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jensthwa · 10 hours ago

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mountebank chem pt. four (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 24.1k.

WARNINGS & TAGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns sometimes, angsty angst that angsts in the form a verbal fight, tears, unresolved feelings and denial, tension, a heartfelt conversations with bro and lots of yearning!, a time jump (three months or so), mingi and love being unhelpful but helpful at the same time, yeosang being a cutie pie and a little bit of his story gets mentioned!, the L word, confessions, apologies, mentions of body dysmorphia and body related insecurities, soft!dom yunho (he's a little bossy), switch!reader (oc hates to let him win i guess), reader has breasts and a vagina, mirror play, teasing, light choking, messy kisses and makeouts, masturbation (f), just the tiniest bit of voyeurism, praise kink if you squint oh my god, fingering, multiple orgasms, love making (who else cried), the post-sex convo and more feelings and dreams are discussed.

NOTES: hi everyone! WE MADE IT!!!!! here's part four of this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH. after this, there's an epilogue/little part five to let everyone know sort of what happens after this + to set up the next story in the universe. i also just want to adress that one of you kindly suggested to change up some of the terminology i use in the warnings and for some other things in the fic itself and i thank that person a lot! but i also want to encourage you, if you feel something's missing or if i can do anything to be more inclusive in my stories, to let me know! i hope you all enjoy it part four of mbc, we've come a looong way and i'm happy on how this turned out. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: february 2nd 2025.

taglist: @kyunlov, @tinyelfperson, @0115degrees, @daniela-f-uwu, @ultrapinkvoidbouquet, @kyeomooniee, @fairylover68, @sushiinmidnight, @qveenbunni, @calmoistorm, @potatomountain, @svintsandghosts, @lemonkait00, @blue5ummer, @fancypeacepersona, @hyukssunflower, @i-love-ateez, @alsomimi, @e3ellie, @st3ft0n3s, @hotteokkay, @xylatox

masterlist - part one - part two. part three.

You dream about him. Every night.

His mouth on yours and his hands handling you with care fill the gray matter of your brain and rots it. It fits you.

A rotten brain for a rotten person.

The scenario repeats in a loop in your head even when you're awake, alone in your house office, accompanied by staff at the main office building. It doesn't really matter what you're doing, who you're with or if the task at hand requires your full attention, Yunho still invades your mind and makes you feel like you're leaping, flying through skies and then falling, falling, falling, before hitting the ground hard.

Because at the end of the memory, it plays what you did.

The way you pulled away, the way you left him there without a proper explanation.

You didn't have dinner with your brother, it was over nine o'clock at night. You needed an escape goat, a plan, an excuse to flee from the happiness you grasped with your sticky, messy, disgusting fingers.

Everything you touch seems to turn to shit.

So you can't touch Jeong Yunho even if you want to.

You shan't, you won’t, even when he’s so close to you it takes a lot for you to hold back. He’s a message away, a meeting away from you. And his messages on your phone kept piling up this week until they didn’t.

And now, as you watch him enter the meeting in a suit and tie, you do your best to pretend nothing happened between you even though it's supposed to. To everyone else's eyes, you’re still a couple.

You’re grateful for that. You don’t sit together, you can’t sit together. Of course you can't, that would be very unprofessional. You can't voice your opinion about any decisions made by his team (or rather, his brother's team) today because that would look like you're doing it to either spite him or to be on your boyfriend's side, it would look like corruption!

God bless the stupid societal and corporate norms. You won't even have to speak to him today, if you're lucky. You know he's shadowing his brother today, learning his way through these meetings you've been attending for years or at least pretending to do so.

There's absolutely no reason to speak to him today.

Yay.

Soohyun sits at your left, at the head of the table, and Yunho sits with his brother at Soohyun’s left. Neither your father or his are here today so everyone’s shoulders are a little less tense and the meeting is a quarterly one, which means people are going to be explaining graphics and reading numbers you have to stay focused on.

There's things you have to write down, there's statements you have to whisper in your brother's ear so he can say them out loud instead of you.

But Yunho looks way too good in his suit and tie and it's a little distracting.

And he's looking right at you, too.

You can hear your co-workers immediately gossiping about it, you can see your brother turn to you, then to him, then to you and you can faintly see how he raises a brow. Faintly, because you're pretending to read over some papers in front of you by the time he bumps your leg to try and catch your attention.

You step on his foot under the table, he mutters an offended ouch and pinches your arm in retaliation, which causes you to stop pretending to eye the documents and turn to him.

“Stop it.”

“You started it,” he says and then Soohyun gives you that look that lets you know he knows something you don't, although it can possibly be like that because he's a clueless little shit. “Did something happen between yo—”

Well, maybe not as clueless. Good thing you wore great heels today, the face he makes as he's trying to pretend that the sharp end of your Louis Vuitton is not stabbing him in the leg feels like a victory.

“Keep quiet, the meeting is starting.”

Oh, how you love winning.

The thing is, you can't even enjoy it now. Yunho’s face pops up on your mind again and it serves as a reminder of just how close he is.

As someone from the sales team starts their presentation, your eyes drift to Yunho in a way that feels oddly familiar.

There, trying to stay upright even though you know he's zoning everything out, there's this memory from your junior year in highschool that never tortured you the way it does now.

Although he's always been very tall, Yunho used to sit near the window, in the second row of the classroom you both shared that year. Not his decision, certainly whoever made that decision was not the sharpest tool on the shed because all he did was look out of the window and close his eyes when the teachers were not paying enough attention to him.

And you used to stare at him just like you're doing now. Through the corner of your eye, with your back straightened and ninety percent of your attention on the topic at hand. He held the other ten percent, tenderly, softly, without realizing what he was doing.

Just like he held you that night.

At the time, you wondered what went on in his head every time he drifted away from the class. New ways of making your life impossible? A new insult to your integrity, maybe? Highschool Yunho was everyone's dream but, for you, he meant nothing but nightmares and headaches.

Nothing has changed much.

But instead of wondering if he's thinking about new ways of pestering you with his presence, now your heart races at the possibility of him thinking about the kisses you two shared last week.

You hope no one notices the sudden shift on the chair or the gulp you make to keep your emotions buried deep down inside of you, where no one can reach them.

Trying to regain focus and ignore Yunho completely, you look at the projected graphics in front of you. The person doing the presentation turns to the next slide as soon as you're beginning to understand what the hell they're talking about. Surprisingly, your brother turns to whisper at you about it.

“The new company sales are lower than expected.”

When you turn fully to him, you can see he's biting his cheek in concerned concentration. You want to roll your eyes.

“I told dad no one would care about this company and you were the one who approved for us to go forward with it.”

“I know.”

“Dumbass,” you whisper, scrunching your nose and turning to the presentation again but your brother nudges you slightly and you have to look at him again.

Only for your eyes to completely bypass him and land in Yunho.

God fucking damnit.

Is this what having a crush is like? Is tortuous and you hate this even more than when you couldn't stand seeing his face out of pure annoyance.

This is why you probably never had a crush on anyone before. But it's strange, because it doesn't feel like something new. Yes, Yunho attending meetings is new but the feeling is familiar and grossly nostalgic of something you feel like you left behind.

And now has come back in full force.

You never had a crush on Yunho, at least not that you know of.

But this feeling is telling you otherwise and it's maddening and disgusting and—

“Something definitely happened, hm?”

Eyes flicking over your brother's sudden concerned expression, you push back on the seat and sink in it a little. This way, when you look up to him, Yunho is nowhere in sight. When you speak again, you make sure only Soohyun hears you.

“We can save it, don't worry about it. I'll write up a proposal of how we can market the concept of the company in a way that it at least piques people's interest.”

Your brother huffs, unsatisfied with your deflection and the way you visibly close up at the mere thought of telling him if something did happen between you and Yunho.

But he says nothing. It stings that you know he's going to leave it at that, the support you're supposed to have slipping through your fingers as you do your best to keep your feelings to yourself. It's not his fault, not really.

He doesn't know any better.

You don't know any better, either.

But your focus on the meeting comes back and you end it with thirteen pages of virtual notes and a list of things you need to do today to keep this shitshow of a company afloat.

There's a split second when you get out of the room that you feel Yunho’s eyes on you. You're afraid he's going to take the opportunity to talk to you, so you look up and around trying to find something, someone you can use as a distraction, as a shield.

But then there's like four pairs of hands dragging him away and you see that annoyed glint in his eye, usually reserved for you, as they turn him around and away from you.

Yes, of course they wouldn't let him speak to you right now. He's shadowing his brother, he has important things to do!

Yay.

You ignore the beating of your heart as you move quickly through the halls. Soohyun and Gunho are already aiming for the elevator so you opt for the stairs, knowing you won't have to speak to anyone at all if you get to your office like this.

Well, Soohyun's office. You have yours on a lower floor, not as unnecessary space-taking as his, but you usually work there because you enjoy the view.

So when you finally close the door behind you and the view is blocked by thirty piled up boxes you start thinking that the universe is upset with you. Is this your karma? Everything and everyone against you just because you walked out of a kiss before making a mistake?

Is not like Yunho cares that much about you anyway!

Huffing, you look around the room until your eyes land on that stupid tree you started painting when Soohyun told you he wanted to redecorate his office. Its branches extend just a little more than what you remember and there’s a part of it that was unfinished the last time you saw it. You can only assume either Seonghwa or your brother had something to do with it.

Which sucks.

Because you’re so painting over the stupid tree one day.

You stare at it while your mind wanders. Head slowly filling up with noise, you finally feel at ease when your thoughts are nothing but work: You need to write up a proposal to that stupid vintage-esque focused company to see if there’s some salvation for it. You need to speak with marketing, get one of them to go along the process with you. You need to sit down with your brother and kindly tell him to never allow something like this to ever happen again.

Making a mental list to organize and prioritize everything you need to do, you barely register footsteps echoing in the long hall. You should’ve, because it’s lunchtime and there’s no one on the floor, but you don’t.

And so when the person you least want to see comes through the door and lets out a heavy sigh, you turn to him like he grew a second nose over the course of the twenty minutes you last saw each other.

“I hate it here, I truly do.”

It almost makes you want to laugh, but you remain stoic as you move through the office. You take a few boxes and you put them down on the floor until there’s some light leaking through the window and illuminating the space enough for it not to give you a headache as you work.

Sitting on your brother's chair, barely sparing him another glance before turning on the desk computer and pulling up an empty document. You click and tap a few meaningless things: You pick the font, you mess with the font size for a second before setting it back to its default. Anything to help you look busy and not like your heart is going a million miles per second.

“Can I help you with anything, Yunho?”

Blurry, in the background, you can see him look around the office, probably taking the mess in. He moves too, walks until his expensive shoes are tip to tip with a literal mannequin resting against the wall.

You stop paying attention as you write the date and the proposal title. Something simple, something that both your father and the CEO of the dumb not-approved-by-you company that has you in this predicament can understand. You hate to say that you assume they’re not very smart if they put out such a dated and non profitable idea for their company.

Still, you try to address Yunho like nothing’s bothering you and like you’re not nervous you two are in a room alone after everything that went down.

“You can ask Seonghwa what that means,” you start, sighing like his friend and your brother are hopeless. Because maybe that’s what they are. “They’re not running any ideas by me even though I’m the one that spends the most time in this office, so.”

“Hm,” he starts and you can hear him walking around, but your focus is now on the first few words of the proposal. You realize there’s really nothing you can start before speaking with marketing and so you open the notes app, to have a list of ideas to run through them at least. “Thought you worked from home.”

“I do. I have an office three floors down, too.” It’s easy sharing information with him now, especially if it means there’s something to talk about that’s not… Well, the kiss. “I hate it, it’s in a corner and people can see into it. It’s easier to work here.”

“And Soohyun hyung doesn’t mind?”

“Considering he’s never here, I doubt it.”

“Cool, cool.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you want to look up, lump in your throat growing in size enough for you to cough it away. You don’t look up, you can’t look up even if you’ve misspelled the word rebrand like four times already.

But then the light you managed to cast onto the space disappears completely. You feel something besides you, the soft material of an expensive suit blazer grazing your arm and cheek. You see veiny, masculine hands secure themselves around the arms of the chair before he’s turning you to face him.

You gulp.

He’s leaning down close, closer than he should be, closer than what he’s allowed to be considering anyone can walk in on you. You’re flushing, you can feel the redness creep up your neck and heating your ears and face before you gather the courage of raising a questioning brow. Yunho stays silent, his eyes scanning your face and briefly landing on your lips before returning your stare.

“Can I help you with anything, Yunho?” You ask him again, quieter this time, voice trembling a little.

“Princess,” he starts, the corner of his lip raising just a little, like it’s funny he has to say what he’s about to say, “are you ghosting me?”

Shit.

“Why would you— Why would I—,” a nervous chuckle abandons you and then you huff, trying to seem offended at his accusation, “W-what do you mean by that?”

Leaning into your space a tiny bit more, he repeats “Are you ghosting me?”

Creasing your brow, you straighten in the chair but do nothing to pull him away “No.”

“Then what about the ten messages I sent you and you left on delivered?”

Faking a surprised gasp, you move to take your phone out of the pocket of your jacket and unlock it to swipe through your messages “You did? Oh, my God, I’ve been soooo busy.”

“You’re shit at lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you—”

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap from the phone to his face, genuine annoyance creasing your eyebrows this time.

“You don’t have to ask me that everytime you see me, Jeong.”

“But are you?” He asks as you finally find his chat and open the messages you dreaded to see the entire time that passed. There’s a few of them practically begging you to speak to him, one apologizing for the kiss and the other ones you don’t even see because Yunho is taking the phone from your hand and placing it on the desk next to you. “I mean, what happened didn’t trigger anyth—”

You hate he’s this considerate with you, even after you clearly walked out of the situation with a poorly formulated excuse.

“What happened was a mistake.”

Yunho physically deflates and lets the chair go, the tension on your shoulders lifting a little now that he’s not as close.

“What?”

“It was a mistake, we shouldn’t have done that. We’re professionally obligated to work together, fake all of this together, so it shouldn’t…” You pause and consider for a bit before doing something you never do: take the blame “I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

Letting out a breath, you turn the chair and delete the misspelled rebrand to write it the correct way, heart too weak to even look at his reaction. It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re never doing anything like it again.

You hear him shuffle with the boxes at both your feet and, from the corner of your eye, you see him turning away from you and then back, hands on his hips “I don't think it was a mistake.”

“Well, it was.”

“I liked it.”

That brings out a genuine, short lived laugh out of you “Thank you, I’m a great kisser.”

You open your brother’s email and pretend there’s an urgent matter inside the contents of one of them until Yunho’s hand closes over yours, over the mouse.

“Y/N.”

There’s a lot of things about Jeong Yunho you hate: The swoop of his hair when there’s no gel on it, the free aspect to his nature you’re never going to get even if you try to, that one time he called you an ugly giant after wearing platforms for the first time ever.

And the sweetness of his voice when he says your name, the plea you hear on it and the shudder it brings to your spirit. It shakes you, it moves you to look at him again, to actually take his feelings into consideration.

He’s staring at you with so much hurt, it makes your heart sink into an abyss of guilt.

“Hm?”

“I think I like you.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drowns deeper, your resentment towards the situation grows branches like the tree on the wall. They hug your pride and your ego, they poke you on your side for reciprocating Yunho’s feelings just a little.

Well, a lot.

“You think?” You ask him and your voice sounds far away. He nods. You stand up from the chair, hand squeezing his before letting drop. “Stop thinking then.”

His eyes closing shut and his jaw tensing is the last thing you see before you busy yourself with the boxes against the window. You pick up two at a time, heavy and the cardboard smelly as you walk to the other side of the office, away from him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N.”

You sigh “So am I, Yunho. You don’t like me, you liked that I kissed you.”

“Oh, I forgot you know exactly what goes through my mind and my heart, thank you for the remainder!”

Looking at him over your shoulder, you drop the boxes against the corner wall “Lower. Your. Voice.”

“No, no. Because that’s not an appropriate response to what I just told you!” He walks towards you and you meet him halfway, heart beating with annoyance at the way he’s speaking to you. He towers over you again, jaw clenched and voice a mere murmur when he speaks again “You have no say in what I feel, how I feel it, when I feel it.”

“I know I don’t, you idiot. I was just providing you with a bit of perspective.”

“Perspective?”

“What do you like about me?” Chin up and nose scrunched in a way it only does when you’re really angry, you insist “Why now? Why do you suddenly care? Is it out of pity? Is it because it’s convenient, because we’re already pretending? Is it because you want to fuck me?!”

“Watch it, Y/N.” His tone is laced with clear offense at what you offered just a second ago.

“You don’t like me,” you start, shaking your head, “you can’t like me.”

“Why not?!”

He’s breathing hard, walking backwards, offering up his palms to the sky and looking around the room like any of that is going to give him an answer to his questions.

“Why not?” He repeats and there’s that hurt in his voice that, for some reason, makes your eyes water. Are you having a panic attack? A heart attack? Everything hurts. Liking Yunho hurts, wanting him hurts. He comes back, his eyes searching yours even though you can’t do anything but cast them down, to your shoes and his shoes and the boxes and the carpet “Why can’t I like you, princess? What’s not to like? What kind of self-deprecating ideas do

you have in your head that makes you think I can’t care about you like that?”

Shaking your head again and closing your eyes, you are barely able to stifle a sob and force your tears back. You want to tell him that that’s not the reason but you would be lying to him if you did.

That’s part of the reason.

Behind the whole letting your mother’s win argument, there’s an undeniable amount of self hatred that can’t let you feel like there’s any truth behind his words.

Why would he like you? Why would he care about you?

Your hands are dirty and sticky and your being is way too clumsy, so everything you love drops and breaks and turns to dust before your eyes. The fact that there’s this whole fake relationship deal in the middle of it and you can place the blame on your mothers is a blessing in disguise.

It’s a weapon you can use.

Even if you don’t want to: His hands are cradling your face, his forehead dropping against yours and drawing a surprised gasp out of you because you didn’t even feel him get him close.

“I like you, I care about you,” there’s certainty in his tone, like he made up his mind, like he’s confirming his feelings to both you and himself, “I… I—” He takes a breath when you open your eyes and beg him to not say what you think he’s about to say. He takes the hint. “Do you not like me back, Y/N? Are you trying to… Is that what’s happening?”

You say nothing, but swallow back your feelings and brace yourself on his forearms, nose budging his as you move a little.

He reads your silence wrong “Y-you do?”

You think it matters if you do or not. Your heart is already breaking by the time the words are on the tip of your tongue.

“We can’t,” you whisper to him, letting your tears wet your cheeks and squeezing his forearms when his thumbs start to move in trying to dry them, shaking your head to signal him to stop. As your eyes catch his, you prepare yourself for the gentleness you’re about to lose, with the care you’re about to push away for his own good. “Because if we do, they win.”

You didn’t know your heart could break this way, as you watch his expression morph from confusion to pain to utter, genuine anger. It’s the same face he made last week, in your living room, as he yelled at his mother for even daring suggesting that you two should be together.

There’s a time when hurting Yunho brought you some sense of vengeance, a time where you considered it payback for being that person literally planned and made for you.

Now, you want to hit your head against the wall for even daring filling his eyes with tears, for being the reason frustration descends and wets his shoes as he looks down.

“Oh.”

He lets you go and you miss it. You immediately want to take your words back, push him closer to you, hug him, kiss him, whatever it may be to keep him next to you.

You start to mourn the loss of the bond you were able to form with him right away.

And it hurts.

He nods again. And it hurts. “Oh, that’s what this is about.”

It fucking hurts. When he laughs, hands on his face as he wipes his tears away, you feel like you’re going to pass out.

“And you don’t care about me enough to tell them to go fuck themselves.” He says, a resentful statement that leaves his lips before a breathy laugh does.

Opening your mouth, you attempt to contradict his words. That’s not true at all, he has to understand, he understands you, he— He raises his hand to stop you from speaking, he shakes his head like he doesn’t want to hear it.

Like your excuses, even if he hasn't listened to them at all, are not worth his time.

“I get it.” No, you don’t. “I understand.” No, you really don’t.

But you say nothing. As he’s slipping through your fingers like sand, at your own doing, you just stare at him with sorrowful eyes and an apology on your teeth.

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to stop him as he reaches the door. You want to, you really do.

You don’t.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

When the door closes behind him and leaves you alone in an office that’s not really yours, feeling like you’re not yourself, you finally allow the reality of what you just did to hit you.

Hand shaking, you cover your mouth and let out a sob as you let yourself cry what you just lost. But, as you do, you remind yourself that you don’t really deserve Yunho’s care.

You don’t really deserve his love.

Hurting him is probably the easiest way out he has of whatever he thinks he’s feeling for you.

Walking slowly to the desk, you wipe your tears away and nod to yourself. Yes, this is exactly what needed to happen. Good. Yes. What were you doing before he came in?

You grab the mouse.

Ah, the proposal. Of course.

The noise comes back, louder this time. Unbearable and ear-piercing, it forces you to close your eyes and listen to the beat of your heart before you push the sound away. You can’t afford to crash right now.

You skim through your tasks in your mind and, as you do, the reminder of a little notification you saw on your calendar this morning, with Yunho’s name on it, is what finally lets the panic break through your senses.

“No.”

And you spend the rest of the afternoon typing your escape plan away.

By the time your brother remembers he has an office, it’s dark outside and the proposal is

printed and in a folder placed neatly in the middle of his desk.

He closes the door, raising an eyebrow at the way you’re resting your shoulder against the window behind his chair, the boxes blocking them all piled up in the corner you initially started moving them to this afternoon.

“You’re still here.” He muses and you turn to him, scoffing at the obvious.

“Well, somebody has to work.”

“I was working,” he sounds a little bit offended, but when he passes in front of you and pulls back his chair to sit on it, you faintly smell whisky and cigarettes. “I was at a meeting in the gentlemen's club with Gunho.”

“That’s hardly working, Soohyun.”

Looking over his shoulder, he’s face to face with your unimpressed expression. Of course he went to the stupid club with Gunho, of course he didn’t do shit today.

“Let me remind you that I am, in fact, older than you.”

“And?”

“I deserve respect and zero questioning.”

You hum, slightly amused this time. You know he’s goofing around, you know he’s hardly mad at the implication that you do all the work he’s supposed to do plus yours but there’s this slight worry in his face that’s unusual.��

“Is Gunho oppa okay?”

Your brother frowns “Of course he is.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m— Why are you asking?”

Shrugging, you turn away from him to look at the city through the window again. You can see the river and the buildings that encapsulate it perfectly and it brings you a strange sense of comfort everytime you zone out and just people watch those who feel free enough to walk along the bridge at this hour, with the cold and the rain and the mess that the leaves leave behind as they fall.

“You look distraught.”

“Well, you’ve been crying, of course I am.”

Interesting. You didn’t think he could tell, which means your face is puffy and you look ugly. Great.

“The mess in this office made me tear up when I got in this afternoon,” you say, swerving around the accusation with ease because there’s no way in hell you’re telling your brother what’s up with you. “I’m going to need your help when it comes to explaining that to dad.” And then you use your chin to point to the proposal sitting in front of him.

“You didn’t have to do this today, I know sales are low but-”

“Oh, that’s not it. That one is sitting on your email. This—” you take two steps, tap the front of the folder with your nails, “is a new thing. A thing he won’t understand nor approve unless you understand it and approve it.”

And then you move back to your position by the window, staring at the lights and the buildings one more time without explaining anything else. When you hear the flick of the pages being turned, you know he understands how serious you’re about it. No space for debating, no time for complaining: you need him to get it done now, and so he will.

Because your brother can be a lot of things but he’s not dumb.

And he can read a room like no other except maybe you.

Seconds turn into minutes and then the clock ticks and blends together as you wait, shoulder hurting by the time your brother lets out a heavy sigh.

“No, I won’t approve this.”

Definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“You want to—”

Defensiveness floats you, over-stimulates your senses and makes you see red at the rejection of your proposal “I want to expand our market, our clientele, our opportunities to keep this company on top. Can you relate?”

“Y/N…” He scowls at your attack, at your tone “You’re running.”

“I’m doing something for the company!”

You think your roar is heard all the way to the first floor. Soohyun stares at you wide-eyed, mouth agape for a second before he closes it again. He has to fix his tie, his suit ironed for once as he takes the jacket off and discards it against the chair.

Brat, princess, annoying little sister. You know that’s what he calls you, he has called you that ever since you were a child and in the most endearing way possible. You have yelled at him before, you have stomped your foot and cried and moaned until you got your way, until he agreed to let you do something.

You have never screamed at him like this before, though.

It shows in the way your chest rises and falls quickly, in the way he has to take a calming breath to not yell back at you. Your eyes are full with tears when he looks up and the crease of his brow disappears because, even though you both could be closer and understand each other better, he still is your brother.

Your brother, who loves you and cares about you in his own way.

It proves more difficult to let him see the real you, more difficult than what it felt with Yunho or with anyone else.

So when the tears fall down your cheeks, you wipe them away quickly and pretend they were never there.

“I don’t know what the hell happened,” he starts, calm, taking a step into your direction and raising his hand and you recoil a bit out of habit. He hesitates for a few seconds but then he’s squeezing your shoulder and pulling you into a tight hug that feels unfamiliar, unusual and weird until it doesn’t. You melt into the embrace because you need it, because it allows you to let go of your frustration and cry it out on your brother’s chest, “but you’re going to explain it to me whether you like it or not. And only then, I will consider saying yes to your proposal.”

When you pull away to look at him, it’s with a pout and a scowl that draws a breathy laugh out of him.

“Stupid.” He pushes you away a little before pulling you back in for a hug, “Always keeping things to yourself instead of letting me take the weight of it all. Stupid.”

It takes a few minutes, but when the hug doesn’t seem necessary and your usual disgust for physical touch comes back into your system, he allows you to take two steps back and clean your face with the back of your hand.

“Haven’t seen you cry since you were a child,” he whispers and you shrug, ignoring the fact that your heart stings at the comment. “What happened?”

You tell him everything that night.

Yunho hasn’t seen you in three months.

Which, at first, came as relief. He didn’t want to see your face ever again after the things you confirmed to him back in your brother's office. Who needed you, right? He told himself his mother loved enough to understand the sudden change of heart, although she doesn’t exactly know what happened between you in the first place.

Maybe he should’ve been honest when he got the chance, back in your house, the afternoon they told you both about the pr relationship.

He was so close to telling the truth, too, when he walked out of the living room and into the hallway to clear his head and not scream at his mother in front of yours. It was there, at the tip of his tongue, and then his mother appeared in front of him with that spark behind her eye that could only mean one thing: it didn’t matter what the truth was, he was going to do this even if it killed him inside.

Her words the next second confirmed it and he wondered right then if his freedom was worth the suffering:

“Either you do this or I’ll make sure you’re never able to dance again, Jeong Yunho. No more public university, no more friends, no more staying at the dorm, just your father’s company,” and he was about to refuse, yet again, she raised her finger as a warning. “I mean it. Y/N is perfect to clear the company’s image but if we can’t use her then we’ll have to work twice as hard as we do now to clear it.”

And Yunho would rather fake an entire life with you than work for the man who single handedly ruined his life the second he was born. He didn’t hate his father, he thought about him like a concept he would never understand even when he desperately tried to, but he would never become part of his company.

Not in the way his mom suggested, anyway.

He just needed to get through college, pretend to be interested in the family business and then land a freelancer job elsewhere, in a foreign company maybe, one who didn’t seem a threat to his father’s and then move on his own when he had enough money saved.

Independence. He needed independence. Strangely enough, he needed you to gain that independence even though you meant the exact opposite to him, in his head.

So he doesn’t know why he yelled at you that afternoon. To take it all out, maybe? He thought he hated you back then, too.

He had already agreed to it in the hallway, to his mom.

He had already agreed to it the second he was born.

Which is crazy because that’s not a normal experience to have. And if you were born a boy or him a girl, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. You’d be friends, like Gunho and Soohyun, and maybe he’d be forced to be with someone that wasn’t shoved down his throat for so long.

Imagine his surprise when he kissed you back that night in his dorm. No, scratch that, imagine his surprise when he started liking you the second you showed your true colors to him.

You’re not perfect by any means, but neither is he and it only took you allowing him to enter a little bit into your mind, into your heart, into your soul, for him to fall for you hard. Or maybe he always liked you? His mind didn’t allow him to sleep at all when you left, but it didn’t allow him to go and follow you that same night either, so the conundrum continued to torture him until it didn’t.

After the fight in the office, he went home and sat in his childhood bedroom for a while. He had dinner with his brother when he came home to look for some documents in his father’s home office and then he went back to his dorm and stared at the ceiling until Yeosang came back from wherever he’s been disappearing to these days.

He pretended everything was fine under Yeosang’s scrutinizing gaze but his friend and roommate knew him so much it only took less than a week for his sudden mood to reach the ears of the rest of the friend group.

Not so subtle messages started entering his phone. He answered all of them and then used the excuse of being on the app to check your chat in case you sent a message and it didn’t notify him for some reason. He told them everything was okay, that he was feeling a bit under the weather.

And he managed to convince them until he checked his calendar one day (the one he shared with you) and realized all foreseeable events had been cancelled. You had another meeting where you two needed to coexist, a company dinner with both your team and Gunho’s team that he needed to go to as your plus one and, surprisingly enough, a paparazzi session scheduled by your mother that you needed to first prepare to and then do.

All of this was explained to him by his PR assistant. It surprised him to see that many postponed and canceled the app. It angered him to assume you canceled everything just because you didn’t want to see him.

He didn’t want to see you either, but he had to. Weren’t you the one who more than once scolded him for not being professional enough?

Ha!

It was his opportunity to tease you about it. And so, when he was told to go to your brother’s office the next day, he had this whole speech ready to go. He would tell you to stop being so dumb, that a kiss and his feelings is something that can be ignored. That he needed you both to forgive and forget.

Yunho needs to continue his plan, even if his own heart breaks in the process. And as he got down the elevator and walked the hall to reach the office, his heart desperately asked him to reconsider. Because there, while pushing the door handle to enter the space he dreaded to be a week prior, Yunho realized he wanted to ask you to be his again.

When he found nothing but Soohyun on his chair, his conviction deflated and his ego sank to the ground.

“Yunho!” Your brother sprung out of his chair, excitingly rounding his desk until he reached for him. Arm around his shoulders, Yunho raised a brow at the sudden animosity. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“N-no.”

“Right.”

He knew Soohyun could call his bullshit from a mile away. But it didn’t matter, he was already sitting down in front of him in the new couches facing each other. He wanted to point it out, but Soohyun beat him to it.

“Your friend Park Seonghwa has amazing taste.”

“Ah,” he breathed out a laugh, a nervous chuckle that made him gasp for air a second after, “yeah. He, um, was top of his class before he graduated.”

“I can tell,” Soohyun nodded and looked around, scrunching his nose in a way that reminded Yunho of you. “Y/N is not going to be available for the next few months.”

What?

“W-what?”

“I know you came here looking for her and we’ve known each other since you were born, Yunho, I think we can skip the shitty formalities.”

“Hyung…”

Soohyun shaked his head, laughing with a relaxed sincerity that is such a Soohyun thing to do “There’s never not been a moment in my life where my sister doesn’t surprise me. I know you know her and I know you two have grown… Closer since this whole PR thing started but I don’t think you can grasp the full Y/N effect until you live with her, you know?”

He didn’t. Not at all.

“She crafted in four, maybe five hours a project that would’ve taken me at least a month to sit down and write,” he explained and Yunho swallowed thickly, the lump on his throat going down. “And she wanted to get it done as soon as she got the approval from dad. So, I hope you understand that she couldn’t exactly give you a notice before postponing and cancelling your shared schedule.”

Ah. So you didn’t want to speak to him at all. He scoffed, annoyed. “So she asked you to tell me?”

“Nope. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would kill me if she knew I’m meeting with you at all.”

Yunho blinked, confused.

“Oh.”

“But I love you like a brother, Yunho. You’re my family, you’re her family even though she hates it and I realized recently that the four of us need to stick together. If everything else goes to shit, we’ll still have us.”

The four of you. Including him and Gunho.

“And as a family, we owe each other honesty. We owe each other loyalty and forgiveness and understanding. You see where I’m going with this?”

“No,” he admitted, frowning a bit. “What does any of that have to do with me and Y/N? We don’t like each other, I know you and Gunho noticed at some point. It’s the way things are supposed to be.” The words had a bitter taste, but he pushed through them.

He sounded like you.

Soohyun let out a sigh and he got up from his seat to squeeze Yunho’s shoulder “She comes back in three months, Yunho. She’s doing something from the company but she has to come back, right?”

Yunho shrugged, pretending the information didn’t spark something close to hope inside of him.

“Understanding. That’s what we owe each other: Love and understanding… And lunch. Your brother actually owns me lunch, feel free to join us.”

Your brother is the weirdest guy ever. However, he realized that as Soohyun walked out of the office and left him to consider his words, that he was already planning on telling you when you came back.

He missed you already, too.

And yet, he didn’t find the courage to tell you at all. It tormented him, greatly, vastly. It consumed him through his classes, his dance rehearsals, his performances. It tugged on his heart the days he had to go to the office and pretend he cared about the company, and through his hang outs with his friends.

They asked about you all the time. He had to remind them you were on a business trip, he had to make up a story, he had to tell them the details were apparently confidential when he didn’t even know where you were.

He could’ve just called you. He could’ve just asked you.

His finger over your contact on his phone while he sits in Wooyoung's room during a house party, in the dark.

He could just ask you.

He–

“Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?”

He drops his phone, the light of the screen going out as it lands down on the bed.

“Holy shit, Mingi!”

A light turns on and he squints his eyes at the sudden intrusion.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“I walked in here like five minutes ago,” his best friend deadpans and Yunho pouts like a child. “You know, I’m starting to feel like I don’t mean that much to you anymore.”

That offends him deeply and he scowls before tossing a pillow in his direction “What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m a patient person, Yunho,” he catches the pillow and tosses it back, “and I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what's been going on for the last month and half but you keep saying everything’s fine.”

“Because everything’s f—”

“No, it’s not!”

Mingi is tired, he can tell. He’s been holding his worries inside since the day he told everyone about his relationship with you and Yunho feels awful. This is that part of his life that’s hard to talk about. He only explained to Mingi about the dreadful desire that his father has of making him work for him around a year ago and he’s known Mingi for so long at this point that it does feel a little like he doesn’t trust him enough.

But it’s hard and he has kept his feelings and desires buried for so long he thinks he might’ve accidentally dragged his feelings for you along with it and now they’re all mixed up and scratching the walls of their enclosure, begging to come out of him.

“I’m not used to push people around to tell them about their feelings but you’re my best friend and—”

“I kissed Y/N.”

Mingi stops mid sentence, blinking a few times before moving to sit beside him on the bed. Yunho hopes, as he faintly hears the music outside of the room getting louder and Wooyoung screaming something that he can’t exactly make up, that Mingi doesn’t think he’s suddenly confessing his afflictions out of pressure.

Instead, the words came out of his mouth like he couldn’t resist telling them in the first place. After keeping it to himself for weeks, nearly three months, it finally feels like breathing a little.

“O… kay.” He says as a response and it’s Yunho’s turn to blink at him in disbelief, Mingi laughs a little. “So you kissed the girl you like. Isn’t that something to be happy about?” Yunho gapes at the insinuation of Mingi knowing he likes you, except, it doesn’t come as a surprise. His friends are very observant, to his absolute horror they can’t be fooled. “Did she reject you? Is that what’s going on?”

“No! I mean, yes. We… She kissed me first!” He defends himself, taking a quick inhale before cursing softly under it. “And then I kissed her. And then we kissed and she left and she ghosted me for a little, actually. And then I saw her in her office, that's not actually her office but her brother’s, and I… I kind of confronted her? And then she rejected me.”

By the time he finishes his rambles, Mingi looks amused and a little worried.

“You have to be in this… Fake relationship with her and that’s tormenting you, then? Because she rejected you?”

“No, that’s not… We’re not— I am, we are still in the fake relationship, it’s just that she’s gone.”

“She died?!”

“What? No! No, she’s,” Yunho closes his eyes, laughing at the assumption because he knows Mingi said it to get that exact response in return, “she’s not dead. She, um, she’s on that business trip.”

“Oh, that’s right! You told us—”

“I lied.”

“What?”

His poor best friend looks confused beyond belief and that guilt of not telling him everything creeps in once more, threatening to shut him up until he reminds himself Mingi is trustworthy and deserves some clarity.

“She is on a business trip, I just don’t know why or how or where she is,” he finishes softly, his lips in a line and revealing just how uneasy that makes him feel. “I don’t know where she is and I think that she left because I— Well, when she rejected me we didn’t end up on the best of terms.”

“So you think it’s your fault.” Mingi finishes with a nod, letting out a sigh a second after. “Well, it’s not.”

“It kind of is, though.”

“Yunho, it’s not. She’s a grown up, if she decides to run away from her feelings instead of facing them she’s kind of a dumbass.”

“Mingi!” Yunho’s pushing him a bit with his hand on his shoulder before he can help it.

“She is!” Laughing, his best friend takes no offense at the push and instead pushes him back, teasingly. “Remember that one party you had at your place, when your parents were gone on that business trip with your brother?”

“Oh, that party?”

“Yeah, that party,” Mingi nods, looking away for a second, something shining in his face Yunho realizes he’s longing for. He wants that to shine on him, too: the security that being with the right person brings you. “Love tried to run away from an argument that night, too. I just didn’t let her.”

“Are you calling your girlfriend a dumbass?”

“Yeah,” and instead of saying it with a grudge, the confirmation comes out of a place filled with, well, love. “She was a dumbass back then, at least.”

“Y/N is not like that at all,” Yunho says after a bit, “she’s not a dumbass for running away from this. Our thing… It’s kind of different. We’ve been put in this situation since we were kids and we hated, like actually hated each other for a while. We treated each other so badly, Mingi, you have no idea the way she gets under my goddamn skin sometimes,” and despite saying it like it’s a bad thing, he can’t help but smile. Mingi notices this, too. “You know I don’t have the best relationship with my parents, right? Well, hers is way worse.”

“Wait, you told us that this relationship was something to clear your company’s image?” Mingi recalls and Yunho feels another pang of guilt against his ribcage.

“It is! It totally is, it’s just… Well, she was born a girl and I was born a boy and our parents have a very, um, old-fashioned concept of love and what it’s supposed to look like. It was decided a long time ago that we were going to end up together.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before Mingi bursts out laughing so hard it drowns the noise from outside the room.

“That’s funny to you?” Yunho asks, light-hearted and smiling at the sound of his best friend's laugh.

“No, no, it’s just… Your parents are forcing you two together for some weird legacy, bloodline reason and you fell for the girl you’re in a fake relationship with and you’re supposed to hate?”

Now that he hears it like that…

“Basically, yeah.”

“Oh, San’s girl is about to have a field trip with this information.”

“Dude!”

“What? It’s dumb! Y/N is a dumbass, you’re dumber for not just calling her and telling her you miss her and you’re both really fucking dumb for not telling your parents to fuck off. You’re grown!”

Yunho sighs, shaking his head. “She doesn’t like me like that, Mingi.”

“Yes, she does!” He laughs again, covering his mouth with his hand once he realizes Yunho is getting annoyed with it. “Yunho… Ugh, is this how you all felt those few months where I was crying over Love?”

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“Because you’re a puppy,” Mingi’s shoulder brushes against his in a not so subtle way of teasing him and his eyes blank in pretend annoyance. “You are. And you’re a pretty great guy, Yunho. If she doesn’t like you back it’s not the end of the world.”

Yunho nods, but he’s suddenly not as convinced as he should be.

“And you’re also one of the strongest people I know, in here.” Mingi’s finger taps over his heart on his chest. “But you don’t have to carry your burdens on your own. This is all… It all seems pretty dumb to me but it must be really hard on you, hm? Especially since you want to live a life separate from your family, right?”

That, Mingi knows. “Mhm.”

“And so does Y/N?”

“No, I’m not so sure about that,” he murmurs back and his heart aches when he thinks about you and the way you’re treated home, in the way your mother has treated you in front of him. “I think she thinks she’s nothing without her family but I also think she was raised to believe that. They… Well, even her brother has a hard time seeing how fucking amazing she is.”

“Is she?” Mingi drops his head to the side, doubt and a little prejudice on his expression. “Is she fucking amazing, Yun?”

“She’s… She’s such a good person. Which is really crazy for me to say, because I thought she was a spoiled brat for a long time. And she is! But she’s also… She cares so deeply and she’s enjoys painting and she’s so great with kids and—”

“And you have it bad,” Mingi laughs again, shoving him against the mattress with a push and standing up from the bed. Yunho laughs, recognizing the amount of pushing as tipsy Mingi behavior and nothing else. “So bad. Were you about to call her?”

He feels called out and a little shy about it. He blushes and all.

“Maybe.”

When his focus goes back to his phone, it’s when he hears it.

And his heart drops to his ass.

A distant curse and the sound of a call ending is enough to send his mind into a new, different spiral.

“Was that…?”

Yunho picks up the phone, checks the last call he made and your name appears next to the nine minutes and a half his conversation with Mingi lasted.

His mouth runs dry, his throat closes as he turns to screen to show it to Mingi.

“Holy fuck.”

“What do I do?”

“That’s insane. San’s girl is going to have the best night of her life.”

“Mingi!” He blocks the phone, tosses it on the bed and gets up to shake his best friend's shoulders. “What. Do. I. Do. Now.”

Your heart still beats like the day you not-so-accidentally listened to a conversion you shouldn’t have.

There’s the distant memory of your phone vibrating under your pillow at the hotel you were staying at for the night. It happened only a few weeks ago, near the three month mark into your trip around the country, looking for businesses worth the investment in little towns. That far into your adventure, you had met at least a dozen small companies worth every penny inside your father’s pocket, more so than the one’s already signed. You had met wonderful people who didn’t exactly know who you were and you had been treated so kindly it made the ache in your chest go away.

At least for a little bit.

So when you sleepily read Yunho’s name on your screen at two am in the morning, the sting of the pain was unfamiliar and the first thing that crossed your mind was that something bad happened to your brother. Or his brother. Or him.

What other reason did he have to call you when he left that office hating you all over again?

“H-hello?”

Nothing. Just silence and maybe a distant melody, the ruffling of the phone against something.

“Yunho? If you called me to piss me off I swear to God—”

“Holy shit, Mingi! You scared the shit out of me!”

Mingi?

There’s a deeper voice you can hear on Yunho’s end and that’s when you realized he didn’t mean to call you in the first place.

And you should've hung up there. But you didn’t and so you listened to their entire conversation and realized one thing:

Mingi was right. You are a dumbass.

And Yunho is even dumber, but that’s something you would have to rub on his face when you gather the courage to see him again. That day is not today, you made sure of it.

You see, you’ve changed just a tiny bit these past three months. It’s not like you went to a spiritual retreat but by crafting that proposal while fleeing your feelings and the mess that you made with just one kiss, you came around something you never experienced before. Not fully, at least:

Freedom.

You spent Christmas and New Years all alone, with no one dear to you around and you saw the fireworks from your hotel window and you felt and suddenly you understood what Yunho sees in in sleeping in that tiny dorm with a roommate and a pile of dirty clothes in a corner, with no pushing their way into the room to pick his messes up and no one making sure he eats at the correct time, the correct meals and the correct porcelain for the day.

No rules, no conditions, just a place where he can be free and himself.

You did all of that while also making sure you didn’t abandon your priorities. You went to sleep late because you wanted to and then you went to bed early the next day because there were no rules, no events you needed to attend to, no photographers asking you to smile.

There was no one to tell you that you looked fat after eating one delicious, non dietetic meal. There was no devil (your mom) whispering in your ear how everyone would notice the carbs, the bloat and the tiny zits.

There was no one there to stop you from cutting your hair. And so you did. What once was kept long and straight in order to keep a traditional, clean look, now rested in waves on your shoulders,

It makes it so much easier to walk out of the shower, in less time too!

And although your heart yearned for Yunho everyday, especially after hearing his conversation with Mingi at two in the morning when you weren’t even supposed to, it was the first time in years you felt happy enough to drop the mask, the pretences, the good posture and even the makeup.

Yup, you went out without makeup three times! That’s some information that would send your mother into cardiac arrest at the very least.

So now, as you try to move fast through a college campus that’s not yours, with a box that contains something you call an apology and it might not even be, your heart is beating with the same amount of strength just at the thought of all this backfiring.

Because you’re not ready to see Yunho, not yet. You want him to come and find you, to come and tell you if he wants to accept you back into his life, under his terms, after you so insistently kicked him out of yours.

You sneakily checked his calendar. You bribed your assistant, who bribed his assistant, so now his schedule for the week is in a screenshot on your phone and you have checked it four times to confirm this is a good time to be here.

He has dinner with his family and yours (who don’t even know you’re back yet) at his house, on the hill, which is forty minutes away from his campus. That’s exactly the window of opportunity you’ve been waiting for since coming back.

And you came back a week ago.

You may or may not have memorized the code for the door from that only time you came to his dorm and so it’s not really a surprise when you quickly enter it and hear a screech behind you when you are busy closing the door.

When you turn around, Yeosang is shirtless and covering his chest with his hands “Y/N!”

“Yeosang.” You say with a small bow, struggling to not laugh and turning your face away, looking at the postered up wall. “So nice to see you here, in your room.”

“W-what are you… I mean how do you… Should I call Yun—”

“No!” When you turn to him again, eyes wide with worry, he has a shirt on and his phone in his hand. “Please don’t… Let me do something real quick and then you can speak to him, okay?”

You start to fumble with the box, placing it at the end of the bed and opening it up fast. You throw the lid on top of Yeosang’s bed and then get to work, pulling everything out.

“Oh, I don’t know. I hate lying to my friends, Y/N.”

“And you’re such a great friend for that but you won’t be lying to him because I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I wouldn’t even if you did ask me to.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…”

Okay, so you changed a little bit. Not a lot.

You sigh, struggling with the placement of your gift/apology because Yunho changed his sheets and so the color scheme it’s not perfect anymore.

“What’s all of this?”

“Yunho enjoys dancing,” you start and you see him nod from the corner of your eye, so you smile. “He told me he did it to have this dorm but I didn’t buy it at all, and so when I was on my trip I… Sort of thought of him a little bit, not a lot.” You clear your throat, a slight heat creeping up your cheeks. “But I didn’t want to wait another day without giving this to him. I just… I can’t exactly be here when he sees it.”

You finish, turning back to Yeosang and you realize you’re out of breath, nervousness creasing your brows.

“Would you please let me know how he reacts to it the next time we see each other?” You ask softly, almost shy and Yeosang visibly relaxes at the tone. It makes you feel understood somehow and so you relax a little bit, too. “If you’re here when he gets here I mean, um, you are all dressed up.”

When you point to his outfit, he seems to remember that he was, in fact, getting ready to go out when you walked in. His hair is wet but styled and all.

“Oh, I was… I was just going to the club.” He points to a camcorder on his beat and you raise a curious brow, but don’t really ask anything. “I’m making a dance documentary for one of my classes. Yunho is in it, too.”

That peaks your interest and he laughs, possibly at the way you light up at the mention of your fake-boyfriend-possible-love-of-your-life name. “He is?”

“Yes, he’s… A big part of it, actually, but I go to this club to get footage and… You should ask him to explain it to you.”

Now, at that, your smile sure turns sour because there’s no actual way of knowing if he wants to see you again or not.

After all, he didn’t attempt to contact you after that phone call.

You don’t know if he noticed that he called you, either.

It’s kind of killing you inside, all the space you need to fill with assumptions instead of facts.

“Sure, um…”

“I can stay until he comes back.”

“Oh, I don’t want to ruin your plans for the night, Yeosang. You should go and—”

“I want to see it. I want to record it,” he explains, looking over your shoulder and into the gift in Yunho’s bed. “He says he’s not sure, but I think he wants to dedicate his life to it, you know?”

“To dancing?”

Yeosang nods.

Your voice sounds very small when you ask him “Do you think he’s going to like it?”

He smiles, softly, endeared almost.

“He’s going to love it,” he assures you, “And your haircut, too.”

You chuckle at that, touching the ends of it that rest on your shoulder “You think?”

“Yeah! It suits you, actually.”

“Thank you, Yeosang.”

This time, and after making small talk with his roommate, you leave Yunho’s dorm with a smile on your face instead of tears running down your cheeks.

There’s exhaustion pouring out of Yunho by the time he reaches his dorm door. He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against the cool wood of it and lets out a sigh to collect himself. He needs to have the energy to take a shower, after all.

It’s not as late as he expected it to be, the digital clock on the wall glows blue and neon and lets him know it’s around nine thirty. Good, that’s great.

He misses you.

And it’s hard not to think of you when he’s surrounded with people who know you, who bring you up when it’s time to talk about positive results for the company, or the time you organized an event for you mother because your brother had no taste to pick the venue or catering or whatever the fuck they were going on about tonight.

It didn’t escape him that Soohyun glanced at him every time your parents brought you up and he wonders if it shows in his face just how much he longs to see you again.

He’s thinking about your face when the room unexpectedly lights up and Yeosang is standing on his own bed, in the corner, smiling like a creep. Yunho almost falls as a curse slips past his lips and he stares at his friend like something is deeply wrong with him.

Because it is.

It’s almost comical how breathless he is as he asks him: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hey!”

“—Standing in the corner like a serial killer.”

“Turn around, Yunho.”

“What?”

“Turn,” he repeats, slowly, as he climbs out of the bed, the camera pointed in his direction still. “Around.”

So he does.

And what he sees… Confuses him. Until it doesn’t.

There’s a few things on his bed: There’s some polaroid pictures lined up, different people he doesn’t know in them, all in different traditional attire and Yunho can see there’s inscription in them, the dates all read from early november to two weeks ago.

There’s tickets to a competition that’s supposed to be sold out. He knows, he tried to get a ticket the second they announced it but couldn’t. The top dance teams are going to battle for some bucks but, most importantly, they’re going to battle to keep the dying scene alive.

A book titled Why Dance Matters next to a golden retriever plushie with a suit that makes him giggle out of the pure weirdness of it.

There’s a copy of grease with some signatures in the front. He can make out something that reads as Barry Pearl in it, he thinks. His mind reels at what that means.

A cd in a clear case with a beautiful sunset and a building he recognizes immediately as the orphanage you took him to. Six silhouettes he can only imagine symbolizes him, Jaemi, Hyunjoon, his brother, Soyi and you.

But what confirms it’s something you did, it’s the envelope that sits in the middle of it all. It's waxed and sealed with something that looks regal, elegant and, when he picks it up to see the seal up close, he smells your perfume.

He turns to Yeosang, eyes watery, in request of an explanation.

“Open it! I’ve been dying to read it but I’m a great friend,” Yeosang almost wiggles with excitement and Yunho’s eyes water a little. “Or so she said.”

“She was here?”

“Y/N?” His friend asks in return, weirded out. “Well, yes.”

“When?”

“An… hour and something ago.”

“Where did she go?”

“Are you okay?”

He’s speechless, envelope shaking a bit in his hand as he pushes the need to run to you away. He doesn’t know what this means, he doesn’t know what the letter says either. His heartbeats are thumping on his ears and muffling Yeosang’s words a little bit.

He needs to calm down.

He needs to read the letter. He’s–

“You’re crying,” Yeosang turns off the camcorder, closing the screen and tossing it softly on his bed before taking a few steps in his direction. Concern is written all over his face, a little bit of guilt too. “I shouldn’t have let her in, right? I knew something was off with you but I had no idea that you two had fought or—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Yunho quickly dries off his tears, shaking his head at his friend’s anxious apology. “I just… I missed her so much, Yeo.”

“Oh.”

“So fucking much.”

“Yunho…” He closes his eyes and jumps a little a Yeosang’s sudden embrace, but he’s grateful for it. Envelope trap between his chest and Yeosang’s rib, he takes a bated breath filled with things he can’t quite burden his friend with.

He remembers Mingi’s words loud and clear, but the only thing Yunho wants to do right now is find where you are so he can see you again. Hug you again. Kiss you again.

That night, after he realized he had dialed your number by mistake, he had a full on breakdown in Wooyoung’s room and it took Mingi and Mingi’s girlfriend to talk him out of fleeing the country out of embarrassment, out of guilt. He thought back then he had definitely lost you, because the consensus the three of them came to was a ‘let her reach you if she wants to clear things out’ instead of a ‘call her and explain it yourself before she has the chance to reach out to you first’.

Mingi said you had to at least prove you had any interest in making things right, in fighting to at least keep your friendship with him.

As he opens up the letter, he immediately knows he should’ve just called you.

He even forgets Yeosang is right beside him, looking away to give him some privacy to read your words without actually letting go of the embrace, just in case he needs it. Yunho knows this, he’s thankful, his legs shaking with need to go after wherever you are.

And he’s about to ask again but, as he turns his head to regard his friend and explains the letter a little, he’s one step ahead of him.

“She’s staying in a hotel, not her house.” Yunho opens and closes his mouth, about to ask him the name of the hotel when he shakes his head. “The luxury one in Itaewon. What? Did you think I would let her go without getting the information first?”

Yunho shrugs, Yeosang clicks his tongue in disappointment, letting go of him and putting, at least, ten steps between the both of them.

“She’s very talkative when she’s not with a big crowd, Yun. Now move.”

“I think I—” He starts to say but stops midway, looking down at the letter and then at his friend again.

Yeosang gives him a soft smile, the one he curves on his lips when he’s endeared with something, with someone. Yunho went clubbing with him once, he knows the smile very well.

“I know,” he says in a murmur and then sighs like it’s a task to be around him. “Now, let’s go. We’re going to the same area anyway and I could use the ride. There’s the box.”

In the car (one he ordered from an app, not his family car), his leg moves up and down and his hands tremble with anticipation and, as the imposing structure of the hotel comes into view while he stares at the window, he swears he feels at ease.

For the first time in months, he feels like he’s home.

And it’s all because he’s about to see you again.

Yeosang is not a very discreet person. He’s soft spoken and he looks like he cares about his friend’s a great deal, but he has that clumsiness of a person who’s used to being transparent about things.

He asked you if you just got home with a spark of hopefulness in his eye, like he couldn’t wait to clue in Yunho about it, like he knew what he was going to do when he read your letter and saw your gift.

Yeosang asked you like Yunho had already forgiven you and that had filled you silly head with warmth and hope and expectations you shouldn’t have because, as far as you noticed, Yunho is not the most honest friend to have.

So you asked yourself if Yeosang knew about the fight, if the rest of his friends knew.

And you still told Yeosang where you are staying.

There’s only one lamp helping with lighting up the bedroom, the city outside of it alive and busy like it always is. The amount of lights beyond the river bring you comfort, something familiar spreads on your chest when you take them in and you admit, for the first time in three months plus the week you’ve been staying here, that you love this stupid city even if it makes you feel trapped most of your days.

But here? In this space that you have made yours over the last seven days? You love it.

Your hair is wet and your face is clean of any product. You told yourself to go about your night routine like you weren’t expecting something else to happen. That way, when it doesn’t because you feel that what you did is unforgivable as much as it is cruel, you won’t be as disappointed.

So your face is moisturized and you have your nightgown underneath the silk bath this hotel provides and you’re totally not thinking about Yunho being in the same city as you, you are totally not freaking out over the reaction to your gift, you’re chill.

You’re chilling, you’re cool.

And the way your heart leaps when you hear a knock at the door means nothing, because you ordered room service like thirty minutes ago. It’s fine.

He’s probably not showing up.

So why the hell is he there when you open the door? And where’s your room service when you need it?

“Yunho!”

“Y/N…”

The atmosphere turns weird and tense right away and you grab onto the frame of the door as he stares at you with indecipherable emotion in his eyes. Is he happy to see you? Is he here to curse you out?

Is he mad? He’s totally upset at you. He is, he’s… Skinnier, just a little bit. His hair is lighter, too, like a brownish blond that suits him and his skin tone and he looks so good even if there’s dark circles under his eyes.

You missed him so much.

“Come in! Um…” You say after what feels like hours of silence, of you two just staring at each other with a little disbelief, opening up the room door wider and stepping aside so he can pass right by you.

His cologne makes you a little dizzy, drives you a little crazier but there’s not enough time to focus on that because he has the box you left earlier in his dorm in one hand and your letter in the other.

You close the door, taking in a little calming breath that does nothing to appease the erratic beat of your heart.

The eighty two square meters of this room suddenly feel like ten and when he puts the box down on the coffee table of the immediate tiny living room space of this suite, you feel like it’s over.

He turns around, a hand on his hip and the shade that the lamp casts on him doesn’t allow you to determine if he’s clenching his jaw or not, if he’s upset or not, if he’s—

Yunho raises his hand, the one holding your letter.

“What’s this?”

Oh, he’s so upset. Okay, good, you foresaw this the moment you decided to give him something. It’s okay, you tell yourself as you walk the steps separating you and take the letter from his hand, you can deal with this.

And, although you have changed a little in the months you didn’t see him, there’s a long way to go before your defensiveness stops being the only way you know how to approach a situation targeting you and your ego.

“If you didn’t like it, you could’ve just thrown it away or burned it, Yunho, you didn’t have to come all the way here—”

“Read it to me.”

You look up at him, blinking once and then twice at his request.

“Didn’t you—”

“Princess,” he says, letting out a tiny breath in between his words, “read it to me. Please.”

Now that you’re physically closer to him, you can pick up this gentleness in his features that you know well. It’s the same expression he had back in the orphanage, when Jiwoo took Jaemi in her arms and he was left staring at you with his cheek pressed on his forearm while he rested on the table. You think about that exact moment a lot, late at night, when the only thing overwhelming your thoughts it’s him.

You swallow the lump on your throat down as you take out the letter from the envelope. It’s a little dark but there’s really no need for you to read the words when you know them by heart. You wrote and rewrote them at least a hundred times before deciding the letter looked good and that it wasn’t too long, too obnoxious, too sweet, too cringy. Just the right amount of emotion in case it came to bite you in the ass, like now.

“S-sure,” you let out a sigh, past caring if he sees you’re a little affected by the situation as a whole. “Yunho, I’m sure you’re reading this after seeing the gift layed out in front of you. Take it as an expression of gratitude for all the times the mere thought of you got me through a day, even in this time when we’re supposed to be upset at each other. I think about you a lot and I think about what I did, too. I’m— This all sounds to stupid and formal,” you criticize your own work without thinking it through, frowning and looking up at him. “This letter is supposed to be an apology and it reads like an email.”

Yunho shakes his head, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. “Go on, please.”

Sniffing because you feel uncomfy and vulnerable, you continue.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why now and not three months ago. Well, it takes a lot for me to defy the expectations people put on my shoulders. As you know, my last name is laced with success I didn’t work on and letting go of things you’re used to is hard, but I did. I went away, I learned, I grew up a little bit and in my journey the only constant was you. Not the fight we had, not the way we have treated each other throughout the many years I’ve known you. I’ve always seen your life from the outside even if I was a part of it, I’ve seen your social media posts and wondered if I wasn’t deserving of the same kindness you display to your friends on them but, as you proved to me that I am deserving of it, I understood that it wasn’t your voice in my head telling me I didn’t, it was mine.

“Not my mother’s voice, not anyone else's, but mine. Accepting that was hard but I did it and I did it on my own but as a result of the impact you had on me the second you turned around and held me with the care I now think I deserve.” Something drops on the paper, wets it and blends the ink of the pen you used together and you realize there’s tears running down your cheeks. “I can’t ask you to forgive me for what I did. But just know that I kissed you because I wanted to, not because you were being kind to me. And I pushed you away because, out of everyone that has come and gone from my life, you’re the only person who has the possibility to break my heart and mend it the times you seem fit…”

You look up and to the side to wipe your tears. You’d pat yourself on the back for how you read this to him, without any stutters or mistakes, but the truth it’s that melancholy swallows you as you reach the end of the letter. It’s more emotional than what you’d remembered, too, now that you’re reading it outloud and in front of the man you love.

There’s no need for you to read what comes next because you want to say it looking at him.

“And I’m sorry. I love you and I don’t love you just because we kissed or because we are forced to be together. I love you because you’re part of me, because you’ve always been. I love you and I can’t stand to lose you. Again, I’m sorry,” you repeat, looking down at the words again before finishing in a whisper: “Yours, Y/N.”

There’s this pregnant silence that follows that makes you fidget on your feet. It takes a second for you to gather yourself together again, wipe your cheeks and look up at Yunho. There’s disbelief in his expression and you wince in preparation for what’s about to follow.

“Like I said,” you start again, extending the letter to him so he can take it, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to do anything, really, a-and I understand if this is all too childish or too cringy for you to say something back. I don’t need you to say something back! Really, I don’t,” you laugh amidst the sudden verbal vomit and shrug, not even looking at him anymore. “I j-just wanted you to know. And I mean it: If you don’t want me that way, it’s completely fine, Jeong. I also settle for being your friend, i-if that’s easier for everyone— For you, if that’s easier for you,” you correct yourself, “because I don’t really care what anyone thinks anymore, including my mother, she can go fuck herself and she can win all she wants if that means keeping you in my life and—”

He grabs the letter and in a second he uses the tight hold you have on it to push you closer, tearing the paper in the process.

“Kim Y/N, you big dummy.”

He lets go of the letter and you do too, hands resting on his chest as you stumble forward a little, the paper falling to your feet as his right hand settles on your cheek, the left one on the nape of your neck.

“Excuse me?”

Yunho laughs, breathy and pointed while his eyes scan your face. “You heard me.”

“Are trying to piss me off, Jeong Yun—”

This time, when Yunho kisses you, it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel like defiance, it doesn’t feel like you’re breaking the rules or letting your mom win.

It feels like coming come.

The ache in your soul stops the second his lips move against yours, deliciously slow and firm while he holds you close. His hands shift, they move the satin robe as they descend and find their place on your back, on your hip. Your chest collides with his with a soft nudge forwards and you sigh against his mouth, welcoming the way his hands tighten on you, feeling finally at ease in his embrace.

You thought, when preparing his gift, writing the apology letter and then earlier at his dorm, that your self control was something to be admired. Yeah, you love him deeply and all, but you had the restraint to give him the opportunity to decide what he wanted to do with all the things you told him.

Now you think that there’s nothing in the world that could stop you from kissing his lips raw, from pulling his hair a bit when your fingers tangle in it, from drinking the sound you get in return.

Fuck your self control. You want Yunho like you never wanted anyone or anything before.

That’s why you’re grateful when he pumps the break, lips leaving yours and breath on your lips. When you open your eyes, he’s already staring at you. With the way he’s holding you, you barely have to get on your tippy toes to nuzzle his nose against yours with care and the action reminds you of that day at the office, before you fucked up, but the feeling is way different.

This time, your gut tells you that whatever is about to happen with the two of you is something that’s going to linger, that he’s going to stay one way or another and your heart thumps loudly at the thought of having Yunho in your life forever.

Four months ago, the thought would’ve given you a headache.

Now, it heats up your cheeks as his hands return to your face.

“I’m sorry, I had to kiss you. I also should’ve gone after you that night, in my dorm, I— I’m also sorry, Y/N,” he lets go of you softly, putting a step in between the two of you so he can take your hands in his. “I’m sorry I cornered you in the office and I’m sorry I expected you to just… Drop all of your beliefs and convictions for me. That’s the most delusional thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay—”

“But I love you,” he breathes out and you feel like the air it’s been knocked out of your lungs. “I’m a big pretender, you know? I… I try to be as positive as someone can be, I try to be aloof and I ignore a bunch of things in order to let myself be distracted from what my family expects of me, so I couldn’t understand when you didn’t want to do the same. I do now.

“And I don’t let myself enjoy a bunch of things either, Y/N, but I do allow myself little moments of happiness. When I’m with my friends or when I dance, I tend to have those little moments and then I allowed myself to see you in a new light and I… If I thought those two things brought me some sort of respite from my sorrows, I had no idea you of all people could feel like… Like…”

“Home?” You offer, your voice a sweet whisper full of understanding.

“Like home.”

He swallows tightly, averting his eyes to the floor for a second.

“I’m sorry for not returning that call,” he says, his brows creasing a little bit, “I took advice from drunk people in love, so I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you come to me.”

“I was doing the same,” you whisper back, shrugging his worries away. “Letting you come to me, that is. I couldn’t even— I mean, I should’ve given you all of this in person instead of dropping it off like a scaredy cat.”

“You did hear the conversation though?”

“Yeah. Mingi called me a dumbass and I’m not going to forgive him.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “He was right, a little bit.”

“He called you dumber,” you return, frowning at his jab even though you know he didn’t intend any ill with it. “So yeah, you could say he was right.”

There’s a few seconds where he just stares: at your hands, twined together with ease and familiarity. At your face, a loving smile lifts the corners of his mouth up before he steps closer again and lets his thumbs trace the curve of your mouth, your cheekbone, your nose.

“I missed you so much, my love.”

Oh.

Fuck.

You warm to the pet name immediately, its significance running through you like a shudder and making you gasp softly, almost imperceptibly. You guess it shows on your expression, the smile on Yunho’s lips widening as his knuckle presses on your cheek gently.

“You liked that I called you that?”

“Shut up.”

“My love,” he repeats, pecking your lips, “I love you. I’ve… I actually don’t know if I’ve loved you this way all this time, but I’m sure I loved you to some degree. I cared— I care about you.”

You tear up again.

That voice that tells you that you don’t deserve him comes back, a distant murmur of it this time, but it’s still there.

For a good reason, too.

“Forgive me for being so horrible to you all these years,” he makes a face, like he can’t believe you’re apologizing for that right now. “I wish I could say I did it because I was a vain, stupid child but it was all very much thought through.”

“I know.”

“And I was horrible. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, I—”

His lips press softly against yours again. “Stop it. I was horrible to you too, we were both stupid and childish and we had our reasons.”

“Did we, though?” Your nose scrunches while you truly think about all the times you could’ve been nicer to each other and chose to be mean instead.

His eyes water a little. You frown, fingers tightening around his wrists, you turn to kiss his palm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just love you a lot,” he sniffs and you catch with your knuckle the tears that roll down his cheeks. He closes his eyes, letting out a breath and untensing his shoulders at the same time. “And it feels so good to be able to say it.”

“When did you figure it out?” Curiosity takes over you for a second, you allow yourself to wonder about it without any guilt now.

He hums, thinking about it with a pout on his lips “Like I said, I think I’ve always loved you to some degree. I just… Didn’t know it. I’ve never loved anyone like this before but I think that when I saw you with Jaemi and my heart felt like it was about to come out of my mouth, I kind of knew.”

“So when I kissed you…”

“I knew,” he nods, “and I should’ve been more insistent when I was trying to talk to you. Go to your house, do something, but I’m… A little inexperienced in this type of stuff.”

“Because you have no bitc—”

You’re already giggling before he interrupts. “And you love me like I am, so now what?”

The smile on your lips is so wide you have to look to the side, focus on the shadow of the chair in the tiny living room space for a second to compose yourself.

It doesn’t really work, because he’s smiling as hard when you turn back to him.

And then, for the first time since he got here, he seems to notice the length of your hair. He brushes it back with his fingers, the strands barely damp now, and gasps when he reaches the tips at your shoulders. “You cut it!”

With a nod, you laugh at his sudden surprise. “I did, I’m about to get disowned.”

“Oh, your mom is going to pass out at the very least.” He agrees right away and you laugh again before he joins, his teeth nipping at his lower lip for a second. “She’ll forgive you, though.”

“You think so?”

“You look too beautiful to stay mad at you for long.”

Oh, your poor heart. You shake your head, diverting the attention from you by brushing the strands of his hair that rest on his forehead back.

“Blond?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s this… Honey something that my hairdresser suggested.”

Humming, you let your fingernails scratch his scalp gently as they go down, hands resting on his shoulder when you’re done. “They did a great job,” you say before you click your tongue, cocking your head to the side. “Are you sure they weren’t just calling you honey and you misunderstood?”

His brow lifts, the corner of his lips does as well and he’s ducking his head so he can speak in that cocky tone of his you’re so used to. Only this time, there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And If they did?”

You know what he’s asking, you know why he’s asking. You find yourself curious about this type of teasing on his behalf, so you allow it to happen.

In your own terms.

“Did it happen?” You return, leaning even closer, hands grasping the lapel of his suit jacket and tugging on it, pretending to smooth it out with your palms afterwards.

“Princess…”

When you look at him, there’s this fiery energy that crosses his expression and it makes your imagination run wild with possibilities.

Now that you both got through the emotional part of your reunion with tears, with overdue confessions and very necessary apologies, what’s left to resolve is this pent up tension that’s always been something more. With the way Yunho behaves sometimes, so proud and tough, you have a vague idea of what it could be like.

And it makes you giddy with anticipation.

You would like to turn your assumptions into facts. So you play dumb, fakely perking up when he calls you, blinking with pretend innocence a few times to sell the act. “Hm?”

Catching the way his jaw ticks at your behavior, you realize that the rush that went through your body every time you got under his skin was not out of the pleasure of winning.

It was because you liked it.

Very much so, that the way his eyes scan over your body like he's deciding what to do with you and your attitude make you let out a tiny puff of air that he drinks right up when he crowds you again, hands on your hips and lips on yours once more.

His mouth doesn't move with any trace of carefulness anymore. Before, you were able to tell he needed to kiss you, longingly, with all the things he couldn't say before on his lips against yours. Now, his tongue makes its way past your teeth and swipes against yours in a way that makes you stumble backwards, almost leaving the tight squeeze of his hands behind.

Yunho catches you, walks with you until you feel the arm of the tiny couch supporting your weight as well.

He leans in a little bit to help you up on it, his body immediately in between your legs, his palms making their way downwards. One is on your lower back, thumb absentmindedly caressing the area, and the other one is pressing right next to your leg on the couch so he can bite your lower lip and give both your lungs a bit of a break before diving into your mouth again. You wrap your arms around his neck and keep him close.

Closer, closer, closer. You need his body pressing against yours as you try to keep up with the intensity of his kisses. You've never been kissed like this before, never with so much love and passion and want and need.

You've been kissed while drunk and touched while high in the past, you've been fucked by people you don't remember the names of and you had dropped the sleeping around once you graduated college.

There's so much of your youth you wish you've done sober. Because now, when his tongue catches a soft moan and his hand moves from your lower back to your leg, under your robe, you don't know why you freak out.

No, you know exactly why.

Breaking the kiss, you take two seconds to look at the plush of Yunho’s lips after being deliciously smothered with yours. You're both breathing hard, chests rising and falling in tandem and gasps for air filling the room.

His hand moves higher, measuring your reaction and you know he's about to ask if it's okay to touch you when you grab his wrist and stop his movements.

“We don't have to—”

“Is not that,” you say right away but you're both speaking over each other.

“I mean, there's a lot we need to talk about. I want you to tell me about your trip and—”

“Sure, we can do that later,” you nod. “Right now, I'm— I mean, let me turn off the light and you can touch me all you want.”

He frowns.

“What?”

Heart picking up for a different reason now, you clear your throat and try to cough the anxiety away. You can talk to him about these things, it's okay. It doesn't really matter how embarrassed you feel once the words come out of your mouth.

“Um, I went up a few pounds while on the trip and— And that's a good thing!” You say when he looks at you like he's about to tell you that it's okay. “I ate whatever I wanted, it was great, really. I just…”

“You did?” He asks in a soft, excited whisper.

“I don't know if you'll, um, i-if you're going to like it.” You finish, blinking the shame away.

Yunho’s expression softens and you take it as an agreement. You've only been touched in the dark, anyways, so you push into his chest a little bit and off his embrace (even if you don't really want to) and start moving towards the only light casting shadows on the room.

Only to be tugged right back by a firm hand on your arm.

With his chest against you and his lips grazing your ear, you can barely help the way you shudder. There's something hard poking your ass and the apparent size of it has you gulping, salivating even.

But you have to turn off the light.

“Come here,” he murmurs and softly moves the both of you to stand in front of the mirror that's next to the entrance.

Even if you tried not to, it's something you've been avoiding the whole time you've stayed here. The mirror is huge, floor to ceiling and its position it's very elegant, very fitting for the purpose of this suit that's supposed to be reserved for people who need different outfits for different events.

You haven't really used it other than quickly checking your clothes earlier today, before leaving to go to the dorm and, even then, it was only a quick ten seconds.

It stings a little that, although you've made progress, your body and the way you perceive it still have such a grip on you. When you add the man your heart desires to the mix? Well, there's little to nothing you can do to let go of your insecurities.

The heat of Yunho's body leaves you for a second and he's turning another light, the one closest to the entrance, adjusting its intensity so the ambiance is not broken by the bright glow of it.

You gulp again when he returns, but melt into his chest when he presses his body against yours again.

How can you feel so comfortable with him but so uncomfortable with yourself? It's weird, it's strangely very you but you can't even tell him that because the intensity of his gaze when you catch it in the mirror shuts you right up.

You know he's telling you to listen to him, to notice how serious he is about this as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“I've called you ugly before, right? I've have actively contributed to your insecurities in a way that I'm not going to forgive myself for, ever,” he starts and the direct approach to it makes you teary eyed all over again. He notices, lips finding your shoulder to comfort you. “The thing is, Y/N, that I never actually meant it. I think I was pissed off because you were— and are so fucking beautiful.”

You close your eyes and let out a pleading sigh “Yunho…”

“No,” he says and you feel how he shakes his head, his chin still on your shoulder. “Someone needs to tell you this. You live in your head way too much.”

He understands.

You love him so much.

“Open your eyes, princess.”

You do.

“Look at yourself.”

You don't. You look at him instead.

He's staring at you through the mirror and he straightens his back to rest his cheek against your temple, the height difference at his advantage because, this way you have to look up at him and it will give away the pure rejection you have for your reflection.

“I don't think I've ever found someone as beautiful as I found you. When I realized that, that was what pissed me off… Well, I think I somehow buried the thought away but you are so breathtakingly pretty, Y/N.” He takes in a breath and you lose yours, his hand resting on your hip going up and tracing the curve of your waist. “But it doesn't really matter what I think, it matters what you think, hm?”

Turning his head, his nose presses against your skin now and he leans in, nuzzling softly, with care, until his lips peck your jaw.

“I can assure you that you can go up a hundred pounds, go down, up again and I wouldn't care. It doesn't matter, I have found you beautiful in every version that you have presented yourself in and I will find you beautiful if you change your whole appearance everyday. I love you,” he reminds you, “and I love everything that you bring along with you. Insecurities, panic attacks and clever insults to my clothing included.”

The chuckle that you let out makes him smile against your cheek and he gives you a little peck before putting some space between your face and his. He looks you up and down in the mirror again and you can see genuine want in the way his pupils dilate. You see it happening in real time but then you also see his self-restraint.

You're at a loss for words, but manage to mumble out “Thank you, Yunho.” And then you turn your head, catching his lips in a soft closed mouth kiss that he returns right away.

“Whenever you're ready to let me prove how beautiful I find you, I'll be here.” He says when you let his mouth move away from yours, your lips softly pecking his jaw instead and getting a sigh in return. “I can wait.”

Then, the worst thing happens: His hands leave your body and he starts to step away.

It's a little embarrassing how quickly your entire being protests and you realize that there's a clinginess to you that you're not so sure where it came from. You reach for him, barely turning, and tug him right where he was.

Looking at him through the mirror again, you enjoy the genuine surprise on his expression and the way it turns into desire when you put his hands on you again: on your stomach, on your hip.

When you turn your head to look at him directly, his eyes stay fixated on the reflection. His hand on your stomach turns, knuckles softly caressing you. You want to ask him what he likes about that but don't, instead, you tell him what goes on inside your head.

“Yunho, I do want you. I want you… But I also want to make sure that you like me.”

He looks at you then, mouth ready to reassure you again but you shake your head to shut him up.

“I heard you,” you confirm, smiling a bit and then closing your eyes at the visage that accompanies the concept of your body in your mind. You know it's far from what it actually looks like but that also means that you don't know exactly what it looks like and that's terrifying. “I know you love me but would you like me?”

“I do,” you hear the frown in his voice and take a deep breath before opening your eyes again. “Princess, do you trust me?”

You nod without a second thought and he leans in, nose almost touching yours.

“Would you let me show you how much I like you?”

It takes a second or two, but you nod again.

“And would you let me know if it's too much?”

“Yes,” you breath out, too intoxicated by the closeness, by the way his lips softly trace yours without actually kissing them to think about the implication of his words.

When he pulls away again, you let out a sound that gives away how much you want him. Yunho’s lips curve and when your eyes finally focus on his again, you can see the quick decision he makes as he looks at the mirror again, resolve and purpose in his expression as he takes off the jacket of his three piece, tossing it on the sofa.

There's something magnetic in the way he rolls his sleeves up, securing them in his forearms and your eyes follow the motions and trace the veins that you're able to see before he turns away from you.

He takes one of the chairs he's able to easily mov, placing it behind you both. You realize you've walked a few steps closer to the mirror, and so your back is pressed against it when his attention returns to you, when he takes your face with his hands and crushes his lips against yours without explaining what he just did.

You brace himself on his forearms, nails pressing on his skin because somehow this kiss feels different. Its pace is not hard to keep up with but it feels like you are, the care he puts in his movements as his palms brush your hair back slowly and then go down, down until they're reaching the knot that keeps your robe closed.

This time, instead of panic, you feel your stomach flutter. Butterflies all over, there's goosebumps on your skin when he tugs the robe open and feels the satin of your pajamas with his fingers. He makes a noise and, at first, you think it's out of protest because you're not already undressed for him.

But then his knuckles trace the hem of the nightgown and he makes the noise again, tongue flicking against yours harder, getting a moan out of you.

Yunho’s lips find your cheek, your jaw, nipping at the skin of your neck and over your pulse when he gets to it and you close your eyes, head falling against the mirror and head moving to the side so he can kiss every inch of skin if he wants.

“You smell so fucking good.”

That makes you smile, a droopy curve to your lips before you bite a sound back “I showered.”

“You always do,” he whispers into your skin, lips finding your ear. “You always have. Do you know how many times I had to control myself around you?”

“Hm,” you muse, pretending to think about it. “Do you know how many times you had to?”

“Oh, trust me princess, I know.”

He pulls back and you open your eyes. You wonder if yours are carrying the same intensity as his when they go down your body, taking your sleepwear in.

It's a simple blue v-neck slip dress with some floral lace at the trim lines. It splits on the sides and falls mid-thigh. Something very basic in your opinion, but you don't miss the way his eyes are glued to the skin of your thigh. You're not wearing a bra and your nipples are painfully hard.

“I didn't actually expect you to come to me tonight,” you lie a little, lips turning up into a shy smile. “So I didn't—”

“Is this what you wear to sleep?” He interrupts and you watch him gulp.

“Mhm.”

“Every night?”

“Something like this,” you tug at the fabric, softly, “yes.”

“Fuck.”

You giggle in return at how affected he seems, but the amusement dies when his eyes return to yours. Holding your hand, he takes a step back and then another and another until he's falling with a thump on the chair he brought close.

He takes you in one more time before letting go of your hand and manspreading on the chair “Come here, princess.”

The tone of his voice makes your entire being shake and you take in a breath before following his command. Which is crazy because you never, ever would've followed an order from him.

But now you can't help yourself.

Standing in between his legs, you can see when he holds the arms of it after attempting to touch you as soon as you get close enough for him to be able to reach you and, when you're about to straddle his lap, he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in response.

You understand what he wants immediately and you turn around, watching your reflection in the mirror as you sit down on his legs that he managed to close again in the three seconds it took you to do so.

You're breathing hard by the time he accommodates you both on the chair, his very clear erection pressing against your ass and lower back and making you dizzy at what you're looking at.

The image on the mirror is clear, it allows you to see both your reaction and his reaction when you fidget without thinking about it on his lap and the friction it causes brings you a whisper of pleasure.

“You're a dream, Y/N,” he says and you can tell it came out of his mouth without really thinking about it. Finally, he moves his hands and his nails press on the skin of your shoulders, goosebumps evident and tremor barely concealable when he drags them down the length of your arm and over your hands that rest on top of your knees.

He covers them with his and you stop following his movements in the mirror to look at his face “Can I?”

You swallow and then nod and he giggles, this hard facade he has on slipping as he presses a reassuring kiss to your shoulder “Can you say it, my love?”

“Yes,” you say quickly, your voice betraying you “Please.”

He closes his eyes, a curse under his breath. “Don't beg me, princess, I got you.”

You can't help but be curious and, although this is something you can find out as the night goes on, you end up wondering out loud either way: “Why? You don't like it?”

He shakes his head, that hardness in his expression returns when he opens his eyes to look at you and the curious glint of your expression through the mirror.

“Do you enjoy it when I beg you, Yunho?”

And then you slightly move on his lap, trying to pass it like an absentminded movement.

He sees right through it and the realization shows on his face.

“Ah,” he laughs, back falling against the chair and head lolling back, “are you going to be a brat, princess?”

Your mouth quirks at the quick and accurate read he gives your attitude.

“Of course you are.”

Again, the bravery your amusement gives you is short lived. He uses his hands over yours to open your legs and his, fast, earning a surprised squeak out of you. Your first instinct is attempting to close them but he huffs and perches your legs on his. You loop your feet around them to avoid falling forward at the lack of things to hold on to.

This way, your panties are on full display as well. They're simple cotton white panties and there's a wet patch in the middle of them that grows a little at the display, at the image you see in the mirror.

Yunho curses under his breath again.

“You're my dream,” he says, a little bit distracted again and then he remembers himself. “I don't like people begging me, I don't give them the time to.”

Raising your eyebrows, you're about to protest because you don't want to hear about his encounters with anyone else, but he won't let you.

“One time, I almost had a fight with a friend over teasing. You know her, Mingi's girlfriend,” he says and you don't know if he's smiling at the memory or at the way you squirm under his touch when his fingernails start dragging over the skin of your inner thighs slowly. “I told her the truth: I'm too impatient to tease. She said it's necessary, I said I never needed to tease anyone to get with them and it went on for almost an hour.”

He reaches the plush that has formed on your inner thighs and you can physically feel your centre growing wetter.

“I never got it,” he insists and, when he pretends that he's going to touch you where you need it the most only for his touch to go back down the expanse of your thighs, you let out dissatisfied huff. “Now I think I do.”

“Yunho…”

“You wanted to beg?” He asks, mouth against your ear and hot breath on your cheek. “I can make you beg.”

You give in almost immediately.

“Please,” tongue wetting your lips, you attempt to move in order to get some sort of relief but he's quicker than you. Strong hands hold your hips steady and you puff out some air again. “Please touch me.”

It's clear the whine on your voice affects him because he pants against your cheek, nudges your face with his nose and then dives with his lips to kiss your neck again.

“Be still, princess.” He commands and you stop trying to wiggle against him, only to rest your back against his chest when he brings his hands down in a caress and holds you fully open for him again. “I got you, but do as I say.”

He takes your nod as an answer this time and his lips travel down your neck, to the skin of your back and then your shoulder. You watch in the mirror as his teeth catch the strap of your nightgown and, when he speaks again, it's a little muffled because of it.

“Can I take this off you?”

You take a breath before replying “Yes.”

And then he slips the strap off your shoulder with his teeth and you swear you're ruined for everyone else entirely.

There's no way anyone is going to make you tremble like he did just now.

He goes ahead and does the same to the other strap, hand quick in catching the gown from falling completely.

“Should I?”

“Yunho… Stop teasing me.”

He chuckles and takes his time to redo what he just undone: he pulls the strap on your left shoulder up again, switches the hand that's holding your second to last piece of clothing up, and does the same to the other strap.

“But you look so pretty in it.”

Your skin heats up harder than ever before.

“You look so pretty like this, all breathless and ready for me to touch you… Do you know how happy it makes me that I can touch you, princess? That you’re in my lap and not in my head?”

You swallow back a whine “Y-you thought about me like this?”

“I dreamed about you like this,” he kisses the nape of your neck and then focuses his attention on the shoulder he neglected before, “for months.”

You hum in acknowledgement at his words, but your mind is elsewhere because his hands return to their ministrations on your inner thighs and it's hard to concentrate on anything else but the pad of his thumbs ghosting over your panties as they move.

He finally concedes and lets his hands wander upwards until they get ahold of the hem of the nightgown and, in one swift movement, you're left in nothing but your underwear in front of him.

Well, in front of the mirror. He's watching the reflection of your body carefully and you can barely spare a look at it, breath caught in your throat at his reaction.

When he sees your naked torso, he fully lets out a moan.

You feel slick rush out of you at the sound but don't turn to yourself to verify what exactly about you made him react that way, made him get even harder against your ass.

“God, look at you.”

Breathing hard, you turn your head slightly so that your nose touches his and you think he's about to drop it, give in and kiss you when you feel his thumb and index pressing against your cheek, turning your head to the reflection again.

“Is this okay?”

You know he's referring to the hold on your face and you mumble out a yes, still looking at him through the mirror.

“I said, look at yourself.”

You do.

Legs open and still perched on top of his, white panties turning a little see through due to your arousement and nipples pebbled in full display, you allow yourself to enjoy the two seconds of clarity before your body starts to shape shift in your head, before your thoughts turn you undesirable and before you fall into your dysmorphia.

Yunho is right there to catch you, though.

“Do you know how lucky I am that you're even allowing me to see you like this, Y/N?”

The hold on your face relaxes and you follow the movement of his hand, down until it settles on your throat, relaxed, not even putting any pressure.

“Still okay?”

You nod.

He puts in slight pressure now and, when you moan, he chuckles but doesn't say anything to acknowledge what makes him laugh. Instead, his hand keeps descending until his fingers rests in between your breasts and then he softly cups one of them, thumb passing over your nipple and making you jump at the sudden contact before letting go.

“So fucking pretty. You see this?” His fingers take hold of the skin of your tummy that connects with the curve of your waist and he pinches slightly, making you squirm and tickling you a bit. “Everything you are, everything you have makes my heart beat,” he kisses your shoulder again, “and my dick hard,” and again, “and makes me want to prove to you that there's no one in this world that can come close to you, not in my eyes, my love.”

Oh, my God.

He says it in a way that makes you want to believe him. And, deep down, you know you do.

Even though it's complicated, even though it takes effort to make years and years of self-loathing disappear, you know you can try.

Because you desperately yearn to see yourself from Yunho's point of view.

This time, when you turn to kiss him, he doesn't put up any restraint. His dominant mask slips off of him for just a second when you grab his face, pliant mouth moving at the rhythm and pace yours is marking, a whine getting muffled with your tongue.

He gives your legs rest, closing his legs (and, in consequence, yours as well) and, when you tug at his hair so you can mark his neck down at the weird position you're in, he groans and you want to smile but he's searching your lips before you can even leave a bruise on his skin.

“I love you, I love the way you think about me, I love what you make me want to think about me,” you assure him when you pull back to look at him. His cheeks are red and his lips are swollen and you love the way they're parted as he recovers his breath.

“Lesson learned?”

“Mhm,” you kiss his lips again and take the hand resting your waist, bringing it down to your clothed sex so he can feel how wet you are “now please, would you touch me?”

“Fuck, you really do love to beg, hm?” He says and it's breathy, like he can't actually believe, and he doesn't give you time to respond because he's already kissing you again. “Let's go to bed.”

“W-wait.”

“Yeah?”

The way you glance at the mirror is a dead giveaway of what you truly want. It makes him take in a sharp breath and grab your face in between his hands, fascination written all over his expression.

“Do you want to watch when I touch you?”

You breathe out a moan in response.

“You want to watch yourself while I make you come?”

A little shy but with resolve, you nod.

He curses.

Next thing you know, your legs are perched over his again and they’re wide open. Your arms fly back to hold onto him, onto anything that helps you not fall on your face but then his perfect, veiny hand presses on your torso and you fall back comfortably into his embrace again.

He wastes no time, lips marking a path from your shoulder to your neck and fingers ghosting your clit over your panties and you whimper, impatience making you move against his crotch and making him grunt at the friction.

“I k-know you just s-said you just discovered the joy of t-teasing but can you please do somet— Fuck!”

His thumb presses on your bundle of nerves over the cotton and you can’t help but shake.

It has been a while since you’ve even touched yourself truly, with want and need behind. It’s been a while since someone else touched you there, period, so the sensation feels new and you kind of feel like an overly inexperienced woman with the way you can’t help the immediate build up when he starts moving his thumb.

It’s electric and you notice that your eyes closed the second he touched you, so you remember yourself. You remember what you asked for, what you actually want to see.

When you open them again and look at Yunho, you find him already looking at you. His parted lips turn into a proud smile when he catches your eye and he nods, kisses trailing up to your ear, teeth nipping at the skin.

“Good girl.”

Fuck.

He stops his movements to let his index, middle and ring finger cup your sex entirely, press into the fabric and let it soak with your arousal. You see in the mirror and you watch, with fascination, how he manages to twist the cotton to the side and expose your pussy for you both to see with the same hand.

“You’re so wet, princess, I bet you taste so good…”

Your brain short circuits and malfunctions when he finally touches you without anything in between his skin and yours. His index reaches out and collects the evidence of how much

you want him, of how much you want him and you moan when the fabric snaps against your pussy when he lets go of it.

“Do you?”

He toys with the stickiness on with his fingers, rubs it in between them and then brings his hand up so you’re able to see it without the mirror’s help.

“Look at me,” you do, obedient, “and open up.”

You open your mouth and allow his fingers to get in and rest against your tongue. You suck out of instinct, eyes never leaving his, and he gulps as he watches you taste yourself until your arousal transfers from his fingers to your tongue.

“Let me taste it now.”

Licking into his mouth, the fingers that were previously on yours settle on your throat, not allowing you to fully lean in and kiss him like you want but, instead, letting him have control of it.

You swear you see stars when he sucks his tongue into his mouth and he hums, pleased with the taste.

“You taste so fucking good.”

Letting you go, you’re breathing hard when he pushes you a bit to put some distance between the both of you.

“Get up and take these off.” He snaps the elastic of your panties and the sting against your skin makes you whine.

You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but wait for him to lead your actions and the consensual loss of control feels so freeing that it makes you dizzy. So you oblige, getting off his lap and allowing him to turn you around so that your ass faces the mirror. When you look at him, he’s looking at the reflection and not you, so you decide, with a boost of confidence because of the hunger in his eyes, to give him a little show.

You bend over, forehead almost touching his chest and proceed to take off your underwear that way. You open your legs a little, giving him a clear view of it when the fabric falls from your legs and pools at your ankles and, when you twist your head to the side to look at his reaction, his tongue is out and licking his bottom lip like he’s starving for it.

For the first time ever, you feel both sexy and desired at the same time.

He reaches for your ass in a way you’re not so sure it’s calculated and you fall fully into his chest with a soft moan when he opens you up for him even more.

“So hot,” he says, low, under his breath, like he’s not even thinking before he speaks and he lets his fingernails drag on your skin (something you’re learning he enjoys doing and that you also like, a lot) until his hands fall to his knees again. “Fuck.”

He still hasn’t even touched you properly and you already feel drunk on his touch. You feel that way, at least, when you prop your hands against his chest and push yourself up. He turns you around quickly, sits you on his lap with your legs open again and sighs.

“I’m not going to make you beg for it anymore when all I want to do is watch you come, princess.”

Arm around your middle, he presses you flush against his chest and takes your right hand in his. It allows you to let go of the grasp you have on him a little and, when he guides your own fingers to your pussy, you get why.

“Show me how you like it.”

You feel lewd, exposed and dirty in a way you never thought you would enjoy. But here you are, craving

“Yunho…”

“Show me,” he insists, “so I can learn.”

Isn’t it a little bit funny that he sounds like he’s the one begging you when he speaks?

You show him. Starting with collecting a bit of your slick, you drag a finger upwards from your entrance to your clit and then, only when you can see it fully glistening in the mirror, is when you press down and caress it in circular motions that send electricity through you right away.

As you do with everything, this is something that, although you don’t really have time to even think about doing most of the days, you have perfected. There’s a science to it, a method that you’ve discovered via need and lust and that has never been so thoroughly explored than right now.

It’s like you have kept your needs like a nasty little secret inside of your heart, just like you did with your love for Yunho, and you’re letting it all out.

You pick up the pace, alternating from circles to side to side motions and the pleasure quickly becomes overwhelming. Or have you been touching yourself for him for minutes now? Time disappears in every sound you unconsciously let out, it blends with the glint of passion in Yunho’s eyes and it dissolves in an orgasm that quickly takes over you and shakes you forward.

“That’s it,” he mutters with his lips against your temple and his hands holding you steady. “Now’s my turn.”

He replaces his hands with yours, bats your fingers away when you try to prolong your pleasure and takes over at a relentless pace, overstimulating you.

It goes on like that for a minute or so where you shake and you readjust in his lap and you shake again when he bucks your hips and you feel him firm against your ass. You desperately want to help him feel this way, too, but there’s only so much you can do when he teases your entrance with his index and finds you relaxed enough to put it in slowly.

Slowly until it glides in and out smoothly and you hold onto your forearm, and whimper and his name spilling from your lips in bliss when his ring finger joins. You hope you don’t look too delirious, you wish you’re not making a fool of yourself for feeling the heat pool on your lower belly so quickly again.

“Oh, yes, yes, I’m—”

“Don’t look at me or what I’m doing, look at yourself.”

Huh?

“W-what?”

“Watch yourself come,” he reiterates, breathless and, when you disobey and look at him through the reflection, he’s already focused on your face, mouth hanging open and brows furrowed with determination. “I want you to see how beautiful you look coming all over my fingers, Y/N.”

He curves them upwards and the sensation somehow intensifies “Shit.”

“Come, Y/N.”

You’re not sure if you’re able to prove his words to be true. When you come undone, you’re looking at yourself and in the mirror is someone you don’t exactly recognize. Someone you don’t perceive as yourself because, yes, the person staring back at you is beautiful. And that person looks sexy and sensual and is glowing with pleasure written all over their face but they’re not someone you have categorized in your brain as you.

And then you understand. This raw, pure, unfiltered state of you is something you hadn’t reached before. Naturally, you had never seen yourself come. And you hadn’t been handled with so much care through an orgasm before, so you lived it fully and then, only when you stop shaking and your legs fall from his and your feet are on the floor, holding your weight steady, is when you allow yourself to look away from your reflection and turn to the man responsible for the best orgasm of your life.

His lips are quivering, his eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls against your shoulder as he holds you to him.

“You… Jeong Yunho…”

He smiles, probably at the way your voice trembles and gives away just how fucked out you already are, but he doesn’t open his eyes “Yes?”

“My turn.”

When he opens his eyes, you’re already standing up in front of him, his hands shifting on your body, the fingers that just made you see stars leaving a wet trail on your skin before they settle on your stomach.

And, although he seemed tough and dominant just a minute ago, he puts no resistance when you grab his arm and make him stand up as well. You get on your tippy toes to nuzzle his nose with yours and he holds onto you again as you stumble backwards, towards the bedroom.

“You’re too dressed, Jeong.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy me in a dress shirt,” he says, a smug smile in his lips when your back hits a wall and he presses his body to yours, “prepping you to take my coc— F-fuck, princess.”

Your hand teasing his erection over the fabric of his expensive pants is enough to shut him up. Good, you already let him have his fun (and yours, by consequence) and, even if you enjoyed the loss of control, there’s something equal parts rewarding and hot about winning it back with the simple press of your thumb where you believe his leaking tip is.

“You’re too overconfident sometimes, Jeong,” you whisper against his lips and it may be your two amazing orgasms or the way you love to have something over him, a little bit of power at least, that make you overly confident right now as well. He puckers out to kiss you but you don’t budge. “Want to see if you prepped me right?”

It’s a question for consent. You have to make sure he wants you this way, too. That this is fun for him, too. And when he pauses your heart feels like it stops for a second, just like time.

But right after there’s this quiet agreement you both come to and his mouth devours yours as you move in tandem, in coordinated effort to undress him: You loosen his belt and work on the button of his pants while he unbuttons his shirt and both your feet move with synchronized steps until he’s falling on the bed and you’re getting on your knees in front of him.

He, however, stops you with a hand caressing your face softly.

“Later,” he mutters with a soft smile that’s laced with something passionate and lewd you feel you’re about to discover. He leans in, teeth catching your bottom lip and pulling until you’re whining and you taste a little blood on your mouth. “I need to fuck you right now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You do however make sure to peel his underwear off him while you’re on your knees, the size of him making you wet and ready all over again.

When you stand up, he grabs your tired legs to pull you closer. It feels like a pause in the middle of passionate urgency, but when he takes his time to kiss under your belly button and the expanse of your hips, you feel like it only adds fuel to the fire.

The fact that he’s even taking the time to explore you makes you want to combust.

“Oh.” He bites you right over your hip bone and you take his hair into your fingers, pulling him back. “Y-you said you needed to fuck me?”

“I do,” he laughs against your skin and then leans back, taking him with you and you let him, falling on your side before he pushes you against the mattress, body covering yours and palms touching you all over. “I just enjoy taking my time with you.”

“I can see that, Jeong.”

He’s distracted again within the second, looking down your body and taking you in like it’s the first time he’s seeing you even though he had a clear view of you and your pussy in the mirror five minutes ago.

And there’s this urge that takes over you, you can’t even fight the words that come out your mouth next.

“Make love to me.”

He pauses again and then your words register in his brain, you can see the exact moment they hit him and you think you see him tear up a little before he blinks the deep emotion away to focus on the moment. You have to do the same.

“I will. Every day of my life, if you ask me to, if I’m so lucky to.”

The rest of the night, from the moment he says those words, kisses you and moves you so you’re in the middle of the bed, it all passes in slow motion.

And it all passes really fast, too.

Yunho makes love to you. He enters you while looking into your eyes and whispering how much he loves you against your lips and you say it back. He holds your hand as his hips move and his length drags deliciously inside of you. He marks your chest with his lips and your heart with his love and he closes his hands over yours when his pace picks up and he allows to lose himself in the moment too.

You make love to him as you push him onto his back, his pretty face all flushed, the pink coloring his neck and his chest where you hand rest as you ride him and watch his control slip from him, as you memorize his moans and grunts and as your walls squeeze him in before coming again on his cock and it only takes to firm, hard strides for him to spill himself inside of you as well, the prove of your love making spilling out of you a little when he holds you to his chest and he pulls out of you, both of you sated, both of you in love.

It feels like an hour has passed when someone speaks again, the silence in the room comfortable and accompanied by the beats of both your hearts. In reality, it’s only been around ten minutes where you’ve closed your eyes and breathed the remnants of Yunho’s cologne, cheek pressed against his chest and his fingers drawing random figures on your naked back.

You decide to break the silence when you remember something.

“I think they forgot my room service.”

There’s a pause and then Yunho is laughing loudly and it makes you smile. His chest vibrates and you can see, on your peripheral, how he covers his eyes with his forearm.

“I’m being serious, I ordered like three hours ago.”

“Maybe they knocked and we didn’t hear them,” he mumbles tiredly and you finally look up, chin pressed where your cheek was a second ago. “We were pretty… Busy.”

“That’s worse, Jeong!”

“Why?” He asks, genuinely clueless and then it clicks for him. He brings down his arm and opens his eyes wide with shame. “Oh, my God.”

“Mhm.”

“How are you going to look the receptionist in the eye?”

“She knows me, too. She asked me to take a picture with her when I check out.”

Yunho sighs and says nothing. He looks at you, hand on your back moving until it reaches your face and he lets his knuckles trace your nose in a way that makes you scrunch it.

“I forgot you were famous.”

“We both are,” you w-hisper back, lips forming a thin line as you think. “I mean, if someone leaks that we’re both here, it won’t look weird because we’re supposed to be together.”

“Supposed to?” He frowns.

“Well, yes, to the public at least.”

Yunho pouts.

He pouts and your stomach twists and turns with nerves and butterflies. You’re joking, kind of.

“Are you not my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Oh, he’s adorable. It’s so easy to tease him when you’re both not at each other’s throat.

You wonder if you’ll ever have a fight again, your heart weak for him even when you try to keep the joke going.

“I haven’t been asked to be anyone’s girlfriend…”

The deadpan expression that follows your quip breaks your resolve entirely and you laugh, hiding your face on his chest as he mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” You look up at him again.

“I said that you’re annoying and that you are my girlfriend.”

“No, I think you said that you love me.”

There’s something so reassuring in the way the annoyance disappears from his expression and it’s replaced by something sweet and he looks like he can barely fight the words back when he replies with: “Yeah, I do.”

You hum, happy with his response “I thought so.”

Pressing your cheek against his skin again, there’s only two seconds of silence before his hand is on your shoulder and shaking your body.

“Say it back, Y/N.”

“So needy,” you tease and he shakes you again, groaning, so you sigh and pull away from his body to sit up a little. “I love you too.”

He leans into your space, a blissful smile curving his lips before he pecks your mouth in a sweet, short kiss “Good,” he whispers, falling against the pillows and dragging your body with his so that you’re resting against the soft material as well. “When did you come back?”

“A week ago.”

“Hm,” his hands return to your body, fingernails dragging softly up and down your arm, “your family doesn’t know.”

At the mention of them, you close your eyes and squeeze, reality washing over you.

“I’m sure my mother does.”

“She doesn’t,” he assures you, “she would’ve mentioned it by now and she only talks about the project you’re going to lead once you’re back.”

You open your eyes “What project?”

“I’m not sure,” he says softly, “I thought you were already leading one?”

“Something like that,” you nod. “I, um… Was networking in a way, gathering new information on new companies to invest in and help their growth. Small business with original concepts that we can boost or help bring to the city and all of that.”

“Did you have fun on the trip?”

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully, “I did. I met a lot of people, I visited places I never even knew existed, I also learned a lot about myself and about what I want… And I got away from Satan for a while.”

He knows you mean your mom, so he snorts out a laugh and shakes his head at the jab.

“I missed you a lot, though.”

His amusement dies slowly but happiness remains on his face. You’re sure yours is a reflection of his, as well.

“I missed you too,” he answers in a murmur and you nuzzle the hand that reaches your cheek before giving it a kiss. “I’m glad you had fun and it sounds like being away helped but… Never do it again.”

“Oh?” You try to tease but he insists.

“Never leave without telling me again, please,” his whisper sounds like a plea and your heart beats louder. “I’ll miss you too much.”

There’s an impulse, a need that soars through your blood. “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away again but, when I do, you can go with me.”

“I will,” he answers right away and at the confirmation that you want him there with you, you see the tension slip away from his features, “my bags are already packed and all.”

“I bet they are,” eyes rolling back in annoyance, you press a palm on his chest and push him a little. “Needy.”

“Shut up.”

There’s a lot of things to talk about. A lot of things you want to tell him, to mention, to bring up and discuss with him. Like what happens after you leave this bubble you’re floating in, if you tell your brother and his right away, if he’s going to tell his friends or wait until you’re a little far along in the friendship to do so.

You have to ask him if he wants to tell your parents like… Ever. You’re not so sure you even want to.

But he shuffles and moves until his naked chest is against yours and his hands are around your body, chin resting on the top of your head as he yawns.

There’s this feeling of calmness that washes over you as you consider that, maybe, this can be the way you fall asleep from now on. No sleeping or sleepless nights, just Yunho’s embrace and his steady breathing above you, the beat of his heart, a lullaby that lulls you until your eyes are closing and tiredness takes over your senses.

This time, you dream about a future together and nothing more.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and please remember the next part it's much shorter and would be the end of this mini series!

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thefrontmanscockwarmer · 1 day ago

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My Best Friend’s Brother (part 4)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Silence. The house was silent. Nothing but snores from the men. You curled into In Ho’s bare chest. His big wrapping tightly around you as you slept.

“In Ho” his mother spoke softly, entering his room. She saw you cuddled up to In Ho, a smile on her face. She quickly snapped a photo of you before closing the door, quietly to not wake you. It was only 7 am on a Saturday, no work meant everyone was sleeping in. Every Hwang in the household was knocked out, including you, who if Mrs. Hwang Jung-Sue knew anything, you were definitely going to be one soon.

Jun Ho was the first of the men to awake. Walking softly into the kitchen and sitting at the table.

“Good morning, honey” she said patting his thigh.

“Good morning” he said yawning.

“Did (y/n) make it home safely?” She inquired. She obviously knew you were sound asleep in her eldest son’s room.

“She spent the night here. We were drinking and watching movies in In Ho’s room after dad kicked up out of the living room so he could watch the game” Jun Ho said.

“Oh? Where is she? There’s no bed made up. Is she sleeping on the floor in your room?”

“No, it was too late to ask you to make her a bed, and In Ho’s bed is bigger, mine’s only a twin. So we agreed she could sleep in his bed.” Jun Ho told her. “We didn’t want her walking home alone at night, and she was drunk.” He added.

“I raised such amazing boys” she beamed. She began making breakfast; eggs, sausage, rice, and toast. The smell of food drifting through the hallway and into In Ho’s room.

Your eyes fluttered open to see In Ho still sleeping soundly. His low snores rumbling in his chest. Not too loud, but just enough to tell you he was deeply asleep. You moved slowly out of bed, trying not to wake the sleeping giant. When you sat up and swung your legs over the bed, you felt and arm wrap around your waist.

“Where are you going?” He sighed deeply, his eyes unopening.

“I smell food, I’m starving” you say with pleading eyes.

“Not yet, i just want to cuddle you some more” he pulled you back to him. “And leaving without telling your boyfriend good morning is a horrible thing to do” he said with a scoff.

“Boyfriend?” You whisper.

“Yes, idiot” he responded. His stoic expression softened into a slight smile. “You gotta problem with it? No? Then shut up” you sighed heavily and rolled your eyes. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could he spoke. “Are you always this agitating first thing in the morning? Will dick fix it?” He asked.

“No… but food will” you respond slyly. He attached his lips to yours. Letting you out of his grasp.

“Go, I’ll be out in just a moment. I need to fix my morning wood” he said, lighting tapping your ass as you pulled on his sweat pants. You walked out of the bedroom, your hair in a messy bun, your tiny body enveloped in In Ho’s large clothes.

“Good morning, my darling” his mother said, handing you a cup of tea as you sat at the table.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep Jun Ho” you ask your best friend.

“Really good. Drinking a little helped knock me out.” He admitted. “You?”

“I slept alright, In Ho’s bed is really firm.” You complain. “I like yours better, the mattress is softer” you explain.

“Just sleep on the couch next time, then.” In Ho spoke from the hallway. His messy hair and lightly toned body shining in the morning light. His abs coming to a perfect V into his boxers which sat low on his hips. He scratched the back of his head, ruffling up his hair.

“In Ho, don’t be so harsh.” His mother spoke. He shrugged.

“Well, I give light weight over here my bed to sleep in, instead of making her sleep on the couch with dad, and she still complains.” He sassily replied. “And she likes to be right on top of you, careful sleeping with this one Junnie, she’s gonna be all in your space” he rolled his eyes. Jun Ho turned pink. You were his best friend, he never thought about sleeping with you… in fact, he didn’t want to either.

“I wasn’t aware of that I was in your space. Sorry, In Ho” you dip your head.

“It’s whatever. Just don’t expect a charity spot in my bed when you sleep over again” he announces. He stood in the fridge, leaning over slightly. “Mom is there any more chocolate milk? All i see is plain.”

“Yes, honey, in the back. I just went grocery shopping yesterday.” His mom said sipping her tea.

“(Y/n), i understand your father is going away for a long business trip. Would you like to stay with us until he gets back?” Mr. Hwang spoke. He worked at the same law firm your father did.

“Oh, you don’t have to keep me. I’ll be fine all alone, besides I have a cat-“

“It’s no problem! We can set up the cats litter box in the laundry room and you can stay here! You’re really no bother.” She spoke over you. You could sense she knew that something was going on with you and In Ho.

“Okay, I suppose if you don’t mind then, I’ll stay for awhile” you agree reluctantly.

“Great” she exclaimed. In Ho and his brother shared a look.

“Wait, where’s she gonna sleep?” Jun Ho asks. “I don’t have space in my room. Dad’s sleeps on the couch after watching the game 4 nights a week, and she hates In Ho’s bed.”

“Well I didn’t say I-“

“She can sleep in my room” In Ho sighed. “I’ll buy a new mattress today for the damned unofficial princess of the Hwang household.” He spoke gingerly of you. You knew it was all a facade to keep Jun Ho from noticing the slowly burning romance between the two of you. He could also clearly see what his mother was doing.

“Perfect”

“Jun Ho, do you work today?” His mother asked.

“Yeah, I’m training a meter maid today from 1 to 4” he said. “ I wasn’t supposed to be working but they needed someone to train the new guy.

“I think that’s a waste of your potential, little brother.” In Ho said.

“Well, not everyone can be top detective of the SPD” Jun Ho counted gingerly.

“Well, I’ve worked there longer”

Tag list

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @angelofthorr @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll

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starberry-cupcake · 2 days ago

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So, I had some chapters ready to recap but I decided to wait because the last bunch didn't get around as they normally do notes-wise and I thought maybe you guys needed a breather from these, I know there's more important things to engage your time with right now, so I thought I'd stop for a bit because maybe I was just posting them too frequently, BUT if I don't keep them up, I can't keep reading, so I'm gonna move on and let it land where it lands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ at this point, I have to go on even if I'm talking to the void. So, it is what it is.

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag

CHAPTER 10 (shattered second house skull...yikes)

nona finally tells camilla about the surveillance situation at school

she wants to go back in the evening to help out sriracha girlie with it

camilla, because she's smart, cautious and all around perfect, tells her no

especially not after the whole shooting mess that happened that very afternoon

nona says she feels responsible for the kids and that perhaps the two other people she maybe is would also feel responsible for them

camilla says one definitely would, the other one maybe

I'm assuming the hard yes is gideon

last time gideon was sort of in charge of kids, things didn't go very well, though

rip the fourth

then they go eat and I don't quite get why nona is so picky with food

is it that the food is bad? or is her body rejecting it? or is she just a fussy child?

just putting this out there, if I ask things here, you don't need to tell me, I just ask to the void, it's fine

anyway, in comes pyrrha looking like crap but acting like it's all fine

she asks palmolive to help her get a permanent shave but palmolive says "I had the joy of working on a...body like yours, the once, and I don't want to repeat the process for anything smaller than a brain hemorrhage"

he was about to say 'lyctor', I imagine

not sure I know what this is referring to but please don't tell me

he asks pyrrha if it's "finally kicking off" and she says "not yet"

(wish this was just fiction and we weren't experiencing the imminent brewing of intense social and political tension every single day in so many places of the world)

nona goes to prepare a bath for her while palmolive and pyrrha fight about the people she saw being taken during the altercation she was caught in

she says she saw three adults taken in, no consensus on whether they were from the barracks or found in the wild

palmolive wants to go fuck shit up to save them but pyrrha says they (aka camilla) won't be able to fight against "two hundred motherfuckers with machine guns"

and points out that camolive aren't a lyctor

palmolive wants to upset pyrrha on account of her not wanting to do more to save people, especially since his house followed them there

and apparently camilla's older sister kiki was one of them

kiki is allegedly from the oversight body

which I have learned has nothing to do with the oversight of potentially having lost gideon's body

different oversight and different body

but pyrrha only cares about keeping all of them safe and can't be swayed into letting camolive fight

I get where pyrrha is coming from but, at the same time, I don't think it's realistic to believe she can do that

keep them safe, I mean

camolive are ready to spring into attack if someone looks at them wrong and nona is a child with a knife

but, in any case, you can't ask a lyctor for compassionate thought

not because they're lyctors but because some of them, including pyrrha, where there when this all started and were complicit in the fuckery

we'll go back to that in a bit

so, turns out nona can hear the blue light in the sky and she calls it "varun"

nona also tells camilla that she'd willingly go to the middle of the mess to help out the people they care about because she isn't afraid of dying

which smells like trouble to me, a kid with no self preservation

and camilla asks her why she isn't, to which nona responds that she likes the "letting go"

camilla responds that she doesn't let go, that is her thing

nona goes to have a bath before going to sleep and pyrrha has to remind her to stop flashing her boobs to the unsuspecting crowd

I have a parallel tally going on in my mind of who would be the most mortified about all this and harrow keeps winning every time

which would be extra funny if this is gideon's mind in harrow's body

JOHN 5:18 (ugh this guy again)

"For this reason they tried all the more to kill him; not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal with God."

when I named him doctor reverend instead of just doctor I didn't know how accurate that would be in the long run

dr reverend emperor john buttface says he doesn't like change

we kind of guessed that by the fact that he does inhumane things to extend his and other people's lives

he continues on his story of how he started necromancy by playing with two corpses he named ulysses and tatiana and how now he can make them do things with their whole bodies

none of this sounds great

gotta say, it's a good way of re-contextualizing the whole thing, though

because book 1 you are thrown right in the middle of the ninth and harrow is doing nasty stuff with bones and you have to just accept it and keep going

and then in canaan house other necros do other stuff that also seems wild but it's normalized, so you go on and you're like "ok, this is how things are here"

but seeing this at a time closer to us than to canaan house really brings it back to a "this is insane" territory

which I think is very effective narratively, especially to do it now

you're not here for literary criticism from me, though, so let's continue

he goes through who of his lyctors was religious to begin with, who took it as some sort of spiritual experience, and who didn't

mercygirl wasn't and was weirded out but moved on from it really fast

if you ask me, everyone moved on from it really fast, but I'm not a lyctor so I have no say in the matter

according to dr reverend emperor john assface, this was because they wanted to believe

because "everyone wants to believe that God's randomly made them on of the X-Men"

and, not to stop in a minuscule quote for too long and give more unsolicited literary analysis instead of memes but, this sentence shows a lot about this man

idk if this was picked specifically or if I'm reading too much into it BUT

out of every other superhero or superhero group or comic book character with powers he could have chosen, it's so interesting that he chose the x-men

because the x-men are notably different from many of them, especially from their time, because they were oppressed due to their powers

it wasn't just that their powers or their saving the world gig made things complicated for their lives, literally a big part of their narrative is that their powers make them a target of oppression to the point of persecution and violence

some of them famously don't want to have powers

and mutants who do have a good relationship with their powers rarely have a good relationship with society

but he overlooks that and only focuses on having superhuman abilities

and I think that says a lot about this man in just one nerdy sentence

because he's either a) overlooking the entire social context in which the x-men operated to only laser focus on their powers without caring about the rest

or b) he believes himself a victim and a target of society as a justification of being "chosen" to do what he did

since we're at it, because I think it fits the current book narrative and worldwide narrative

this is from 1993

ANYWAY

dr reverend emperor john says he knew, by this body moving thing he was doing now, that he could use this power "for good. Could be used to fix everything, used for you"

we still have this thing where he talks to harrow but as if harrow was around back then, so I think he's talking to ice cube barbie?? but I'm not yet sure what's happening

he also says the corpses were his batteries, which doesn't sound to me like doing good in general, just doing good for him, but anyway

they didn't want the people funding them (who had pulled the plug on them literally and metaphorically) to find out because they could be "used for evil"

so they decided to communicate with the people to spread the word themselves without anyone doing it for them

they decided to stream

cue to agustine and mercygirl as mods in the youtube chat prompting the command !sponsor to promote hello fresh ads while dr john shows the corpses

DAY THREE (CORONABEER MENTION)

CHAPTER 11 (fifth house skull, WE'LL TALK ABOUT THAT)

nona keeps talking about the pool situation, which she says is from her dreams

which doesn't line up with alleged harrow talking to dr reverend emperor john each time in between, but we'll continue

she says she's holding the "girl with the painted face" underwater and she is lying there but not drowning

but there are still hands around her, holding her

nona believes she must be mixing moments

I wonder if underwater girl with painted face allegedly harrow is where ice cube barbie used to be?

because a) it'd explain why she's not drowning but still underwater

and b) we ended up at the tomb last time in the end of harrow's book

and harrow went inside the empty tomb

WAIT A MINUTE

when harrow got into the tomb, it was empty

chains were broken and there was a sword and

fifth house erotica courtesy of gideon

IS THAT WHY THERE'S A FIFTH HOUSE SKULL IN HERE?

BECAUSE OF THE MAGAZINE?

pelase don't answer that, don't tell me anything at all, just let me fail

nona reproduces the way in which she's being held in the dream with camilla and says that in there it doesn't feel "sexy"

to which camilla asks wtf do you know about what sexy is

not in those exact words

apparently, she learned it from honesty

and says she thinks a painting of two flowers is sexy and asks camilla what she thinks is sexy

camilla says "eating breakfast"

camilla is sponsoring my apparel, this is the second ace tshirt with a quote from her I make from this book

nona tells her to ask palmolive what he thinks is sexy

my guess would be dying girls he never met personally

camilla says "strong work ethics and high test scores"

I'm getting a wardrobe out of this conversation

pyrrha is making breakfast and upon nona entering the room

or house section divided in a small space they call a room

she asks what they had been talking about because it "sounded fruity"

nona is onto pyrrha's bs though and can tell she hasn't slept, so pyrrha confesses that she went to the park

the park where she asked palmolive not to let camilla go

she says she didn't save anyone in a way that camolive would understand, so she doesn't want nona to tell them she went

nona isn't good with lies and I totally get that

pyrrha also tells nona to be careful about sriracha girlie because she was at the burn cages and keeping some sus company there

nona gets all mad about pyrrha saying that and calling her name "stupid"

I got mad at nona for getting mad in behalf of people she doesn't know anything about instead of trusting the advice of people she lives with

pyrrha doesn't insist much and nona says she isn't going to stop being friends with sriracha girlie because she has 0 self preservation and a death wish

as established in this same recap

pyrrha is then asked what she thinks is sexy and she pretty much describes commander wake

"love a redhead" she says

wonder if she knows what gideon looks like or if she's just still referencing commander wake

because she met her in harrow's body and I don't know if the oversight with gideon's body being misplaced happened after or before pyrrha saw her

DON'T TELL ME

nona says she doesn't think redheads are sexy, which palmolive thinks is important to note down

I also think it's important to note it down because it's more points for the "this is gideon" side of the scale

when asked what he thinks is sexy, palmolive gives the most boring answer yet

"those little outfits nurses wear"

does he have a thing for yami kawaii stuff? nurses outfits, sickly seventh girls? is this a thing for him?

or is this like the regular sexy nurse fantasy type stuff? the spirit halloween type stuff?

or is this silent hill nurse type stuff? the ones that can kill you?

I don't know, I'm gonna leave it at that, whatever works for you, my dude

we don't have time to ask palmolive specific on his fantasies, though

because the door opens suddenly and there's a GUN and a THREAT

love starting the morning with chill stuff

AND WE'RE DONE!! I'll see how I work through the chapters, they end up getting long if I wait too much but I don't want to oversaturate, which I was probably doing. Anyway, sending hugs and love your way ♥

#luly reacts to tlt #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt #tlt spoilers #long post #gif cw

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twost3ps · 2 days ago

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I’m back uhhhh what did I miss- like genuinely though drop a comment or sumn dm me idk hit me up what happened around or with you idk brah I deleted this app when I went on hiatus

Idgaf tell me the weather or sumn (tldr at the bottom bcz I do yap 🙄)

Thank you guys who commented on my hiatus post I meant a lot to be checked on jhefihnfechn

On that note I do wanna premise my updating schedule is going to be excreeemmmmeeeeely slim. Im going to be not as active as I was before especially since um… I kinda stopped drawing for basically 2 months I need to get back into the jam of it.

Im gonna be here like once a week or two till I feel comfy again. I have not draw in in a month but I do feel it kicking in again just a bit.

I do also wanna say i have realized that my lack of posting or interacting was a result of two things: one seasonal depression and that hazbin isn’t on the forefront of my mind anymore and hasn’t been since November tbh uhh whoops

So yeah im kinda uhh dropping it. Not exactly but yeah im not a big hazbin fan and haven’t been. Tbh I wasn’t that invested in hazbin rather I was invested in Adam and that was pretty much it.

I was actually in the Adam fandom I’ll be real🧍

This, I am not surprised about because I have played this game many times before. I still very much like Adam but that Adam has turned into my Adam rather than show Adam. He’s my oc essentially so uhhh yeah. I’m gonna ween myself from tagging hazbin but I’m gonna post adamsapple, guitarhero and adamsangels as if they’re my ocs maybe redesign Lucifer and Adam a bit though I can’t really imagine myself changing them much but in time the change will come

I’ll be doing my old aus and stuff still I guess but my account is gonna mainly centralize around the archangels and Adam and Lucifer as their own characters separate from the show. So if you see, like, a mischaracterized or Adam or Lucifer here or there that’s them turning into ocs. I will respond to hazbin stuff but it is no longer in the front of my mind (I will post stuff about it still tho) don’t mean I won’t interact with Adam related posts anymore because I am physically unable to keep my hands off him??? But you will see a lack of content coming from me because I am lazzzyyyyyyyyyy

Will I take it all back when season 2 premieres? Maybe idk

But yeah uh sorry lmao. Missed you all though qwq

TLDR:

I’m back. This is not really a hazbin based account anymore. You will see other fandoms and my ocs. I missed you all 😘

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sanerontheinside · 7 hours ago

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On the basis of my own comment, "I fully missed this because I cannot handle the news except in ‘weekly postmortem’ format", I've decided to do a write-up of everything I've been reading about the crash over Washington, D.C.

If this isn't the sort of posting you'd like to see from me in the future, please feel free to block "#the post mortem". I'm not sure how many of these I have in me, but if I ever find myself struck by the fancy to do another, that is the tag I will be using.

I'd also like to thank Canary (canary_lux on Discord) for help gathering, scanning, and organizing sources, and for their insight on flight training.

Throughout this write-up, I will refer to the current president by number of term (45 or 47), mostly to differentiate policies enacted during his first term from the present.

Intro

On the night of Wednesday, 1/29/25, 67 people died in a collision between an American Airlines passenger aircraft and a military Blackhawk helicopter. This tragedy was immediately followed by outcry and the usual hunt for someone to hold accountable. This was also the first fatal air crash involving a US airline since 2009—a 16-year safety record.

While it’s tempting to assign blame to various politicians, parties, and policies for the accident—and in fact many do (FAA blames trump, trump blames DEI, FAA, Biden in particular and democrats in general, etc.)—sole political ownership cannot be assigned. The initial outcry drew attention to a hiring freeze for air traffic controllers, and to curt dismissal of FAA personnel, but the problem has been brewing for far longer.

This post mortem seeks to provide some context for the incident at Reagan National Airport by looking back at policies of the last two presidential terms, as well as the reality of local air traffic in Washington, D.C.

The Shortage

Before addressing the current shortage of air traffic controllers, it is important to note that since the accident all reports indicate the air traffic controller on duty that night gave proper instructions.

Both planes and military aircraft are equipped with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B), but this system is suppressed at low altitudes because of the high likelihood of false alerts. At last reporting, the Blackhawk was at an altitude of 375 ft. For helicopters, the permitted flight ceiling over Washington, D.C. is 200ft.

With that established, however, there is still value in drawing attention to the national shortage of air traffic controllers (henceforward ATC's).

In 2021, the US Bureau of Statistics ranked air traffic control as the 4th most stressful job among all. The position has a high employee turnover rate due to transfers, resignations, removals, deaths, and attrition. An ATC's skills are unique, and costly to replace both in money and time, as candidates go through 2-3 years of training and must pass a rigorous exam.

During the COVID 19 pandemic, lockdowns drove down the volume of daily flights, putting many air traffic controllers out of a job. Agencies worldwide let go of trainees, stopped hiring, and stopped training new hires. In many cases, academies closed outright. Many air traffic controllers were offered early retirement.

Once travel restrictions were lifted, demand bounced back—and the aviation industry suddenly faced a bottleneck. A 2 or 3 year one, in fact. Flights haven't really bounced back perfectly since the pandemic; many airports experience serious delays—not least because they don't have enough ATC's.

In June 2023, the DoT inspector general reported that 77% of air traffic control facilities were understaffed. In December 2023, after a series of high profile near-misses, the FAA named a panel of experts to address air traffic controller fatigue. Reuters reported that air traffic controllers work mandatory overtime and 6-day weeks.

The FAA's response to these findings was to appoint a three-member panel to "examine how the latest science on sleep needs and fatigue considerations could be applied to controller work requirements and scheduling" until more personnel could be hired. Furthermore, the FAA Reauthorisation Act of 2024 expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

Unfortunately, the near-misses and flight delays are likely to continue under recent policy changes.

The Policy of 45

The main reason for addressing the shortage itself at the top of this write-up is that a lot of early outcry held the 47th President's recent hiring freezes, cuts, and firings responsible for the accident.

Context is critical. Obviously, trump’s hiring freeze in no way helps this issue, and neither does the dismissal of people in leadership positions. Even the panel he dismissed was the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, which is geared towards TSA operations moreso than air traffic control.

But on the ground, it's probably his policies as 45 that did the most lasting damage.

In 2018, the proposed budget cut funds to the DoT by 13%, or $2.4 billion. The proposal eliminated funding for the Essential Air Service, a program that guaranteed continued commercial air service to small communities in the US which would not otherwise be profitable. Air traffic control would also be privatized under the proposal.

This 2018 post by Democracy Forward provides a good summary of 45's policies. (It's also an interesting read if you've been following the recent changes in regulation of airline fees. In brief, the struggle to regulate fees and accessibility has been ongoing since before 2013, and trump's policies are unsurprisingly airline company-friendly.)

By contrast, in 2021 the proposed budget for the FAA included $11.4 billion (increase of $432 million from FY21) to oversee the safety of civil aviation, and to provide for the operation, maintenance, communications, and logistical support of the air traffic control and air navigation systems. There were additional requests totalling over $8 billion to improve airfield infrastructure and grants for Aviation Workforce Development programs.

The final 2021 budget, the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021, passed with $15 billion for airlines and airline contractors for a third extension of Payroll Support Program which would otherwise have expired at the end of March 2021. The extension prevented the furlough of more than 27,000 aviation employees. There was an additional $8 billion for U.S. airports.

As a result of 45's budget cuts, the FAA was forced to lay off many people. “He slashed our budget and a lot of people, including myself, were laid off. So, we’re just waiting to see what programs will continue,” a longtime FAA contractor, rehired under the Biden administration, told What A Day.

Former House Transportation and Infrastructure Chair Peter DeFazio also notes, "The unnecessary government shutdown [in 2019] shut down the Aviation Academy, and a number of people did not come back after the academy closed down." He cites this as a crucial interruption that was then followed by a yearlong closure due to the lockdown.

Congested Airspace

In his interview with Politico, DeFazio puts Congress front and center: "Every senator in particular wants a nonstop flight to and from wherever they live. As you saw, [Kansas Sen.] Jerry Moran said this was a flight which he had encouraged or otherwise supported. The last FAA bill, [Texas Sen.] Ted Cruz said he needed a direct flight to [San Antonio], so he engaged in a lengthy battle."

The bill referenced here is S. 1939, the FAA Reauthorization Act of 2024, which contained many positive items. This was the bill that required air carriers to provide a full refund for a cancelled or significantly delayed flight; it expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

This bill also increased the number of daily round-trip flights allowed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), despite protests from the airport authority. (Though it should be noted that the new flights added to the airport's schedule by this bill have not yet been fully implemented.)

DeFazio has words for the military, as well: "And it’s one thing, when there’s an urgent need or a security issue, to move people by military helicopter to the White House or from one base to another in the D.C. area. It’s another to do it for convenience for generals and “very important people” who don’t want to sit in traffic. […] for training, they should be doing that in the hours when there are way fewer flights coming into National Airport."

The flight rules over Washington, D.C. are very complex, developed to manage civilian, military, and government traffic. It is simultaneously the most restricted and the most congested airspace in the country. Pilots have been complaining about the complexity of flight rules for years.

This stretch of the Potomac in particular is designated a Special Flight Restricted Area. In the words of Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL), "You don't get to fly in that without additional flight training." All crew members aboard the Blackhawk were experienced, having logged 500-1000 hours. Transcripts of the air traffic control instructions and responses from the pilots in the minutes before the accident show that the Blackhawk crew twice confirmed visual of the plane with the ATC, including approximately 25 seconds before impact.

But in multiple stories published since the crash, there are quotes from pilots who had similar experiences in that area, and recall near-misses with passenger aircraft coming in to the same runway. One retired Army National Guard helicopter pilot recalls that he lost sight of the jet in the city lights and descended to an altitude of 50 feet to avoid collision with an unseen flight. There are at least two reports of near-misses under very similar conditions from 2013 and 2015.

The Post Mortem

The President's flurry of executive orders, hiring and funding freezes, have dominated the news cycle for the last 12 days. There isn't currently evidence to support that various budget and staffing cuts, including those attempted by 47 two days before the accident, directly contributed to the incident on January 29th.

However, cutting personnel, funding, and abolishing positions once vacated will increase the risk of accidents going forward. Many US government services have not recovered from the combination of 45's policies and effects of the pandemic. They are presently in a state where funding and personnel cuts will result in direct consequences to the American people, and likely very quickly.

As for the Washington, D.C. crash itself, it is indeed a tragic loss of life. In all likelihood, it could have been prevented by appropriate response to prior near-misses, addressing concerns voiced by pilots and professionals, or perhaps a less entitled Senate.

Sources

https://webcf.waybackmachine.org/web/20250120173159/https://simpleflying.com/us-atc-shortage-analysis/

https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/panel-review-us-air-traffic-controller-fatigue-after-near-miss-incidents-2023-12-20/

https://www.tumblr.com/gunsandfireandshit/774138773393063936?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/huffy-the-bicycle-slayer/774137554059575296?source=share

https://democracyforward.org/work/sidebar-airlines-and-the-trump-administration/ (published 2018, edited 2022)

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2025/01/31/defazio-plane-crash-blame-00201767

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_United_States_federal_budget

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Rescue_Plan_Act_of_2021

https://phys.org/news/2017-06-pros-cons-privatizing-air-traffic.html

https://www.tsa.gov/sites/default/files/asac-charter-september-2022.pdf

https://www.wdsu.com/article/pilots-worried-dc-airspace-crash/63626297

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/experts-ask-why-black-hawk-helicopter-may-have-been-flying-above-allowed-altitude/

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/tammy-duckworth-american-airlines-crash/

https://commons.erau.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1910&context=jaaer

#the post mortem #don't call me shirley #current events #reagan national airport #washington dc plane crash

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jirishnesensei · 3 days ago

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Mirio Togata x Reader | Isekai AU [18+]

Warming up to you ch3. It's an anime

⊱ Pairings - mirio 3rd year student x reader

⊱ About - Boku No Hero Academia was your favourite anime. You watched it every week when a new episode came out, but what if you were transported into the world?Having no clue how you got there and you're being accused of being a part of the League Of Villians.Suffice to say, it's not the best way to start the show.

⊱ Warnings/tags - 18+ (eventually), fluff(for the most part), angst, smut, fem reader, romance, pining, SLOW BURN, swearing, friends to lovers, death, jealousy, she falls first he falls harder, mirio is mean (with reason), first everything, sassy mirio, fangirl reader, unrequited love

⊱ status - ongoing

⊱ chapters - 3/x

⊱ word count - 2.4k

A/N - Hello! omg it's been a long time coming posting this story here XD just wanted to say thank you for those that hearted, reblogged and all that! This is unfathomably one of my most prized stories that's been giving me a migraine for years (seriously, and still ongoing) but I hope you enjoy it as much as I have (⁠θ⁠‿⁠θ⁠) okay bye!

Mirio decided to have Sir Night eye ask you the questions about Shie Hassaikai, which was smart on his account.

Now you were both heading over to Sir Nighteyes agency bright and early in the morning. Mirio definitely didn't know what sleeping in meant. You yawned obnoxiously loud to maybe catch the attention of a certain blonde and it was a success going off of the look he gave you.

"You slept for at least 9 hours."

"Yeah, well I need twelve. Thirteen if I need to do things during the day." You answered sarcastically. It's like the boy forgot you fell down thousands of feet from the sky not even 24 hours ago. He didn't entertain anymore conversation after that and it was a fairly quick walk to the agency.

Mirio stopped infront of a large set of green doors. Pushing one open while gesturing for you to go in first. You walked through, already feeling the cold air conditioning hit your bare skin.

You were given the lovely opportunity to wash your face and brush your teeth, but you were still dressed in the same clothes from your world. You felt gross, and that's putting it lightly.

"His office is this way." Mirio says as he walked down the long corridor then started his way up the signature spiral staircase. Your body was getting tingly at the thought of meeting Sir Nighteye. What were you going to tell him? He isn't even nice... so what if he doesn't even give you a chance to speak? What if he wants you to make him laugh?! Oh god you were terrible at jokes. Now that you were hopelessly scared, you tugged on Mirios white collard shirt, making him look down at you.

"Mirio I don't know how to make Sir Night eye laugh." You didn't see it but Mirio's eyes widened at how you knew one of his mentors rules. He didn't allow you to hear the shock in his voice though.

"Don't worry, if you're telling the truth then Sir won't care if you make him laugh or not." You nodded limbly. Still a bit shaken from the idea of meeting the Sir Nighteye.

When you reached the top of the stairs and walked down one last corridor, Mirio held the door knob and looked back at you. Your head hung low, it was obvious you were psyching yourself out. He rolled his eyes, not liking how his sense of hero duties were clouding his judgement with the fact that you could be a villain. Nonetheless he faced you and held your shoulders. The contact makes your skin crawl and hold your breath and for the first time since looking at him you actually notice how blue his eyes are. Like the deepest part of the ocean where sunlight can't even reach. Okay, that's leaning more towards black... but that's just how much melanin is in his eyes.

"Stop worrying, everything will be fine." He gives you one of those hero smiles, the kind that melts your heart and nearly your legs too, but you had atleast some kind of self-control. For now.

Mirio turns back to the door so you can get distracted by his broad back instead and knocks twice before walking in, now beaming brightly as the Mirio Togata you and every bnha fan knew. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at that.

"Good morning Sir!"

You peer past him and see the one and only Sasaki Mirai, aka, Sir Nighteye seated by his desk.

"Mirio. is this the girl?" Sir Nighteye looks you over and it feels like his gaze pierced straight through your very soul. He was so much more intimidating in person. How in the world did Midoriya have the guts to make fun of All Might under these circumstances?

"Yes Sir. She claims she has information on Shie Hassaikai." Sir Nighteye nods then thanks Mirio for the notice before telling him to head off to campus. As Mirio turned to leave, you look at him with pleading eyes to not leave you alone, ofcourse he doesn't stay... but a girl can dream, right?

The door slams shut and now it was just you and Sir Nighteye in the room. You glanced around, trying not to make direct eye contact with him and instead focused on all the All Might merchandise that was everywhere. There was actually way more than they focused on in the anime...

"Do you know what my quirk is?" Sir Nighteye startles you out of your daze and his cold voice makes you stand straighter like you're in the military.

"Yes sir! It's foresight! You are able to look into a person's future upon contact with them for an hour!" You yelled this as if you were being graded for a test. And the outcome of that test is either prison or freedom. It was only now that you realize if you can't back up your claim, you could be in some serious touble here. Sir Nighteye hmph'ed as if satisfied with your answer and then stood up from his chair, making you flinch slightly.

"So you know what will happen if I look into your future." He states calmly, removing his glasses to clean while walking around his desk and then leaned his lower back on it. Hunching slightly from his tall posture.

You nod, unsure where he was going by stating that.

"Tell me something only I would know miss..?"

"Uh (y/n)... (y/n) (l/n)" You answered.

"Miss (y/n)" He gestured for you to continue. You visibly gulped. Was it getting hot in here? It feels like it's getting hotter. What do you tell him? You could tell him about Midoriya being the successor for One For All... that should definitely prove it, but that could land you in big trouble for even knowing such a secret. You pondered and pondered over what to say, making Sir Nighteye grow impatient.

"If you don't know-"

"No wait! I do... I do know, I just don't know which scene to tell you about-" Sir Nighteye grew confused by your choice of words, but gave you a few more minutes.

You bit your lip and wrung your fingers, desperately trying to will your mind to think of something, anything. You were very nervous if it wasn't painfully obvious already.

"Oh! I know!" Sir Nighteye looked at you intently as you were about to speak. You knew exactly what to say now.

"I can tell you exactly what happened-" you start, Sir Nighteye leans a bit forward, not fooling anyone with how intrigued he was on how you could supposedly tell them exactly where Shie Hassaikai is.

"-when Midoriya came to request for a work study here!" You finished with a winning smile as if you just said the numbers to the lottery. Sir Nighteye visibly sunk at what you just said then pushed his glasses back up, clearly not impressed by your revelation.

"Wait, just hear me out atleast! Wouldn't it be crazy if I could tell you exactly what happened in this room without ever being in it? Even what happened before Midoriya and Mirio walked into the room?" You urged. Sir Nighteye sighed, looked over his shoulder at his All Might clock then back at you.

"Okay fine, I'll bite. Tell me what happened. Before Midoriya and Mirio walked in."

You nod earnestly and rack up all of your memories from that scene. You had watched this season so many times, you couldn't get it wrong the one time you needed to truly remember it.

"Bubble girl, your assistant, was telling you about the incident that was linked to Shie Hassakai and the league of villains. I'm not sure where the place was... but you were watching an All Might video while she spoke to you and because she wasn't being humorous enough, you tied her to some torture tickling machine and started to tickle her!" You finish off like you just convinced your mother that it wasn't you who broke her favourite dish. Eagerly waiting for Sir nighteye's response.

He was definitely shocked going off of his expression. You told him near to the tea what was happening before Mirio and Midoriya walked in which so to speak should be impossible. He pushes his glasses up again, not wanting to show more of his emotion and spoke.

"What happened when they entered?" You bit your bottom lip.

Did I get something wrong?

You cleared your throat and tried to remember what happened after, "You told Midoriya that he has to make you laugh for you to consider him as an intern and so he imitated All Might, which I thought was really funny, but you accused him of ridiculing All Might and then told him his wrinkles were in the wrong places and then... you both just kinda went at it and fanboyed over All Might." You laughed nervously.

"Oh! and before you stamped Midoriyas papers you made him spar with you! Which he lost... but he completely dodged all of your All Might posters, right?!" You hold your breath. You could feel your palms sweating. You were desperately trying to get Sir Nighteye to believe you here, but his stoic expression was so difficult to read through. He sighs once more and walked over to you. You step back in fear, but he grabbed your shoulder to keep you in place and used his quirk on you. You were hypnotized the second that he did, eyes fixated on his. They were actually moving like gears... tiny, mini gears and it was incredible. Sir Nighteye lets go of you and then stood up straight again.

"It's near to impossible that you could tell me that, but I still don't understand how. What is your quirk?" He looks down at you so intensely. Your legs really felt like they were going to give in at any moment. You laugh awkwardly under his gaze that now felt like they could see right through your skin. Like you're talking intestines and everything. It made you uncomfortable.

"Its not a quirk... it's um... haha, you're gonna think this is funny, but it's an anime." His expression stays the same, as if waiting for the punchline.

I knew he wanted a joke!

"I uh, gosh," You awkwardly rub your forehead, "I don't know how else to explain it..." You look down to the ground, feeling too exposed to look him directly in the eye anymore. Sir Nighteye realized this and turned on his heel to sit back down by his desk, gesturing for you to take a seat opposite. You take his offer and sit down then suck in a decent breath, preparing for the millions of questions to follow.

"I'm not from this planet. Or whatever this place is. Back where I'm from this place is known as My Hero Academia. An anime that people around the globe watch."

⊱ Next chapter: Coming soon!

⊱ Take me to the prev chap!

Taglist - @the-faceless-bride @distinguishedoafbiscuitopera

Dividers by - @cafekitsune and @strangergraphics

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crowsofdarkness · 1 day ago

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Vaz Prizrak: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

The sounds of birds chirping outside our home and the warmth of the body next to me was what slowly raised me out of my slumber. Groaning, I buried my face deeper into the bare chest but felt it vibrate in laughter.

“We can’t stay in bed all day again, doll.” Bucky’s tired voice breathed in my ear.

“I’m tired,” I whined, gripping him tighter.

Bucky laughed again before brushing his lips over my forehead. “The goats need to eat.”

Reluctantly I let him rise out of bed and marveled at the way the muscles moved in his back as he slowly rose. His bones clicked into place when he stood to his feet and with his arm, he threw on a shirt.

I peaked over to the nub of his left arm while he covered it with a sling and my heart dropped, knowing how he truly felt about it. He was fine with it in the beginning, taking awhile to get used to only having one arm, but now two years later I knew that it was bothering him. Bucky felt like he couldn’t do what he used to be able to do and it would aggravate him.

Never once did I complain about it, he knew exactly how to please me even with one hand.

“Are you going to stare at my ass all morning or are you going to get out of bed?” Bucky joked while turning to face me.

“But I’m cold,” I giggled while showing him my naked form underneath the sheets.

His eyes darkened with lust and I knew I was seconds away from having him back in bed with me.

Suddenly I sat up in bed with a start, clutching the sheets closer to my bare body. I was filled with a sudden urge to fight, something that wasn't coming from Bucky. It was a feeling that I hadn’t felt in years and I was afraid to find out why I was feeling like this.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.

“I have this weird feeling,” I admitted.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed next to me and moved the hair out of my face.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Something’s going to happen soon but I don’t know what.”

Our lips met in a quick kiss before Bucky pulled me to my feet out of bed.

“No use dwelling in it, doll. Let’s feed the goats then talk a walk,” Bucky suggested.

Reluctantly, I nodded with a sigh. I knew he was right. I couldn’t dwell on this feeling when I didn’t even know if it was truly something to worry about.

While Bucky stepped outside, I dared a quick glance over to the burner cell phone that rested on our table. It hadn’t made one noise in the two years that it laid on that exact spot. There was only one number programmed in it and before I could stop myself, I sent a quick message to that number.

Checking in on you and if everything is alright. Can’t shake the feeling that something is coming.

“Doll?” Bucky called from outside.

“Coming!” I yelled, tossing the phone onto the bed.

I had missed the new message that appeared on the screen.

Bucky tossed a pile of hay over towards the side of our hut while I chased the goats towards their pen for the evening. The Wakanda air had chilled, letting us know that night was fast approaching. The fire next to me was dying down so after tossing a few logs onto it, I looked over towards Bucky.

“You know you could start that fire again with a quick snap,” He reminded me.

Immediately I shook my head. “Not needed.”

After Bucky and I settled in our new lives, I promised myself that I wouldn’t use my powers. I wanted some sense of normality in our lives.

Bucky’s lips parted to speak but when he noticed the way my body froze while looking over his shoulder, he followed my gaze and knew what caused me to freeze.

T’challa and Okoye were walking over the hill towards us, a very large case in hand.

We hadn’t seen them in over two years, only ever seeing Shuri. She would occasionally come to check in on us, mostly Bucky, so when I watched as T’challa walked closer towards us I knew that the feeling I had was true.

Something was coming.

T’challa gave us a small smile while placing the case in front of us and clicked it open. Inside was something that Bucky never thought he would see again.

A brand new arm made completely of vibranium.

Bucky’s mouth fell open, staring at the flash of vibranium. His shoulders tensed and the feeling of fight filled my veins.

“Where’s the fight?” Bucky questioned.

“On it’s way,” T’challa admitted.

“How does it feel?” I questioned.

Bucky raised the new arm a few times and clenched his fist over and over again.

“Honestly, amazing,” He admitted.

I gave him my best fake smile before busying myself again with pulling out a lock box from underneath our bed. Inside were all of our knives, something I never thought I would need again.

T’challa had said that a new threat was on it’s way towards us, ready to destroy our universe, and his name was Thanos.

Thanos was on a mission to collect all six infinity stones and if he found all of them, he would be able to erase half of the universe with a snap of his fingers. His alien army was on earth to find two of the stones that were hiding here. The time stone was in New York with a Dr. Strange and the Mind Stone was with a very familiar face.

Vision.

Thanos already had two of the stones, meaning that he was close to completing his mission.

To say I was secretly afraid was an understatement.

T’challa had also mentioned that we would be seeing some old friends of ours really soon; Wanda, Vision, Sam, Nat, and Steve.

They fought some of Thanos' army in Scotland causing Vision to get hurt in the fight. They were all their way to us, hoping that Shuri could create a new stone for Vision so that we could destroy the Mind Stone. It was a long shot, even I knew that, but if there was even a slight chance to save Vision and the universe, Steve would do whatever it took.

At the thought of Steve, I reached for the phone in front of me.

I’ll be seeing you soon. We’ve missed you.

“Y/N?”

Quickly pocketing the phone in my suit, I gave Bucky my full attention.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, pulling me into his embrace.

I rested my cheek against his chest and snaked my arms around him.

“I’m scared. This fight seems too big for us.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed. “But Steve needs our help. He wouldn’t be coming to us if he didn’t.”

It was my turn to agree. “I know.”

We shared a kiss, our lips moving in sync for a few moments, and when Bucky pulled away we rested our foreheads together.

“No matter what happens, doll, I will always love you,” Bucky declared.

“I love you too, Bucky,” I breathed while placing a kiss on his plump lips.

We were interrupted by the sound of a loud jet descending from the sky, and suddenly, the life that Bucky and I had created the last two years vanished beneath us metaphorically. I knew that no matter the outcome of this fight that we were about to face, nothing would ever be the same.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes #vaz prizrak bucky barnes

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qwordavoider · 2 days ago

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Fuck It Friday

Tagged by @inawickedlittletown

He is some more of my Dad, Not Donor wip! I am thinking about posting a few chapters of it soon to give myself time to get more of Parting Waves written. Hope you like it!

They waited for the next hour for Connor’s parents to arrive. Bobby had found some children's books on his way back from the cafeteria in the hospital library, so they were taking turns reading to him. He seemed to like Tommy the best because he could do different kinds of voices for all the characters. Since he had the concussion and other injuries to heal from, Liam spent most of the time with his eyes closed just listening.

It was 10:05 when they finally heard rushing footsteps come down the hallway. Two people only slightly older than Bobby came rushing.

The woman he assumed was Connor’s mom had tears streaming down her face as she looked at Liam, then at Buck, then back at Liam.

Liam immediately tried to stand up in Buck’s lap. “Gramma!”

Buck stabilized him so he wouldn’t fall into the table they had put his food on. Connor’s mom stared at them both for a couple of seconds longer before she sobbed, turned around, and ran out of the room.

Bucks couldn’t help but be mad at her with the way Liam’s face fell. He understood that everyone grieved differently, but Liam needed them right now.

Liam then turned an expectant face to Connor’s dad “Grampa?” his voice quiet and sad.

“I’m sorry, I have to go check on my wife. Can you just stay with him?”

In that moment Buck wanted to yell at them, What the hell do you think I have been doing since last night? Your grandson needs you right now! But, he didn’t. He just turned to Tommy and gave him one look. Tommy nodded, Buck was grateful that he seemed to understand that he was asking him to go check on Connor’s parents.

As Tommy left the room, Liam turned to Buck, eyes glistening “bye bye?”

Buck didn’t have it in his heart to try and explain why his grandparents just ran out of the room. He didn’t quite understand it himself. So, he just pulled Liam to his chest so he could hopefully try and get some more sleep.

no pressure tags: @moonydanny @chococara25

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy fic #dad not donor #my wips

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mcrdvcks · 2 hours ago

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i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ worst logan - imperfect for you pt.2

chapter summary: You and Laura find yourselves in the void. A few months later, Wade—who claims to be from your universe, and a different Logan appear with a way out.

word count: 13.7k+ (31k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright! this is the second part... to the second part. all the warnings/tags are the same! and take this as your warning-this is split in two parts! it's too long for tumblr to fit in one post!

(also, i know that it's 10 pm est, but i felt like i had to put this out now after watching lady gaga and bruno mars' performance at the grammy's)

warnings/tags: canon to 'deadpool and wolverine', black widow!reader, worst!logan, laura calls reader mom, violence, heavy angst, detached!reader, loverboy!logan, slow burn, fluff, wade wilson interruption, happy ending, not proofread

series masterlist - part 2

You had been to Italy a few times, never of course to see the sights. But Logan insisted, not caring that the mission was over and the two of you were supposed to be going back to the mansion.

“C’mon,” he murmured against your lips, pressing another chaste kiss against them. “I’ll show you around.”

"Do you even know where we’re goin’?" you asked, raising a skeptical brow as Logan laced his fingers through yours, tugging you along the cobblestone streets of Rome.

"’Course I do," he muttered, but the way his eyes flicked between the street signs said otherwise.

You smirked, leaning into his side. "Uh-huh. So, what’s the plan? Wander around aimlessly ‘til we find somethin’ interesting?"

"Pretty much," he admitted, bringing your joined hands up to press a kiss against your knuckles. "Not like we’re in a rush."

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Charles is gonna kill us when we get back."

Logan scoffed. "What’s he gonna do? Give me a disapproving look? Put me in time-out?" He squeezed your hand. "C’mon, darlin’. When’s the last time we had a real vacation?"

You exhaled, looking around. The warm glow of streetlights reflected off the damp stone, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and espresso. It was peaceful. Normal.

You nudged him with your shoulder. "You’re lucky I like you."

He smirked. "Damn right I am." Logan leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Plus, it helps I got a girl who can speak Italian."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Yeah? And how exactly does that help you?"

Logan squeezed your hand, guiding you through the winding streets. "Means I don’t gotta fumble my way through orderin’ dinner."

You snorted. "So that’s why you’re keeping me around? For food?"

"Pretty much," he said, smirking. "That and the company."

You hummed, pretending to consider. "Could’ve just hired a translator."

Logan stopped walking, turning to face you with that look—the one that made your stomach flip, the one that told you he was serious even when his words weren’t. "Don’t need a translator. Need you."

Your breath hitched, but you covered it with a scoff, nudging him playfully. But before you could get out a word he spoke again.

“Let’s get married.”

You blinked at Logan, unsure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

Logan didn’t flinch. He just stood there, watching you with that same calm intensity he always had. “Let’s get married.”

A laugh escaped you, unbidden, half incredulous, half breathless. “You drunk already?”

Logan smirked. “Not yet.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms. “Logan—”

“I’m serious.” He stepped closer, taking your hands in his. “I know you know about the damn ring.”

Your breath hitched.

You did know.

You’d found it once, hidden away in his things. A simple gold band, unassuming, well-worn. You hadn’t asked about it at the time, but part of you had known—Logan didn’t keep things unless they mattered.

Your fingers curled around his. “You’ve had that ring for years.”

“Longer,” he admitted. “First time I met you, I bought it.”

Something in your chest tightened. “Logan.”

“I’ve lost a lot,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Too much. But you keep coming back to me. Life after life. And I keep finding you.”

Your throat felt tight. “This isn’t like the other times.”

Logan shook his head. “No. It ain’t. This time, I’m not gonna waste any more of it.”

You searched his face, looking for hesitation, doubt—anything that might tell you he was caught up in the moment. But there was nothing. Just certainty.

A quiet, stunned laugh escaped you. “You want to get married. Right now?”

“Why the hell not?” He grinned. “We got a whole city to ourselves. We’ve both seen enough shit to know waiting doesn’t always do us any favors.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “You don’t even have the ring on you.”

Logan pulled his hand from yours, reached into his pocket, and held it up between his fingers. “You sure about that?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“You carry it around?”

“Every damn day.”

You stared at him, at the way he was just standing there, so unshaken, so sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

Maybe he had.

And maybe, just maybe, so had you.

“Alright,” you breathed. “Let’s do it.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head, laughing under your breath. “Let’s get married.”

---

The church was small—hidden in the quieter part of the city, far from the crowds of tourists. The old priest inside raised a brow when you and Logan walked in, but he didn’t ask many questions.

Logan held your hand the entire time, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. When the priest asked if you were ready, Logan squeezed your fingers, just once.

Neither of you had vows prepared—there hadn’t been time for that. But you didn’t need them.

“You already know what you mean to me,” Logan murmured, slipping the ring onto your finger. “Don’t need words to prove it.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, looking down at the band that fit so perfectly. Then you looked back at him, that same familiar, stubborn, impossible man you had known for years.

You curled your fingers around his hand. “Good. Because I don’t have anything poetic either.”

Logan chuckled. “Don’t need poetic.”

You smiled, lifting your joined hands to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Then let’s just get to the part where they say we’re stuck with each other.”

Logan smirked. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The priest gave a small, amused shake of his head before speaking the final words. And just like that, it was done.

Married.

You turned to Logan, your new husband, and before he could say anything, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

He made a noise of surprise, but it didn’t take him long to catch up, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His lips were warm, familiar, and when he broke away just enough to murmur against your mouth, his voice was thick with something you couldn’t name.

“’Bout damn time.”

You laughed, forehead resting against his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

Logan cupped your jaw, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked. “Always was.”

He kissed you again, and this time, neither of you were in any rush to pull away.

---

You woke up, not with a start, just a slow realization that it was a dream—a memory.

The ceiling fan above you spun in lazy circles, the dim morning light filtering through the blinds. The scent of saltwater lingered in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of lemon cleaner from Laura’s half-hearted attempt at tidying up the place. For a second, you could still feel Logan’s hand in yours, the weight of the ring on your finger, the warmth of his breath against your lips.

But it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

You exhaled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before pushing yourself up. The bed was too big, too empty. You swung your legs over the side, the cool floor grounding you in the present.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. “Mom?”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders before standing. “Yeah?”

Laura cracked the door open, already dressed, her sunglasses perched on top of her head. “You okay?”

You huffed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Why?”

Laura leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You were making that face again.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“The sad, I’m thinking about him again face.”

You snorted. “That’s not a thing.”

Laura shrugged. “Sure.”

Shaking your head, you moved past her and into the kitchen. “You eat?”

She grabbed an apple from the counter, biting into it as she hopped onto a stool. “Yeah. You?”

“Not yet.” You poured yourself a cup of coffee, the bitter scent filling the air.

Laura studied you for a second before speaking. “You had another dream, didn’t you?”

You took a sip of coffee before answering. “Maybe.”

Laura didn’t push, just nodded. “Was it a good one?”

Your fingers curled around the mug. “Yeah.”

She chewed her apple slowly, then said, “You think he ever dreamed about you?”

You swallowed, setting the mug down. “I know he did.”

Laura was quiet for a moment before hopping off the stool. “You wanna do something today? Beach, maybe?”

You glanced out the window at the waves rolling against the shore. The idea of a normal day, of pretending for just a little while longer, didn’t sound too bad. “Yeah. Beach sounds good.”

Laura nodded. “Cool. I’ll grab the towels.”

As she walked away, you let out a slow breath, staring at the coffee in your hands. The dream still clung to you, the weight of it settling deep in your chest.

You shook it off.

For now, there was the beach.

For now, there was Laura.

And for now, that was enough.

---

Logan exhaled, the cigarette between his fingers burning low. The Florida heat clung to him, sweat beading at the back of his neck as he leaned against the hood of his truck.

She was in there.

He knew her routine now—when she worked, when she shopped, when she left the house. He told himself he wasn’t stalking, that he was just waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? For her to acknowledge him? For her to let him in?

Wade had called him an idiot for sticking around. Said he was wasting his time. Maybe he was.

But maybe he wasn’t.

He took a slow drag, watching as a familiar car pulled out of the driveway. She was driving. Laura was in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, arms crossed, probably bitching about something.

Logan smirked.

He let the cigarette drop, crushing it under his boot as he pushed off the truck.

They weren’t running.

And as long as they weren’t running, he wasn’t leaving.

---

You stared at him, unabashedly. Something you only did when you were going to scold him for something.

“What?” Logan asked, turning to face you.

You crawled down the bed before sitting at the edge of it, chin in your hand, glasses slipping down your nose. “Why do you have to go to the bar? You could…”

Logan, who had just finished pulling his boots on, paused mid-motion. His brow lifted as he looked at you over his shoulder. “I could… what?”

You shrugged, pushing your glasses up absentmindedly. “I don’t know. Stay.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed his jacket. “What, and listen to Scott ramble about team-building exercises? No thanks.”

You huffed, tilting your head. “You could grade papers.”

He let out a short laugh, shrugging on his jacket. “Yeah, ‘cause that sounds like a real fun time.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on your hands. “You wouldn’t have to grade them. You could just… be here.”

Logan’s movements slowed slightly as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. He didn’t say anything right away, just stood there, like he was debating whether or not to argue. Then, with a sigh, he turned, arms crossed. “What’s this really about, Y/N?”

You hesitated, tapping your fingers against the blanket. “Nothing. Just thought maybe, for once, you wouldn’t leave as soon as classes were done.”

Logan studied you, his expression softening. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I just…” You trailed off, realizing how ridiculous you sounded. You weren’t clingy—at least, you didn’t think you were. But Logan was always leaving. Always heading off somewhere, whether it was a bar, a mission, or just to be alone. And even though you knew that was just the way he was, it didn’t mean you liked it.

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Darlin’…”

“Never mind,” you said quickly, pushing yourself off the bed. “Forget I said anything.”

Logan caught your wrist before you could move past him, his grip firm but gentle. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now. “I didn’t mean—”

You shook your head, pulling your wrist free. “It’s fine, Logan. Go.”

His jaw clenched slightly, like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just stood there, watching as you walked past him.

You didn’t slam the door behind you, but you wanted to.

---

Logan woke up with a sharp inhale, the remnants of the dream lingering in his chest like a dull ache.

He stared at the ceiling, his breathing evening out as he tried to push the memory away. But it clung to him, heavy and persistent.

You weren’t her. And he wasn’t your Logan.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

With a grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand.

He paused, staring at it for a long moment before setting it back down.

Outside, the Florida heat was already creeping in, the morning sun casting long shadows across the floor. He didn’t know what the hell he was still doing here.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Not yet.

---

The ocean breeze rolled in slow and steady, carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen as you leaned back against your towel. The Florida sun wasn’t unbearable, but it was warm enough to make you drowsy. Laura sat beside you, picking lazily at the label of her water bottle, her sunglasses shielding her eyes.

It had been a good day. The kind of day you never thought you’d have—normal, easy.

Until he showed up.

Laura was the first to notice. She didn’t say anything at first, just hummed softly before muttering, “He’s here.”

You frowned, not even opening your eyes. “Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral as you cracked one eye open. Sure enough, Logan stood a few yards away, leaning against a wooden post near the boardwalk. He wasn’t looking directly at you—just gazing out at the water, arms crossed, the picture of casual indifference.

It was bullshit.

You sighed, rubbing your fingers against your temple. “He’s not gonna leave, is he?”

Laura took a slow sip of her water. “Nope.”

You sat up, adjusting your sunglasses as you shot him a glare. He still wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he knew you saw him.

Laura smirked. “You gonna say something, or just keep making angry faces at him?”

“I’m not making angry faces,” you muttered.

“You are.”

You ignored her, pushing yourself up. You dusted the sand off your legs before heading toward him, your steps slow and deliberate. Logan didn’t move until you were right in front of him. Only then did he glance down, his expression unreadable.

“You lost?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Logan smirked. “Nah. Just enjoyin’ the view.”

You scoffed. “Right.”

Silence stretched between you, the sound of waves crashing filling the space where words should have been. Logan shifted slightly, but he didn’t back off.

“You gonna keep following me?” you asked, your voice low.

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Ain’t followin’ you, darlin’. Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

You arched a brow. “Really? You just happened to be at this exact beach, at this exact moment?”

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” he drawled.

You clenched your jaw, debating if you should just turn around and walk away. But something about the way he was looking at you—calm, patient, stubborn as ever—made your skin prickle.

“You waiting for me to say something?” you asked.

Logan shrugged. “Figured you might.”

You inhaled sharply, taking a step closer. “I said goodbye, Logan. You’re the one who won’t let it go.”

His expression didn’t change. “Yeah, you said goodbye. I just didn’t listen.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying you. “I know enough.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Before he could respond, Laura called out from behind you. “Are you done flirting, or should I come back later?”

Your head snapped toward her. “Laura.”

She just shrugged, completely unfazed. “What? I’m just saying.”

Logan smirked, and you turned back to him, pointing a finger at his chest. “Don’t.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk didn’t fade.

You huffed. “If you’re gonna keep hanging around, at least be useful and stay out of my way.”

Logan’s gaze flickered over you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with an infuriating amount of ease, he said, “No promises.”

You clenched your fists, exhaling through your nose before turning sharply on your heel and walking back toward Laura.

She was still smirking when you sat down.

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Laura leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head toward Logan. “You know, you could just talk to him like a normal person.”

You ripped open a bag of chips with more force than necessary. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

Laura hummed. “Then why’d you go over there?”

You froze mid-chew before shooting her a glare. “You are so grounded.”

Laura snorted. “Good luck enforcing that.”

You muttered something under your breath, throwing another glance at Logan, who was still standing in the same damn spot, watching the ocean like he had all the time in the world.

You hated how much it felt like he belonged there.

Laura smirked again, popping a chip into her mouth. “You’re gonna have to deal with this at some point, you know.”

You exhaled sharply. “Not today.”

“Yeah,” Laura murmured, staring at Logan. “We’ll see.”

---

It had been a week since the beach. Another week of pretending Logan wasn’t lurking in the background, watching but never interfering. Another week of Laura making way too many smug comments.

You ignored both of them.

Mostly.

Right now, you were more focused on getting home before the storm rolling in had the chance to flood the streets. Florida weather was unpredictable as hell—one minute sunny, the next a full-blown hurricane. The dark clouds overhead rumbled, lightning flashing in the distance as you pulled out of the school parking lot.

You had just turned onto the main road when the car jolted.

Then, the all-too-familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of a flat tire.

You let out a slow, controlled breath through your nose. “Of course.”

You pulled over onto the shoulder, gripping the wheel for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. This was fine. You could handle this.

The moment you stepped out, the humidity hit you like a wall. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of rain and asphalt. You crouched, assessing the damage. The back tire was completely shot, rubber torn to hell.

You sighed, pushing your hair away from your face. “Just needed one more week, you piece of shit,” you muttered, kicking the tire lightly before heading to the trunk for the spare.

A familiar rumble of an engine approached.

You froze for half a second before gritting your teeth.

Not even five minutes and he was here.

Logan’s truck slowed to a stop behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was already climbing out, probably looking all smug and self-satisfied.

“Need a hand?”

You exhaled through your nose before straightening up and turning to face him. “No.”

Logan tilted his head, hands on his hips as he looked from you to the tire. “You sure? ‘Cause that looks pretty fucked.”

“I got it,” you said, crossing your arms.

Logan nodded, clearly not convinced. He watched as you popped the trunk, grabbed the spare, and then crouched back down to remove the damaged tire. You worked quickly, efficiently—this wasn’t exactly your first time handling something like this.

Logan leaned against his truck, arms crossed. “Y’know, most people would just say ‘thanks.’”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Most people aren’t me.”

Logan smirked. “No argument there.”

You ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. A bolt was being stubborn, refusing to budge. You adjusted your grip, using more force—nothing.

Logan pushed off his truck, strolling over. “Want me to—”

You stood up, cutting him off. “I swear to God, Logan, if you—”

Thunder cracked overhead, and the sky opened up.

Within seconds, you were both drenched.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as cold rain soaked through your clothes.

Logan exhaled a short laugh. “Well. That’s unfortunate.”

You snapped your head toward him, glaring. “Really?”

He smirked, completely unfazed by the downpour. “What? You don’t like the rain?”

You huffed, brushing wet hair from your face before crouching back down. “Just shut up and let me work.”

Logan didn’t. Instead, he crouched beside you, reaching for the stubborn bolt.

You swatted his hand away. “I said I got it.”

He just looked at you, unimpressed. “It’s rusted. You need more leverage.”

“I know that.”

Logan didn’t argue. He just waited.

You exhaled sharply before finally moving aside, just enough for him to take over.

With one sharp twist, the bolt loosened.

You clenched your jaw. “Show-off.”

Logan smirked. “You loosened it for me.”

You rolled your eyes, but together, the two of you worked in sync—removing the damaged tire, fitting the spare, tightening the bolts. It was quick, practiced, almost too easy.

By the time you finished, the rain had slowed, leaving the both of you completely soaked.

Logan stood, brushing water from his arms. “Could’ve just let me do the whole thing.”

You shut the trunk with more force than necessary. “Could’ve just driven past and minded your own damn business.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You glared at him, but before you could respond, another engine rumbled down the road.

A blue sedan slowed beside you. The passenger window rolled down, revealing an older woman with a concerned expression.

“Everything alright, dear?” she asked, eyes flicking between you and Logan.

You forced a polite smile. “Yeah, I—”

“She’s fine,” Logan interrupted.

You turned sharply toward him. “Excuse you?”

Logan ignored you, giving the woman a nod. “Just a flat. All good now.”

The woman hesitated, glancing at you again before nodding slowly. “Alright, if you’re sure. Stay safe.”

The moment she drove off, you turned to Logan, scowling. “What the hell was that?”

Logan shrugged. “What? You were fine.”

You threw your hands up. “And I couldn’t say that myself?”

Logan smirked. “You could’ve, but you were takin’ too long.”

You huffed, rubbing your temples. “You are insufferable.”

Logan grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

You took a slow breath, reining in your frustration. “Are we done here?”

Logan looked you over, still clearly amused. “Need me to follow you home? Just in case?”

“I’d rather drive off a bridge.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t ya think?”

You turned toward your car, muttering, “Go to hell, Logan.”

He chuckled, stepping back toward his truck. “I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

You didn’t respond, just slammed the driver’s door shut before pulling back onto the road.

When you glanced in the rearview mirror, Logan was still standing there, watching.

And damn it, you hated the way it made your chest tighten.

---

Laura was already sitting on the couch when you walked through the front door, damp clothes clinging to your skin, rain still dripping from your hair. She took one look at you—soaked, pissed off, barely holding yourself together—and sighed.

"You let him help, didn’t you?"

You dropped your keys on the counter with more force than necessary. "No."

Laura arched a brow.

You clenched your jaw, yanking open the fridge just to give yourself something to do. "Fine. Kind of."

Laura smirked. "Figured."

You grabbed a water bottle and shut the fridge, exhaling sharply. "He just happened to be there."

"Uh-huh."

You turned, leveling her with a glare. "Don’t start."

Laura held up her hands in mock surrender, but the amusement never left her face. "I’m just saying, for someone who wants him to leave, you sure make it easy for him to stick around."

You threw the water bottle onto the counter. "You think I want him here?"

Laura’s smirk faded slightly, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "I think you don’t know what you want."

That did it.

Your patience, already worn thin, snapped.

"You think I don’t know?" you shot back, voice rising. "You think this is easy? That I like having him in the background, watching, waiting, making me remember things I don’t want to remember?"

Laura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.

You ran a hand through your wet hair, pacing. "Do you know how hard I worked to move on? How hard I tried to build something—anything—that didn’t lead back to him? And now he’s here, and I can’t—" You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "I won’t let him pull me back into it."

Laura’s brows pulled together, her voice quieter. "Mom—"

"No," you said, pointing at her. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like I’m the one making it complicated when he’s the one who won’t leave."

Laura’s jaw tightened. "Maybe he won’t leave because he actually gives a shit."

"That’s not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" she snapped, standing now. "That he’s not our Logan? That he’s not your Logan?"

You flinched.

Laura shook her head. "You keep acting like he’s a ghost, but he’s not. He’s here. And you can keep pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does. He does."

Your chest tightened. "He’s not the man I married."

"No," Laura said, her voice quieter but no less firm. "But he’s still Logan."

Silence.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a vice.

Laura let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know you miss him."

Your throat burned. "It doesn’t matter."

"It does."

You shook your head, turning away. "I need to shower."

"Mom—"

"I need to shower, Laura."

She didn’t argue this time. She just watched as you walked toward the bathroom, your legs heavier with every step.

When the door clicked shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, squeezing your eyes shut.

You could still hear his voice in your head, feel the warmth of his hands on yours, see the way he used to look at you—like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

And now he was here. Not your Logan. Not the man you’d built a life with. But Logan all the same.

Laura was right.

But that didn’t mean you were ready to face it.

---

You grunted as you pulled again, trying to unlodge the stubborn screw. “Stupid. Fucking—” A warm hand enveloped yours, you didn’t need to turn around to know who’s. “I got it, kotik.”

He hummed, not condescending, but like he knew you did. “I know. Just lemme help.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose but didn’t fight him when his hand covered yours, his other gripping the wrench. With barely any effort, he turned it, the stubborn screw finally giving way with a sharp creak.

You scowled. “I had it.”

Logan smirked, setting the wrench down. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You huffed, swiping your arm across your forehead, smudging a bit of grease in the process. Logan caught it, his thumb brushing the mark off before you could duck away. His touch lingered, his eyes scanning your face.

“What’s wrong?”

You scoffed, grabbing a rag to wipe your hands. “It was the damn screw you just unlodged.”

Logan’s brow twitched. “Try again.”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders, the tension refusing to ease. “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t ask if it was nothing,” he said, arms crossing. “Asked what’s wrong.”

You hesitated, gripping the rag tighter before exhaling. “Scott’s just… piling things on me. Ororo asked me to help out more with the kids during training, which I want to do, but then Scott starts throwing his bullshit at me too. Paperwork, scheduling, grading tests that he’s supposed to be handling." You shook your head. "And now, apparently, I’m also in charge of making sure half the team doesn’t set themselves on fire in the Danger Room.”

Logan nodded slowly. “That all?”

Your jaw clenched. “No.”

He waited, saying nothing. Just watching.

You groaned, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “It’s everything. The mansion, the missions, the meetings—God, the meetings. I swear, if I have to sit through another three-hour debate about whether the Blackbird should have a different paint job, I’m gonna throw myself off the roof.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “Y’know, you could just tell ‘em to go to hell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and then Scott would really make my life miserable.”

Logan’s hand found your waist, his grip warm and steady. “Then let me do it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, that would go over great. You storming into a meeting, claws out, telling Summers where to shove his clipboard.”

Logan grinned. “Tempting.”

You sighed, finally leaning into him. “I’m just tired, kotik.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His hand traced slow circles against your lower back, grounding you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet hum of the mansion in the distance—it was enough to make you forget the stress, just for a second.

“You should tell him no,” Logan murmured.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “And what? Let the entire school burn down?”

His lips twitched. “Not our problem.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “You say that, but we both know you’d be the first one running in if it did.”

Logan’s smirk softened. “Maybe.”

You sighed, resting your forehead against his chest. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Lucky for you, it ain’t often.”

You smiled against his shirt, letting the exhaustion slip away—at least for now.

---

You woke up to the sound of waves crashing outside, your chest tight, your skin too warm.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. You expected the distant hum of the mansion, the smell of Logan’s aftershave, the warmth of his body beside you.

But the bed was empty. The room was quiet.

And Logan was gone.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling.

It was just a dream.

Just a memory.

And that’s all it would ever be.

---

The day passed in a blur. You went through the motions—teaching gym class, keeping the kids in line, pretending like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t spent the entire morning haunted by a dream that wasn’t just a dream.

Like Logan hadn’t found you.

You’d seen him again after work. He wasn’t trying to hide this time. He leaned against his truck, arms crossed, watching from across the parking lot. Not approaching. Not leaving. Just waiting.

And it pissed you off.

Laura wasn’t home when you got back. Probably at the beach or grabbing food. You had a few hours to yourself, time to think, time to breathe—

A knock at the door cut through the silence.

You stared at it.

Another knock. Louder this time.

You already knew who it was.

Jaw clenched, you walked over and yanked the door open, grip tight on the handle.

Logan stood there, his expression unreadable. “Hey.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind you. “No. Whatever the hell you think you’re doing? No.”

Logan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t here to start a fight, darlin’.”

“Then why are you here?” you snapped, crossing your arms. “Because if you think I’m just gonna let you hover around like some stray, you’re dead wrong.”

Logan’s jaw flexed. “I just wanna talk.”

“And say the same goddamn bullshit? Here’s the thing,” you gripped the collar of his leather jacket tightly, pulling him slightly closer to you. “I don’t fucking care.”

Logan didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, the leather warm beneath your grip. “You think this is romantic? You think tailing me for months, showing up at my fucking door, is gonna make me change my mind?” You shoved him back—hard. He barely stumbled. “I don’t care what you have to say, Logan.”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah? Then why’d you open the door?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Because I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not here to fight with you.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the humid night air.

He dropped his hand, looking at you like the answer was obvious. “I want to know why you’re lyin’ to yourself.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Logan, get over yourself.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about me,” he shot back. “I’m talkin’ about you.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. “I told you—”

“No, you haven’t,” Logan interrupted, stepping closer. “You keep pushin’ me away, but you ain’t sayin’ why.”

“Because I don’t owe you a fucking reason,” you snapped.

Logan studied you, his gaze slow, careful. “It’s ‘cause of him, ain’t it?”

Your stomach twisted, but your expression didn’t falter. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured. “The Logan you lost. The one that was yours.”

Your breath hitched.

Logan’s voice was quieter now, steady but rough. “That’s why you’re runnin’, why you won’t let yourself stop. ‘Cause you think if you do, you’re betrayin’ him.”

You hated how easily he saw through you.

Your throat felt tight, but you forced out a scoff. “You don’t know shit, Logan.”

“I know grief.” His voice was low, weighted. “I know what it does to you. How it makes you feel like movin’ on is some kinda sin.”

You looked away, jaw tight.

“I also know,” he continued, “that it don’t go away. Don’t matter how far you run, how many times you try to start over.” His tone softened, just slightly. “It stays with you. But it don’t mean you gotta stay buried with it.”

Your hands trembled. You curled them into fists to stop it.

“Look at me,” Logan said.

You didn’t.

A rough sigh, then—you felt it. His hand, warm, familiar, pressing against the side of your face. You stiffened, but he didn’t force it, just let his thumb brush against your cheek.

“Darlin’,” Logan murmured. “I ain’t askin’ you to forget him.”

You swallowed hard.

“I just don’t want you to forget yourself.”

Your breath hitched.

You wanted to shove him away again. Wanted to punch him. Wanted to yell and tell him he was wrong.

But the worst part? He wasn’t.

And you fucking hated him for it.

Your eyes stung, but you refused to let them fall.

Finally, you forced yourself to move, pulling back, breaking the contact. “Go home, Logan.”

Logan didn’t move.

You inhaled sharply. “I mean it.”

He studied you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.”

Then—he stepped back, hands in his pockets. But he didn’t turn around. Didn’t leave.

Not yet.

His gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in it.

Then, quieter, rougher—

“I’ll see you around.”

You didn’t answer.

And this time, when he walked away—you didn’t watch him go.

---

He could tell you weren’t fully asleep, nor fully awake, when he got back. The lamp on your bedside table was still on, but your glasses were neatly folded on top of your book.

“Hmm? Logan?”

He slipped off his boots and pulled off his shirt before sliding in behind you, gently pushing your shoulder down so you wouldn’t get up. “Yeah. ‘S me.”

"It’s 2 in the morning." Your voice was quiet, thick with sleep. "You’ve been comin’ home later."

Logan exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face as he settled onto the bed beside you. His body was still warm from the whiskey, the buzz clinging to the edges of his thoughts. He didn’t answer right away, just reached over and turned off your lamp, leaving only the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner.

You shifted, turning onto your side to face him. Even in the dim light, he could see your eyes—heavy with exhaustion but still watching him, still waiting. You always waited.

For months now, you had tried to get him to stay. At first, you asked outright, voice soft but certain—"Stay tonight?" And when that didn’t work, you tried coaxing, offering quiet conversation, little distractions, your presence alone.

Then, when that didn’t work either, it became this.

Half-asleep murmurs. The lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d come home early for once.

But he never did.

"Yeah," Logan muttered, shifting onto his back. "Got caught up."

You huffed, barely a sound, but he felt it more than heard it. "You always do."

Logan stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He could feel the weight of your gaze on him, the way you were waiting for him to say something—anything—to ease the ache in your chest. But he didn’t. Because he didn’t know how.

The silence stretched between you.

Then, quietly, you spoke again. "You don’t have to go every night."

Logan swallowed, his throat dry. He could lie, say it wasn’t about the bar, say he just needed the air. But you weren’t stupid. You knew what he was doing, why he kept his distance even when he was right here beside you.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

After a beat, you sighed and turned over, your back to him. A clear dismissal.

Logan closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sound of your breathing as you drifted off.

It wasn’t always like this.

At the start, you stayed up for him. You’d wait in the library, curled up with a book, or in the kitchen with tea, pretending you just happened to be awake. You used to smile when he walked in, small and tired but warm. You’d ask how his night was, even when you knew he wouldn’t answer properly.

And then, when you realized nothing changed, you started waiting in bed instead. Eyes heavy but open, glasses slipping down your nose, always murmuring some half-asleep greeting before reaching for him.

Now? Now you barely waited at all.

Logan exhaled, turning his head to look at you. You were already asleep.

Something settled deep in his chest—heavy, uncomfortable.

This wouldn’t last.

You wouldn’t wait forever.

And for the first time, the thought of losing you—of pushing you too far—felt a hell of a lot worse than whatever he was trying to drown at the bottom of a bottle.

---

Logan’s eyes snapped open.

For a second, he was disoriented, still caught in the haze of the dream—no, the memory. He could still feel the warmth of you beside him, still hear your voice, soft and tired, asking him to stay.

But when he blinked, the bedroom was gone.

No mansion. No soft lamp glow.

Just the inside of his truck, the Florida heat creeping in through the cracked window.

Logan let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. His body was tense, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The dream had been too real—too damn vivid.

He reached for the flask in the cupholder, unscrewing the cap with steady fingers. He didn’t drink from it. Just held it.

The memory had felt like a lifetime ago. Because it was—but not his. Not this Logan’s.

It was hers.

The woman who wasn’t his Y/N but still had the same voice, the same eyes, the same way of looking at him like he was something worth waiting for.

Except this time?

She wasn’t waiting.

And Logan wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that meant.

---

For the first time in weeks, Logan wasn’t there.

You didn’t see him leaning against his truck outside the school. He wasn’t loitering at the grocery store. He wasn’t in your goddamn peripheral, watching but never pushing, always waiting for you to acknowledge him.

And it pissed you off.

You should’ve been relieved. You had told him to leave, to back off. You had shoved him, yelled at him, made it perfectly clear that you didn’t need him here—didn’t want him here.

So why the hell did your chest feel tight?

Why did you keep glancing out the window when you left work, expecting to see him?

Why did it feel wrong that he wasn’t following?

Laura noticed before you did.

“You’re looking for him,” she said flatly, popping a fry into her mouth as the two of you sat at a booth in some local diner.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Laura gave you a look over the rim of her milkshake. “Logan.”

You scoffed, picking at the label of your water bottle. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are.” She dipped a fry in ketchup, not even trying to hide her smirk. “You’ve checked the door, like, five times.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was looking at the—” You stopped, realizing you had absolutely nothing to follow that up with.

Laura arched a brow. “Right.”

You huffed, slouching back against the booth. “He’s not here.”

“Yeah. Because you told him to leave.”

“So?”

Laura shrugged. “Didn’t think he actually would, did you?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you hadn’t expected him to leave. Logan was stubborn. Logan didn’t give up. If anything, you had expected him to show up again, keep pushing, keep trying to get you to talk.

But he hadn’t.

And for some reason, that scared you.

Laura sighed, wiping her hands on a napkin before leaning forward. “You can’t have it both ways, you know.”

Your brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you can’t tell him to leave and then get all weird when he actually does.”

You clenched your jaw. “I didn’t want him here.”

Laura tilted her head. “Didn’t you?”

You stared at her, stomach twisting, because you didn’t want him here—did you?

No. You didn’t.

But you didn’t want him gone, either.

You stood abruptly, tossing some bills onto the table. “C’mon. We’re leaving.”

Laura just smirked. “Where to?”

You grabbed your jacket. “I need to find Logan.”

---

It didn’t take long.

Logan wasn’t exactly subtle, and you had been trained to track people long before you ever met him. It was almost insulting how easy it was.

His truck was parked outside some shitty motel off the main road, tucked into the shadows near a flickering neon sign.

You could’ve knocked on his door. Could’ve walked right up, demanded an explanation—Why the hell did you listen to me?

But you didn’t.

Instead, you waited.

You sat in your car across the street, watching from the shadows, waiting to see if he’d leave. If he’d drive off, if he was planning on staying. If he was really, actually gone.

But Logan never left.

Hours passed. The motel lights flickered. You saw him once��stepping outside just long enough to smoke a cigarette before heading back in. No sign of him packing up, no sign of him driving away.

He wasn’t following you anymore.

But he hadn’t left, either.

You exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel.

This was the first time in months that Logan wasn’t hovering just outside your reach. And yet, you had tracked him down anyway.

Maybe Laura was right.

Maybe you hadn’t wanted him to leave.

Not really.

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply as you stared at Logan’s truck.

What the hell am I doing?

You had spent months trying to get him to leave, and now here you were, parked outside some shitty motel like some stalker, watching and waiting. For what? For him to notice? For him to come back?

No. That wasn’t what you wanted.

You gritted your teeth, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then why are you still here?

You could just drive away. Go back home, pretend like you never saw him, pretend like this didn’t bother you.

But it did.

It bothered you that he listened. It bothered you that he left. It bothered you that, for the first time since he showed up, he wasn’t pushing you.

And you didn’t know why that scared you.

With a frustrated sigh, you shoved the door open and got out, the night air thick and humid around you. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you crossed the street, your steps quick and deliberate.

You didn’t give yourself time to hesitate. If you thought about it too much, you’d turn back. And you weren’t ready to do that yet.

You knocked on the motel door.

Silence.

Your jaw clenched, and you knocked again—louder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of irritation ran through you. “Logan, open the damn door.”

Nothing.

Your patience snapped. You grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It was locked, of course, but that was never a problem for you. With a practiced flick of your wrist, you popped the lock and shoved the door open.

Logan was inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, a cigar burning between his fingers. He didn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looked tired.

“Real subtle, darlin’,” he muttered, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You crossed your arms. “You weren’t answering.”

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Too bad.”

Logan huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Figures.”

You stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind you. “You just gonna sit there?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Logan asked, his voice rough. Not annoyed. Just… tired.

The way he said your name made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure why.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, crossing your arms tighter.

Logan studied you, taking another slow drag from his cigar before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “Then why are you here?”

You shifted on your feet, avoiding his gaze. Because you left. Because I thought I wanted you gone, but now that you are, I—

You shook the thought away, exhaling sharply. “I just… I thought you would’ve left.”

Logan arched a brow. “And that bothered you?”

You hesitated.

That was enough of an answer.

Logan sighed, leaning back against the bed, arms resting behind him. “You told me to back off. So I did.”

You scoffed. “You don’t listen to people.”

Logan smirked slightly. “Guess you ain’t people.”

You hated how easily that threw you off balance.

Your throat tightened. “I don’t—”

“I ain’t askin’ for anything,” Logan said, cutting you off. “Not chasin’ you. Not pushin’ you. I meant what I said—I don’t wanna force you into anything.”

You swallowed hard. “Then why are you still here?”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe ‘cause I don’t want to leave, either.”

The air in the room felt heavy. Stifling.

You had spent so much time running, so much time convincing yourself that pushing him away was the only option. But now, standing here, looking at him—tired, frustrated, but still here—you didn’t know what the hell you were supposed to do anymore.

You took a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You were… right.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure what part you were referring to.

You swallowed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “What you said. About grief. About moving on feeling like a sin.”

Logan stayed quiet, but his gaze sharpened, locking onto yours.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I spent years running because it was easier. Because if I stopped, if I let myself…” You trailed off, fingers curling around your arms. “Then it would feel like I was betraying him. Like I was forgetting him.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

Your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to keep talking. “I tried to build something new with Laura. I wanted to. And for a while, it worked. Seven years in Canada, we were okay. We were living, not just surviving. And then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “The TVA happened. The Void happened. And suddenly, it was like all that time meant nothing.”

Logan was still watching you, but his expression was unreadable, his hands resting on his thighs as he leaned forward slightly.

“Then you showed up.” Your voice was quieter now. “And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that. Because I knew you weren’t him. I knew that. But every time I looked at you, every time you called me ‘darlin’ and looked at me like you knew me…” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “It just made me feel like I was losing him all over again.”

“I mean, I can’t even take off my damn wedding ring,” your voice cracked, “without feeling nauseous even though it’s been years.”

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your hand, to the ring still wrapped around your finger. His jaw clenched, something flickering in his eyes—something you didn’t want to name.

“You think that’s wrong?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, shifting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Ain’t wrong to hold onto what matters.”

Your fingers twitched, curling slightly, but you didn’t look away. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

Logan was quiet for a moment, studying you. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, steadier. “Because you think lettin’ go means losin’ him.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t answer.

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I ain’t gonna tell you to take it off. Ain’t gonna tell you to move on, either.” He leaned back, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “That’s gotta be your choice, darlin’.”

Something about that made your stomach twist. Maybe because you had spent so long convincing yourself you had to move on, that moving on meant leaving Logan behind—your Logan. The one who wasn’t sitting in front of you.

But then Logan spoke again, and his next words shattered every bit of resolve you had left.

“You ain’t the only one holdin’ on.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Logan reached into his pocket, pulling something out—something small, something old. He turned it over in his fingers before setting it on the nightstand beside him.

A ring.

Gold, simple, worn from time.

Your stomach flipped.

“I bought this the first time I met you,” he said, voice rough. “A long time ago. Different you. Different me. But you always come back, don’t you?”

You stared at the ring, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. “Logan—”

“I kept it,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the band. “Every time. Even when I knew I’d lose you again.” He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And every time, I tell myself I won’t go through it again.”

You swallowed hard. “But you do.”

Logan smirked slightly, but there was no humor behind it. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

Silence settled between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. The motel room felt smaller now, the air thicker. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your chest tight with something you weren’t ready to name.

Finally, you moved.

You walked forward, slow but deliberate, until you were standing right in front of him. Logan didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched you with that same patient, knowing look.

And then—hesitantly—you sat down next to him.

Not close enough to touch. Not close enough for it to mean anything.

But not far, either.

Logan didn’t say a word.

And for the first time in a long time, neither did you.

---

A few weeks later

You were cooking dinner while drinking a glass of wine—or rather the whole bottle. It wasn’t your fault you had a high alcohol tolerance.

“Jesus, fuck kid!”

“You started it!”

You furrowed your brows, stepping onto the back porch, wine glass still in hand. The salty ocean breeze brushed past as you leaned against the wooden railing, watching Logan and Laura circle each other in the sand.

The backyard—if you could even call it that—was part of a private beach, the stretch of sand leading straight into the rolling waves. Normally, it was peaceful. Right now? Not so much.

Logan huffed, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, and I’m endin’ it.”

“Doubt it,” Laura smirked before lunging again.

You sighed, watching them spar. To anyone else, it probably looked brutal—claws flashing, sand kicking up with every hit—but you knew better. This was bonding. In the weird, violent, feral way that only the Howlett bloodline could manage.

Laura landed a punch against Logan’s ribs, but he barely flinched. He countered by grabbing her wrist and twisting her to the ground, pinning her for a brief second before she slipped free and jumped back to her feet.

“You two done trying to kill each other?” you called out, swirling the wine in your glass.

Logan scoffed, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. “She’s the one that don’t know when to quit.”

Laura grinned, unfazed. “Neither do you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before pushing off the railing. “Dinner’s almost done. Either finish up or starve.”

Neither of them responded, too caught up in the fight, but you knew they’d trail in soon enough. You turned and walked back inside, closing the sliding door behind you.

What you didn’t see was Laura catching Logan staring at your ass as you walked away.

She paused, then turned slowly toward him.

Logan blinked, realizing too late that he’d been caught.

“…Don’t,” he warned.

Laura smirked. “Too late.”

Then she lunged—only this time, it wasn’t part of the fight. She jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck, and before Logan could react, she drove her foot claws into his ribs.

“Mother—fuck!”

Laura hopped off, landing perfectly on the sand while Logan stumbled forward, clutching his side. Blood bloomed beneath his shirt.

“That’s what you get,” Laura said simply, brushing sand off her hands.

Logan glared at her. “For what?!”

“For being gross.”

Logan clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” Laura crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. “Don’t do it again.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, kid.”

Laura just smirked, turning toward the house. “C’mon, old man. Before she yells at us for being late.”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair before following her inside.

By the time they stepped into the house, you were already setting plates on the table. You barely glanced up—until you noticed the two fresh blood spots on Logan’s shirt.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Сраные идиоты,” you muttered under your breath.

Logan frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said flatly. “Sit.”

Logan sighed, knowing better than to argue. He pulled out a chair and sat down, peeling off his shirt with a wince. Laura dropped into the seat across from him, completely unbothered, already helping herself to food.

---

You took another sip of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as Laura shoveled cereal into her mouth at a pace that should’ve been illegal. Across the room, Logan sat in a chair, looking far too at home with his cup of coffee, flipping through the newspaper like it was 1954.

It was normal. Too normal.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why the hell are you reading the paper?”

Logan didn’t look up. “Why the hell are you watchin’ me read the paper?”

Laura snorted, not even trying to hide her smirk. “He’s got a point.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. “It’s weird.”

Logan finally looked up from his paper, brow raised. “What’s weird?”

“You,” you said, motioning at him with your mug. “Sitting there, reading the paper like some suburban dad in a toothpaste commercial.”

Logan smirked, flicking the edge of the page. “It’s called keepin’ up with the world, sweetheart.”

Laura snorted. “You’re reading the classifieds.”

Logan flipped the paper shut with a sigh. “Well, excuse me for enjoyin’ the simple things.”

You shook your head, amused. It had only been a few weeks since he stopped lurking in the background and actually started integrating into your lives. He had a habit of acting like he didn’t belong—like he was just passing through, despite all evidence to the contrary. But moments like these, sitting at the kitchen table, bickering over nothing? They felt normal.

Not forced. Not heavy. Just… easy.

You were about to tease him again when the sound of a car horn blasted through the quiet morning.

Laura groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Logan frowned, setting the paper aside. “Who the hell—”

Another honk. Longer this time.

“Motherfu—” You set your coffee down and turned toward the door, already knowing exactly who it was.

Logan followed, his expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “You expecting company?”

You grabbed the shotgun from beside the door, checking the chamber. “Nope.”

Laura smirked, leaning against the counter. “I call headshot.”

You smirked back. “Good luck. I’m faster.”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ. Just don’t kill ‘im.”

“No promises.”

You stepped onto the porch, raising the shotgun as you caught sight of Wade, standing beside his beat-up rental car, arms outstretched like some kind of messiah.

“Hello, my beautiful, homicidal family!” he called, grinning under his mask.

You pulled the trigger.

The first shot hit him square in the chest.

He staggered back, wheezing. “Okay—ow.”

You pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time hitting his shoulder.

Wade groaned, clutching his arm. “Rude!”

Logan stepped onto the porch behind you, arms crossed. “Really?”

You shrugged, pumping the shotgun again. “He’s still standing.”

Wade held up a finger. “Technically, I’m swaying.”

Laura stepped outside, standing next to Logan. “You missed his head.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t miss. I’m savoring it.”

Wade straightened, shaking out his arms. “Alright, I deserved that. Maybe. Probably not. But—” He put his hands on his hips. “Didn’t expect the welcoming committee to include bullets.”

“You helped him find us,” you reminded him, motioning toward Logan with the barrel of the gun. “And then you just disappeared.”

Wade gasped. “Disappeared? Sweetheart, I gave you your own personal brooding, clawed man-child and then respectfully stepped aside so you could work through your very complicated feelings.” He tilted his head. “Which, judging by the tension on this porch, you’re still working through.”

You aimed the shotgun at his head.

“Okay! Okay!” Wade put his hands up. “I come in peace! No missions, no TVA bullshit, no looming apocalyptic threats. Just little old me, paying a visit to my favorite dysfunctional murder family.”

Laura tilted her head. “You brought gifts?”

Wade paused. “No.”

Laura looked at you. “Shoot him again.”

“Gladly.”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let the idiot talk before you put another hole in him.”

You exhaled sharply but lowered the gun. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Wade dusted himself off, cracking his neck. “I can work with that.” He strolled past you and into the house like he owned the place.

Logan shot you a look.

You just shrugged. “I’ll reload.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head as Wade strolled inside like he owned the place. You followed, setting the shotgun back in its usual spot near the door, but you kept an eye on Wade as he plopped onto the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table like he belonged there.

Laura sat back down at the kitchen counter, spooning more cereal into her mouth as she watched the interaction unfold like a live-action sitcom.

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “So? You gonna explain why you’re here, or am I just supposed to shoot you myself?”

Wade sighed dramatically, tilting his head back. “Wow. No ‘Hey, Wade, long time no see!’ No ‘How’s life treating you, Wade?’ Just straight to the violence. And after everything I’ve done for you.”

“You didn’t do shit,” Logan muttered.

Wade gasped, clutching his chest. “I helped you find your long-lost murder wife and stabby daughter! And this is the thanks I get?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You helped him track us, then bailed. So yeah, not exactly getting a warm welcome.”

Wade sat up, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. You two needed time to work through your very complicated emotions without my handsome, charming self getting in the way.” He glanced at Laura. “Right, stabby junior?”

Laura scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “Don’t call me that.”

“See?” Wade pointed at her. “Bonding. Growth. Character development. I did you all a favor.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got five minutes to explain why you’re here before I throw your ass back outside.”

“Fine, fine.” Wade rolled his shoulders. “Like I said, no missions, no apocalyptic disasters, no TVA crap. I just thought, ‘Hey, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen my two favorite feral murderers and their grumpy third wheel—why not drop in?’”

Laura swallowed her bite of cereal. “You came all this way for that?”

“Yes!” Wade threw his hands up. “Is it a crime to want to visit family?”

You scoffed. “We’re not family.”

“Well, no, but emotionally? Spiritually? Definitely.” Wade turned to Logan. “Especially you, big guy. We’ve got history. We’ve been through things. We’ve murdered people together. That’s a bond you don’t just throw away.”

Logan groaned. “Christ.”

Laura wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You got a hotel or something?”

Wade grinned under the mask. “I was actually thinking I’d crash here.”

You, Logan, and Laura all responded in unison.

“No.”

Wade groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “You people have no hospitality.”

“We have boundaries,” you corrected.

“And I have a deep, unrelenting need to be included in your lives,” Wade countered, making himself comfortable.

Logan pushed off the wall. “You’re leavin’ in an hour.”

“Oh, c’mon, Logan, don’t be like that,” Wade whined. “I brought snacks.” He reached into his utility belt, pulling out a crumpled bag of gas station gummy bears.

Laura stared at them. “Are those even sealed?”

“Nope.” Wade shook the bag. “Still good, though.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Jesus, Wade.”

“What? It’s the thought that counts.” He sat up again, stretching his arms. “So, what’ve you lovebirds been up to?”

“Don’t start,” you warned.

Wade leaned in, resting his chin on his hands. “Oh, I’m starting. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And let me tell you—there’s a whole lot of unresolved, slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they going on.”

Logan scowled. “Ain’t shit goin’ on.”

Wade gasped. “So you admit there could be something going on?”

Logan turned to you. “Can I kill him?”

You took a sip of your coffee, considering it. “I mean, he’d just come back.”

Laura stood, grabbing her backpack from the counter. “I’m going to the beach. I don’t have the patience for this.”

Wade pouted. “Aww, leaving so soon?”

Laura slung her bag over her shoulder, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Yeah. Before I commit an actual homicide.”

You motioned toward the door with your coffee mug. “Have fun, don’t kill anyone.”

Laura pointed at Wade. “No promises if he follows me.”

Wade placed a hand over his heart. “I would never.”

Laura shot him a look before heading out, leaving the three of you alone.

Wade stretched his arms over his head. “Sooo… what’s next? Movie night? Group therapy? A good ol’ fashioned team-building exercise?”

Logan grabbed him by the back of his suit, hauling him toward the door.

“Alright, alright! I get it!” Wade protested, feet dragging against the floor. “I’ll leave! But just know this—I will be back. Because deep down, you all love me.”

Logan yanked the door open and shoved him outside.

Wade turned back, wagging a finger. “This isn’t over.”

Logan slammed the door shut.

Silence.

You took a sip of coffee. “Ten bucks says he comes back in an hour.”

Logan sighed. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

---

The smell of fresh coffee drifts through the small kitchen as you rummage in a cabinet for cereal. Laura, half-asleep in an old T-shirt and shorts, slumps at the table with her chin propped on one hand. Across from her, Logan reads the newspaper, though he’s not really turning the pages—more like staring at the same article, his focus wandering.

You pull out the cereal box, shaking it to confirm it still has something inside. “Any of you want a bowl, or am I the only one who still eats this?”

Laura mumbles without lifting her head, “I’ll take some. Didn’t we run out of milk yesterday?”

Logan finally looks up, folding the paper. “I grabbed some on the way home last night.”

You tilt your head, somewhat surprised. “You did?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Figured you two would appreciate not startin’ the day with black coffee and dry cereal.” He sets the newspaper aside, standing to help. “I’ll grab it.”

Laura lifts her head, eyeing the two of you with mild suspicion. “That’s… domestic.”

Logan huffs a soft laugh, opening the fridge. “You callin’ me soft, kid?”

She smirks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Just making an observation.”

You slide a bowl across to her. “Say thank you, or he’s never doing anything nice again.”

Logan snorts, pouring milk into your bowl first. “You sayin’ I’m not nice?”

Laura just raises a brow. “You’re nice in a grumpy, borderline-feral way, sure.”

You stifle a laugh, taking the milk carton from Logan to finish up Laura’s bowl. “Settle down, you two. It’s too early for bickering.”

Laura mumbles a reluctant, “Thanks,” before digging in.

Logan leans against the counter, sipping from a mug of coffee. For a moment, there’s a quiet ease in the room: Laura’s crunching cereal, you adding sugar to your cup, the morning sun filtering through the windows. No drama, no big conversations—just normal, daily life.

Finally, Laura sets her spoon down, glancing at Logan over the rim of her bowl. “So… you’re picking me up after I’m done, right?”

Logan nods. “Figured I’d swing by. Unless you’d rather walk?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s like a hundred degrees. I’ll take the ride.”

You snort into your coffee. “Told you that you shouldn’t wear all black if you’re worried about the heat, muñeca.”

Laura shoots you a light glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I like black.”

Logan smirks, finishing the last of his coffee. “Kinda partial to it myself.”

Laura gestures at both your outfits—yours is a faded tank top and shorts, Logan’s wearing his usual jeans and a T-shirt. “We need a family shopping trip, or something. This color scheme is depressing.”

You exchange a glance with Logan, both of you raising a brow.

“Look, we’re not exactly the pastel type,” you say, shrugging.

Laura just sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll be the fashion icon in this house.”

Logan folds his arms, feigning seriousness. “I can’t wait to see what horrors you drag us into.”

---

Not long after breakfast, you find yourself sorting through a pile of laundry in the living room, music playing softly from an old radio. Logan wanders in from the porch, running a hand through his hair.

“Got your towels on the line,” he says, plopping down on the couch. “They should be dry by lunch.”

You raise a brow, folding one of Laura’s T-shirts. “Look at you, all domesticated.”

He grunts. “I know how to hang a towel.”

“Sure you do,” you tease, giving him a sideways look. “Next step: vacuuming.”

He picks an invisible speck of lint off his jeans. “Don’t push it.”

You fight a grin, focusing back on the laundry. It’s quiet for a bit, just the low hum of the radio filling the space.

Eventually, Logan clears his throat. “I was thinkin’,” he starts, somewhat hesitant. “We could grill tonight. Might as well enjoy the weather before it gets too hot.”

You pause, glancing his way. “Sounds good. Laura’s meeting with her friends later, but she’ll be back for dinner. We can pick up some extra stuff at the store.”

Logan nods, draping an arm over the couch. His gaze lingers on you a moment, like he wants to say more but isn’t sure how. Then he just nods again, quietly content.

You manage a small smile, folding another shirt. “Guess we’re doin’ normal pretty well these days, huh?”

“Could get used to it,” he murmurs, voice low.

Your eyes meet for just a second, something unspoken passing between you. Then you clear your throat, toss the shirt aside, and stand up. “Well, if we’re grilling, we might need marinade, and we’re nearly out of vegetables. Let’s go before the midday rush.”

Logan pushes himself up. “You want me to drive?”

You think it over, shrug, and toss him the keys. “Sure. Just… try not to side-swipe every car you pass.”

He catches the keys effortlessly, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“Says the guy who nearly took out a stop sign last week,” you retort, but there’s a teasing note in your voice.

He shakes his head, slipping on his boots. “You done with that laundry?”

“For now. Let’s leave it for Laura.”

Logan smirks. “Smart.”

---

Back from the store, groceries in tow, you find Laura sprawled on the couch, a book open on her lap. She looks up when you and Logan enter, arms loaded with bags.

“You got the stuff for the grill?” she asks, nose wrinkling. “Because all I see is lettuce.”

You frown, glancing down at your bags. “There’s more than lettuce, muñeca. Where’s the gratitude?”

She shrugs, turning a page. “Thanks, Mom.”

Logan sets his own bags on the counter with a grunt. “Everything else is in here, including that weird juice you like.”

Laura closes her book, swinging her legs off the couch. “You found it?”

He nods. “Took me five minutes to track it down, but yeah.”

A genuine smile creeps onto Laura’s face—rare, but it’s there. “Cool. Thanks.”

You give Logan a light nudge with your elbow, meeting his gaze and mouthing a silent “good job.” He just smirks, busies himself with unloading the groceries. For a fleeting moment, the three of you fill the small kitchen in quiet coordination—hands passing off produce, storing items in the pantry, the rustle of plastic bags and shuffle of feet the only sounds.

Eventually, Laura heads back to the couch, flipping open her textbook once more. You and Logan exchange a small, knowing look. No big conversation necessary—just an unspoken acknowledgment that this is how life is now: mostly ordinary, sometimes chaotic, but it works.

---

The storm rolls in fast, the Florida heat giving way to thick clouds and distant thunder. The air is dense with the smell of rain, the first few drops tapping against the windows as you toss a towel over the back of a chair.

“You get the towels inside?” you ask, glancing at Logan, who’s standing near the back door, watching the sky darken.

He grunts. “Got most of ‘em before the wind picked up. One got away.”

You arch a brow. “Got away?”

“Flew into the ocean.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “So much for that one.”

Outside, the wind picks up, bending the palm trees as the rain comes in steady now, streaking against the glass. Logan watches it for a moment longer before turning back to you. “Laura still at her friend’s?”

You nod, checking your phone. “She texted a little while ago. Said she’ll head back once the rain dies down.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s already debating whether or not to go pick her up himself. You shoot him a look before he can suggest it. “She’s fine.”

Logan rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves toward the fridge, pulling out a beer. “You eaten yet?”

You smirk. “That your way of asking if I’m making dinner?”

He cracks the bottle open, leaning against the counter. “Just curious.”

You shake your head, pulling open a cabinet. “We got leftovers from last night, or you can figure it out yourself.”

Logan takes a swig, watching you for a beat. “You really gonna make me fend for myself?”

“You’re a grown man, Logan.” You grab a bag of chips, plopping onto the couch. “Figure it out.”

Logan makes a low noise in his throat—something between a scoff and a chuckle—but he doesn’t move right away. He just watches you, something unreadable in his expression. You pretend not to notice, flicking on the TV, scrolling through the channels.

The storm grows louder outside, wind rattling against the house. Logan finally moves, taking his beer with him as he drops onto the couch beside you. The cushions dip under his weight, the space between you smaller than it was a moment ago.

For a while, neither of you speak. The TV flickers with whatever show you landed on, voices blending with the steady hum of rain. It’s comfortable, easy—until you realize Logan isn’t really watching.

You glance at him. “You good?”

Logan exhales through his nose, gaze still on the screen but unfocused. “Yeah.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Liar.”

He smirks, finally looking at you. “You always call me out on my shit?”

“Only when it’s obvious.”

His smirk lingers for half a second before fading. He takes another drink, resting the bottle against his thigh. “Just been thinkin’.”

You hum, reaching for another chip. “That’s dangerous.”

Logan snorts, shaking his head. “Smartass.”

You grin, but the amusement doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Because you know whatever’s on his mind, it’s not light. Not casual. Logan doesn’t bring things up unless they’re already weighing him down.

You shift, turning to face him properly. “What’s up?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “This—” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “It’s been… good.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Okay…”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I ain’t used to it.”

You hesitate, fingers curling slightly against your leg. “Used to what?”

Logan glances at you, then looks away. “Not havin’ to fight.”

The words sit heavy between you. The wind howls outside, the rain beating against the roof in steady waves.

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan’s fingers flex around his beer bottle. “Feels like any second now, it’s gonna get ripped out from under us.”

You study him, your stomach twisting at the quiet honesty in his voice. Logan isn’t afraid of a fight. But this? The lack of a fight? That’s unfamiliar territory.

You lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “If it does, we’ll deal with it.”

Logan huffs. “That easy, huh?”

“No,” you admit. “But I’m too tired to do anything else.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then, voice lower—“Tired of me?”

Your chest tightens. You turn your head, meeting his gaze. There’s no teasing in it, no smirk. Just something raw, something cautious. Like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’ll say next.

You shift closer without thinking. “No, Logan,” you say softly. “Not you.”

His eyes flicker—something unreadable passing through them. His hand twitches slightly, like he’s debating reaching for you but stops himself.

You study him for a second longer before deciding you’re done waiting.

You grab his collar and pull him into a kiss.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant. It’s rough, heated—like you’re trying to prove a point neither of you have the words for. Logan exhales sharply through his nose, startled but not resisting. His fingers find your waist, grip firm, steady.

You tilt your head, deepening it, nails curling against his shirt. Logan makes a low noise in his throat—a sound you feel more than hear.

The beer bottle hits the floor with a dull thud, forgotten.

He pulls you onto his lap, hands splayed against your back. The kiss turns almost desperate, years of tension unraveling all at once.

You break away just enough to catch your breath, forehead resting against his. His breathing is uneven, his grip still firm like he’s afraid you’ll pull away completely.

“Thought you were tired,” he mutters, voice rough.

You smirk, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “Of everything but this.”

His fingers flex against your waist. “You sure?”

You tilt his chin up slightly, making sure he’s looking at you when you answer. “Yeah, Logan. I’m sure.”

Something shifts in his expression—something quiet, something settled.

Then he kisses you again, and this time, neither of you hold back.

---

The storm had passed by the time you stirred awake, the humid Florida air creeping in through the open window, mixing with the scent of salt and something undeniably Logan.

You weren’t the type to linger in bed—never had been—but this morning was different. You could feel the warmth of him beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the weight of his arm draped loosely around your waist.

Your muscles ached—not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made you very aware of what had happened last night.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

No regrets.

But a whole lot of what now?

You shifted slightly, and Logan’s grip tightened just enough to keep you from moving too far. “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

His voice was thick with sleep, rougher than usual.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you were awake.”

Logan huffed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the lazy half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t peg you for the cuddling type.”

Logan grunted. “Ain’t cuddlin’. Just keepin’ you in place.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t try to move again. “Right.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the distant crash of waves outside. Logan’s fingers traced absentminded patterns against your hip, his other arm still tucked beneath his head.

For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to ignore the inevitable.

Then Logan spoke.

“Not gonna lie,” he muttered. “Didn’t think this would happen.”

You arched a brow. “You doubting your own charm?”

He smirked, but there was something quieter beneath it. “Just figured you’d keep runnin’ circles around me first.”

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. “Jesus. I should’ve just left in the middle of the night and really kept you on your toes.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “You wouldn’t.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because he was right.

Logan let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing against your side. “So what now?”

You thought about it. About the last few months, about the way you and Laura had built something here. About the way Logan had been circling your life since the moment he showed up, waiting, watching, never pushing—until last night.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan was quiet for a second, then, “good.”

You smirked. “That easy, huh?”

He huffed. “For once.”

The weight between you didn’t feel as heavy anymore. You weren’t thinking about the past, about the other Logans, about the lives you’d lost before. For once, you weren’t overthinking.

You glanced down at your left hand, the ring still on your finger. You twisted it around, feeling the weight of it—the warmth that had long since faded, but never really left.

Logan didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just watched, his jaw tight, his fingers flexing slightly against your hip like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for you or give you space.

You exhaled slowly. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you pulled the ring off.

The absence of it was immediate. Like a phantom limb, like something missing that had been part of you for longer than you could remember.

You held it between your fingers, staring at the small, worn band. The gold was a little dull, edges softened from years of wear, of fights, of moments that felt so distant now you weren’t sure if they were even real.

Logan stayed silent, watching.

You swallowed hard, bringing the ring up to your lips, pressing a kiss to the cool metal. A quiet farewell. A promise that none of it had been lost, that it still mattered.

Then, carefully, you set it down on the nightstand.

Logan exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly beside you. “You sure?”

You looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes. Like he was bracing himself, waiting for you to regret it, waiting for you to pick it back up, waiting for you to tell him this was a mistake.

But it wasn’t.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. His palm was rough, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

“I’m sure,” you murmured.

Logan studied you for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if you meant it. Then, after a beat, his shoulders relaxed, just slightly. He turned his hand, squeezing yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Neither of you said anything after that.

Because for the first time in years, there was nothing left to say.

so i don't know if people caught it, but i thought i would just say it-the whole arc of logan was the fact that he always left his version of reader but this time he stayed. which is the reason he stayed in florida even when reader didn't want him there. i don't know if i made it obvious or not but i thought i would just put it out there

anyways, i hope this lived up to people's expectations :)

22 notes · View notes

itsfheang · 10 hours ago

Text

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ] (Soon, waiting on invite)

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks.

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well.

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now."

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable.

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.”

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes.

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle.

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support.

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable.

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming.

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

#Fheangwrites #Jayvik #Fantasy AU #Mage!viktor #Knight!jayce #arcane #fanfiction #jayce talis #viktor

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