—no praying, that no one here has watched WWE within the last decade.

Cutting the lingering silence like a butcher knife, Anthony stands. “Well, it's about time Mr. Heyman. I have a tan and I haven’t shook my ass once. Something is wrong with that picture.”

“It’s shot o’clock bitches!” One of the twins announces, sparking life back into the group. I can breathe again. 

We follow Paul down the other end of the dock. The boats growing bigger in size the further we walk. When he stops—holding his hand out like he’s showcasing an antique car for sale—all of our necks crane up to view the masterpiece that makes Shiloh’ s boat look like a canoe. The Last Laugh. 

“Oh, this is my kind of carrying on!” Aaliyah cheeses. 

My eyes immediately find Demi’s. “A generous Tribal Chief,” she mouths.

Paul lays down the rules of the day. The basics. No jumping overboard when the yacht is in motion, responsible drinking, no items thrown overboard, and life jackets on when he says so. 

One by one they file up to the flybridge area. I stay behind and wait until I can only hear the distant hum of their voices, to speak. I clear my throat dramatically to steal his attention.

“What?” He asks with a look of genuine confusion. “All the captains I know were booked and busy. Apparently it's still spring break season.” He moves about gathering things while I stand here dumfounded. 

Don't get me wrong, I’m appreciate as fuck, but how is this happening right now? Who even knew he could drive a boat?

He stops his pursuit once he realizes I haven’t moved yet.

“Consider it a birthday gift—”

“From my Tribal Chief. I know.” 

“Oh, no.” He places a chubby hand to his chest with that smile that usually predates mischief on television. “This one’s all me.”

“Thank you, Paul.” The gratitude is deeper than anything that’s transpired today. Although, a hassle and a piece of work in his own right—Paul has served as the glue to this whole arrangement. Seemingly, going unnoticed since he is not the object of my affection. 

“Don’t mention it.” I nod, turning away to join everybody else upstairs. “No seriously. Don’t mention it. He’d die if he knew I came myself.” Lovely. No one told me adulthood is just burying yourself in endless secrets, until you’ve curated a web so intricate and endless you get tangled and stuck in it. 

Reaching the top of the steps, the fever of Miami greets me along with a bottle of 1942. Anthony holds it up with a hand under my chin. “Let's go, bitch. We running behind!”

The wait for our mystery captain was worth every sun soaking minute. From the very second he revs up the engine and leads us into the unforgivable blue Atlantic, the spirit of vacation hits us hard.

Cover-ups go flying off, more than enough drinks are distributed, while hips sway in hypnotic motions and ass shakes to the ongoing rotation of Sexyy Red, Bossman D Low, and any other artist who gets us in that mode. We bring the club to the boat, and even sneak a piece of that relentless east coast swag onboard, as the powerful beat of Jadakiss’ Knock Yourself Out, derives from the speaker. 

“And, yeah, here go a blank check, rock yourself out! But in the mean time, girl, knock yourself out!” Demi and I scream the lyrics in each other’s faces, hand going, while liquid spills from the full cups in our other. I have officially reached that pinnacle in my twenties where I can relate to the lyrics of the music I fill my head with. Artists painting pictures of luxury, celebration, wealth and nights to remember. It’s times like these I remind myself just how blessed I am, and I swell with gratitude.

“Oh, you modeling, momma?!” Anthony—the missing piece to our chaotic puzzle—joins in matching our energy. Vintage VHS Camcorder glued to his hand, to ensure this moment lasts longer than us. 

When Paul comes up to inform the party that we’ve stopped and can swim, it's game over. Bright bathing suits on brown skin, jumping into the glistening blue waters from both sides of the sea-ridden vessel.

The whole scene is something from a 2000’s R&B music video. It’s young, it's wild, it’s reckless, it's free. 

My heart nearly snaps in half as we dock back where we started at South Beach. We arrive earlier than expected. Not quite ready to head back to the hotel to get ready for our next venture. So, we decide to explore South Beach to kill the time.

The alcohol and excitement still lingering on us. Aaliyah finds somewhat of a gym on the beach. Swinging on bars and allowing a man built like an action figure to assist her in pull-ups by pushing from her round ass. Anthony and the twins play volleyball with a group of fine ass women in G-string bikinis, and even finer men with six, seven, and eight packs. 

In between it all, Demi and I find a hammock to unwind on. Enjoying the afternoon breeze and magnetic view of the cerulean sea kissing the clear sky. It's a sight. Being by the ocean always feels so liberating. The freedom in the waves swishing and dancing whichever way they please, a reminder to human life that we can always change and we have free will. 

When my dad’s cancer progressed and he found himself more depleted and sicker than he had ever been, he’d pack me and my brother up and drive all the way to the shore in Jersey City. He never went in the water, for his body was too weak. He’d watch us. And for hours he’d study the ocean. Ogling at the waves—mighty and unforgiving, but also majestic and seductive in a way. As a teenager I didn’t really understand. But right now…I get it. In this moment—Daddy I get it.

We lay in serenity. The seagulls singing to us combining with the crashing of waves, and hum of activity further down the beach where the bigger crowd is. 

Demi begins to twist and play with the costume heart-shaped ring on her finger. A footprint of her late sister’s brief life. The fiddling of it, an indication—that I've picked up on over the years—that something is weighing on her. 

“What’s wrong, Demi?”

"Nothing just…thinking about how much things are gonna change after graduation. How much things have already changed…”

“What do you mean?”

“Our lives are just gonna look different is all.” She shrugs. Her jaw flexes a bit as I focus on the side of her face I can see. “I'm just—I don’t know.” Witnessing the single tear slide down her cheek has a storm brewing inside of me now. “I don’t know if I'm ready for this next phase. I just really like the way things are now. We're all together. We're young. Everyone's healthy—and happy…and I just know that won't always be the case, you know?” Too scared to interrupt up her—I just listen a little harder. “The day—” Her voice cracks so she clears her throat. “The day I lost them—things were just like this. And then it just all went to shit so quick.”

“Demi.” I pull her closer as a river flows from her eyes. The tragedy that came of her father and little sister, lives in that same box I’ve housed my father’s battle with cancer. We’ve pushed that box in the attic and put a bolt lock on it together.  

Demi has always been the stronger of us. Unfortunately, a side effect of always appearing strong, means a lot of things get barricaded inside, until it becomes too much and you're left with no choice but to release. The sight before me is devastating. It's my turn to stand firm so she can lean on me as I do her.

“Look at me,” I instruct. Our teary eyes meet. “I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Things aren't going to change. They're just going to get better. We're getting older—we’ll find better ways to live life, is all.” I knock her apprehensions down even though mine build a house and grow comfortable in my own head. 

Time is a scary concept. The future is just so unclear. No one really knows. We can only hope. I don’t have a crystal ball. I can only pray that the words I speak align with what’s to come.

Timestamps and transitions from one destination to the next, seem to blur as the day progresses. The frequency of the continuous alcohol casts a shield around us to keep us lively and afloat. The Liquid IV’s we’ve consumed before leaving the hotel this morning, working double time to keep us up. 

Walking through the doors of club LIV was like entering a portal to a different world. One where everybody’s religion was euphoria, and alcohol is the holy water to ascend us. The atmosphere is charged and intoxicating. Miami nightlife is top two and it is not number two. 

Florescent beaming lights switching from red to blue to purple and beyond, blind me. We sit high up at a table overlooking the rest of the club. Bottles of overpriced tequila and chasers making their way back and forth, spilling with every song that gets us up out of our seats. Confetti falls and covers everybody like snow, creating a dream-like effect.

Letting the liquor possess me, I swirl my hips, shut my eyes, and shake my head side to side to match the nostalgic beat. Hair swaying with my cup held high, I get lost in the moment. Forgetting everything for just a minute. Syllabi, bills, the haunting future, and whatever else bullshit awaits me back at home—all forgotten. It doesn’t exist here.

At some point in the night I find myself venturing off to release the barrier that is my bladder. Sneaking off and subtly stumbling away, I zero in on the lit sign sticking out with the little female cartoon, indicating the girl’s restroom. I look down and realize I still have a cup in my hand. Drunk shit.

With liquid pushing on my bladder, my steps become more frantic in the Tom Ford heels, knocking me off balance for a quick second.

“Woah, woah!” A deep voice emerges amidst the pumping bass. I collide into a hard chest as strong arms brace my shoulders, preventing me from falling any further.

“Oh my god!” The stain of liquid on his crisp white tee can’t be missed, even under the blue light we stand in. “I’m sorry—I am so sorry—” 

I snatch my eyes from the stain to acknowledge the stranger that just saved me. His sharp jaw flexes as he looks down at his white tee, fingering the wet spot. He shakes a hand out beside him to remove the excess liquid on it, still holding onto me with his other.

When his eyes meet mine, they almost look translucent in this light, but it's only me who feels sheer. They’re hypnotic, like he can read my mind and bend it to his will. My gaze jumps to his mouth. Pink and plump, with a sharp outline of hair over his top lip, connecting to a goatee. The light hits him at a different angle and something in his ear flashes like a camera. I squint at the 23 earring.

I clear my throat, snapping back to reality. Stop staring, Lana. 

Like he actually can read my thoughts, he flashes a sparkling smile, revealing two picture perfect rows of teeth. It's then, I begin to drink him in, in his entirety. Goddamn.

“You keep moving like that, I might have to recommend you to my coach.”

My own smile cracks through. “I was just trying to get to the bathroom.” I explain. An infestation of intrigue of the fine ass mystery in front of me, replacing the urge to pee. 

“Don't be.” In the smoothest fashion and still with only one hand to himself, he reaches behind to remove the tarnished tee up and off his body, showcasing a row of keen defined abs covered in graphic ink—just as his solid arms are. “You got us both.” He nods down to my white tank. A splash of liquid covering the left side. The thin fabric soaking, giving full view of my erect nipple. Oh god. I rush to cover it, pulling a laugh from him. He nods in the direction of my original pursuit. “Why don’t you go ‘head. Meet me back out here. I think I got something for that.”

After handling my business, he leads me to the entrance of the club. The cloudy and intoxicating atmosphere dispersing as we enter into the fresh night air. 

His bare back is strong and I take advantage of being able to watch without disturbance, while he looks through the glove compartment of his matte black Mercedes AMG. He just reeks of new money. Probably newly drafted or something. 

He turns, undoing the plastic of a brand new pack of white undershirts. He takes one for himself and then holds another out. 

“You keep an extra pack of undershirts with you?” I eye him crossing my arms.

“Yeah. For when pretty girls get too drunk in the club and start spilling shit.”

“I’m not drunk.” My tongue rests on the inside of my cheek, fighting back the smile as I take the crisp white undershirt. “Thank you.”

We switch places. I sit in the passenger as he stands in front of me, scanning my entire body. I make wide eyes and twirl my finger.

“Girl.” He sucks his teeth chuckling, but still turning away. His large frame shielding me from the crowd not too far from us on the sidewalk. I remove the soiled tank and replace it, tying a knot in the back to maintain the cropped look. 

“I know you ain't traveling solo?”

“Nope.”

“Where is he?”

I smirk to myself, picking up what he puts down. “They are inside. Probably going crazy, thinking I got snatched up.” I adjust the top of the tank so the right amount of cleavage is exposed. “Good now.” I inform him. 

“Well, did I?” He turns in place, dangerously close to my face.

“Did you what?” My eyes bounce back and forth between his tranquil eyes and those lips.

“Snatch you up? I mean you tried to tackle me a few minutes ago. So, I think that’s a fair trade.”

A giggle escapes me as I return his intense stare. The alcohol giving me a much needed boost. “Is that what you do for a living? Tackle people?”

“Yes ma’am.” He confirms. “Number twenty-three.” He angles his head to the side to flash the earring I caught in the club earlier. “Green Bay. You into football?” I shake my head. 

“I don't know the first thing. My best friend is a die hard Bird though.”

“All them Eagles fans are die hard. She must be intense.”

“That she is.” I grin. 

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You seem pretty chill.”

“Frick and frat. We balance each other out, I think.”

“Is that what you do for a living? Balance people out? Cause you didn’t have much balance back in there.” He chuckles pointing behind.

I playfully nudge his arm. “Oh shut up. And no, I’m in school.”

“For?”

“I’m a Bio major. I wanna be a neuro-oncologist.”

“Damn. So, you like real smart, huh?”

“I do alright.”

“Beauty and brains? Where you been hiding all my life?”

We do this dance with our eyes. Lips twitching in threatening smiles. The world fades away for a bit. I snap out of the trance and slide down and off the leather seat, landing right in his space. 

We spin, trading places as I make my way back to the entrance. If anyone is witnessing this, they’d probably think we were shooting a damn music video. 

“Wait—that’s it?” I raise a brow. “I stop you from busting up that pretty face—pretty knees unscathed. Gave you a fresh one and that’s all I get?”

A warmth spreads inside me. His amusement contagious. Then his face clouds my mind and I’m reminded of my night’s premeditated destination. 

My shoulders go up and then down, not being able to muster the words no to combat his persistence. “Alright look.” He leans up and off the car, reaching inside again for a moment. He backs out with a pen and paper in his hand, scribbling something while taking the necessary steps to me. “How about I give you my number.” He holds the paper out for me. “That way the ball is in your court. No pressure lil’ mama.” No pressure? There’s nothing but pressure building up in my chest at the sight of you.

My eyes flicker down to the paper. I weigh my options. Brain still cloudy from tequila and the thrill of the night’s festivities—I accept it. “I’m Jaire by the way.” I’ve never met this man before and somehow the way he speaks his own name to me is familiar. Comforting. Like a hug from a distant relative you see on Thanksgiving that you used to be thicker than thieves with when younger. 

“Alana.”

“Alana,” he repeats. Something deep lurches within me like it's reaching for him. I nod taking a deep breath. We both just stand in each other’s space for what feels like forever. I’m the first to step back. “Thank you, again.”

He watches me struggle to backpedal toward the building. “You be careful. Alana.”

Lights. Thirty years from now, when my kids ask me what I remember from partying in Miami for my twenty-second birthday— that’s what I'll tell them. I remember the lights. Neon, flashing and oh so bright. And the palm trees. They're everywhere.

They cascade upon the window I have half-way rolled down in the back of this black suburban. It's three in the morning and the city is still as awake as it was when we docked from the boat. The wind and humidity hitting me all at once. My gaze training on the groups of pedestrians. Women in high heels and cut out dresses. Men in the kind of cars you only see in music videos. I could get used to this.

“Here you are, miss.” The driver drops me in front of a condo building I can’t even see the top of, even if I crane my neck all the way up. Just the outside looks like they’d charge me to do a walk-through. The colorful sports cars lining the round drive way serve as a testament to this theory.

My heels clack slow against the marble floors. Completely out of place, eyeing the businessmen in suits and women with evening attire— I make way to what looks like the elevators, like Paul instructed. I stand and wait until I hear the ding. The steel doors open and my breath is stolen. Dressing in only a fitted tank and black basketball shorts, he looks superior to all the men I just passed. 

The ride up is silent, but stimulating. Every time I’m in his space, it feels like the first time. A tornado brewing in my stomach mixing with the flirtatious acts of a first date. Subtle touches—like his pinky grazing against mine. Shifty eyes—like how ours snag every once in a while and I have to prevent myself from jumping right on him in the enclosed space. The alcohol now settling in more sensitive areas. The hand he places on the small of my back to guide me around isn’t helping.

“Let me show you around.” He maneuvers his large frame ahead of me, holding a hand back for me to take. My stomach does summersaults once we connect.

I don't know if it's the alcohol, but the condo feels like a palace. He leads me further and further, exposing a different room, a different space, so extensive almost like it shouldn’t fit. Everything pristine and cream colored. Appliances either a white marble or steel so sleek, I can see my reflection in the dark. The blue lights from the pool, glow through the sliding door that leads to the balcony. He drags me out and the view looks like a piece of heaven. The whole skyline is lit up. I can see everything from up here, almost like I’m on top of the world, mirroring the feeling in the center of my chest when I feel him staring. The wind blows my hair in my face slightly as I turn to meet him. 

“What?”

He shakes his head. Those big eyes sparkling. “You straightened your hair again?”

“I did.” I run a hand through it. “You don’t like it?”

“It's perfect.” Heat ensues as we stay focused on one another. “How was the boat?” He inquires, leading us to the cream chaise lounge chairs set up. 

“The boat—” I have to take pause, remembering the Captain Who Wasn’t Supposed To Be. “Um, it was amazing. Thank you, again. I know it was real short notice.”

“Captain was alright? Treated you good?” I move to sit on the one next to him, but he pulls me into his warm lap instead.

“Mmhmm.” I hum. He nods while, leaving a trail of goosebumps where his slightly rough hand rubs my bare thigh. 

“That’s good. It's past midnight. Officially twenty-two?”

“Yup. I don’t feel any different yet. What did you feel at twenty-two?”

He blows a big breath past those luscious lips, raising his brows. “Shit. That was a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t even recognize a twenty-two year old Joe if he walked up on me.”

“I feel the same way about my teenage self. I guess that feeling never goes away then?”

“Not really. Time is…”

“Scary,” I finish for him. Just this time last year, we were the most unlikely pair. Me on one side of the map, him on this side. Me, completely enthralled by his character and even more captivated by the wee flashes of the man behind the pyro lights he chose to share with the world. “You ever—You ever feel like life is moving too fast? Like you almost can’t keep up?” The alcohol pushes me through translating my thoughts to my mouth. The conversation with Demi on the hammock has been poking at the back of my mind. 

He takes awhile to answer. The pause makes me feel uneasy. Have I said something wrong? I should’ve just kept my drunk thoughts to myse—

“All the time,” he whispers just inches from my face. I hone in on the distant look in his eyes. I’ve never wanted to get inside of another person’s brain so bad. He has his own thoughts—his own internal strife that he’ll probably never share with me. It's unfortunate, because I’ve come to adore him so much, that I’d hold his hand the whole way as he tackles them. 

His eyes switch to mine and instead of shying away like I usually would, I fall deeper into him. I don’t know how it happens. I don’t know who leans in first. Our lips crash into one another’s. This kiss is passionate. Lustful, with a hint of something else lingering. It accelerates like a glass rolling down the steps. Breath hitching and faces meshing into one another. It's all a blur, but the feeling is distinct. Pleasure. Bliss. 

I rise slightly to straddle him. My sequin skirt rising, granting him the opportunity to grab two handfuls of ass. “I could kiss you all day,” he mumbles after nipping my bottom lip.

A smirk plasters my face as his comment ignites something in me. My mouth finds his again and then his thick neck, ready to come undone for him.

“Not while you’re drunk. Okay?” He puts a big red stop sign up.

“I’m not drunk. I swear.” I try to muster up the most convincing tone possible. “I can walk in a straight line. Look.”

I rise in the six inch Tom Ford heels. His eyes following my every movement as I put one foot in front of the other. That unnatural, warping focus only alcohol can bring takes over me and on the fourth step, my ankle almost gives out. He rises in my peripheral and is at my side in a flash. 

“Let's—let's just take it easy. Okay?” I don’t miss the smirk pulling at his lips. 

He guides me back to the seat by my hips. Crouching down and undoing the strap of my heels one at a time. “Thank you.” He nods.

“The last thing I need is you falling in the pool, babygirl.”

“It's the heels, I swear.”

“Of course it is.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, accessorizing the grin covering the bottom half of his face. He has the prettiest smile. I love how it always reaches his eyes.

“What?”

“Your eyes…”

“What about them?” His lips twitch almost in a smirk. They’re fucking beautiful. But there’s no way he doesn’t know that. Years of being hassled by erratic fans and almost a decade of marriage. He’s probably been paid every compliment there is. So, instead of answering what he must already know, I lean in again. Pressing my lips to his. Softly as first, but the more our lips meet the more urgent it becomes. Tongues colliding and hands gripping. And somehow I end up on top of him again. I feel his member jump under me, and I slip a hand down to show it attention, earning something between a growl and a groan from him.

“Lana.” He strains, breathless, breaking the kiss. A firm hand gripping my wrist. So much for birthday sex. Anthony will not be happy to hear that his mission has failed. 

“What’s next for you?” I swirl my feet in the cool water of the infinity pool, creating ripples. “I see you took a step back.”

“Can’t tell you that. Then you wouldn’t watch when it's time.” He sits next to me on the edge of the pool. 

“That’s not true. I watch even when The Tribal Chief is not in attendance. Of course you’re the main reason I watch. The Bloodline story really is a sight to see. Y’all really came a long way. Especially you.”

“What do you think my best match was?”

“Mm,” I hum. Eyes rolling up to rake through my brain. “Probably you and Brock. Wrestle-mania 38.”

“Really?” His face twists. 

I nod. “You don’t think so?”

“I mean—I’ve had better.”

“That was Brock Lesnar. And you literally buried that man. Everybody likes to talk shit about how you didn’t do it yourself. How the Usos helped. But I think that’s the whole point of the Bloodline story. Y’all do what y’all love and you always do it together. Always show up for each other.” 

“I never looked at it like that.”

“What do you think your best match is?”

“Honestly— I don’t think I have one.”

“Awe come on. There has to be at least one. One that you always think about?”

“Hell In A Cell. Me and Josh. It was like a rebirth. It was the match that really jumpstarted this whole Bloodline thing…”

In the wake of diving into the topic of his career, his eyes light up—like a child recapping their favorite animated movie. A writer describing their favorite novel. An artist letting you hear their favorite artists’ catalogue.

Seldom. When most people are probed about their career path, there is a subtle dread that spells I didn’t choose this—it just happened. A more than unfortunate symptom of adulthood. Choosing the path you had to, not the one you wanted.

Not him. No— he loves what he does. He’s one of the lucky few. Watching his eyes sparkle, I almost lose sight of the words coming out of his mouth. Too busy admiring him, I have to force myself to pay attention as I catch the last bit of his words. 

“It was a crazy time, really. So much was happening even behind the scenes.” His eyes reach mine. “I wish we could’ve me—”

His words trail off and silence controls him like he’s possessed. “What?” My eyebrows dent.

He shakes his head. The energy that was previously lighthearted and carefree feels heavy. I develop chills even though it's humid as fuck out here. 

The sound of the water is loud as he rises from the edge. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.” He holds a hand out. 

“Um…I think I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit longer…”

He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, but something is pulling him. And I don’t believe it's sleep. “Alright,” he finally says. “You can come in when you’re ready.” I lean back on my palms, admiring the scenery. “Don’t drown please.”

I laugh to myself. “Are you gonna take your shirt off and come save me?” I tease with one eyebrow raising, looking back at him. He flashes that Colgate commercial smile before disappearing inside. 

It seems the better it gets—the more experiences we convey to each other—the deeper into each other’s minds we dig—the darker the end seems. The more severe the unorthodox circumstances surrounding this thing seems. 

But I can’t worry about that shit right now. Not when I’m sitting on the twenty-seventh floor, of a Downtown Miami condo, overlooking the skyline of one of the most lively cities ever, at just twenty-two. Bank account ornate with commas. A drop-dead gorgeous superstar in the bed waiting for me.

Happy birthday to me. 

A/N // I thought I’d share this. Y’all deserved it. 250+ followers is crazy considering I just started posting my work. Forever grateful and I appreciate every single one of you! (Also, I heard that allegedly Papa will be at work for two more weeks so I got a little excited)

I realized by doing so many time jumps, I kind of robbed you all of seeing the little moments and progression of the characters and their relationships. With that being said, this most likely won't be the last short I post. I'll try to actually keep them short lol

- What are your thoughts on the relationship between Paul and Lana?

- Any extra thoughts about Jaire and Lana now that you see how they met?

- Any thoughts about the conversation between Demi and Lana on the hammock? Do you agree with her perspective?

- What do you think Joe was about to say before he stopped himself?

As always, if you read it or even just a portion, I am forever grateful and appreciative.

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