#i either turn them off after not even five minutes or i physically cannot be bothered to even launch the game no matter how much i like it

[wickedghxst]

boy i sure hope [redacted] has no problems with red dead bc i desperately need something to capture my attention lest i bash my head against a wall soon.

[fairyhaos]

seventeen as teachers

requested by @weird-bookworm ! it's a little to the left of what you asked but i hope it's alright anyway ><

masterlist

seungcheol

architecture professor. kind of thanks to physics!cheol anon for this idea but he really encourages hands-on learning especially for his subject, and he draws big diagrams on the board and gestures wildly with his hands as he's explaining why the models work and what do the students think of it? also he definitely gives vibes of someone who high fives the students when their models withstand his shaking tests, but also laughs and claps when they fall apart. because it's all about learning, isn't it? and he's with you to help you learn every step of the way. 

jeonghan

kindergarten teacher. cannot for the life of him handle kids older than that because then they get too tricksy and talkative for him and he gets tired too easily to deal with that. actually really good at handling the toddlers. he's also very pretty so all the kids unironically hang onto his every word, basically making him the god at keeping children in line. when he gets too tired of running around after them he just goes “kids :((( jeonghan is tired :(((“ and they immediately settle down to do something else

joshua

music teacher (1). he's a total department crush (and even school-wide crush) amongst the other teachers because he's so pretty and so kind, always and accidentally keeps making teachers fall for him bc he talks to them so nicely w that pretty smile of his. renowned for his ability to compose melodies on the piano on the spot, and always has students wanting him to help (cough compose for them) parts of their composition work. no one knows what he does outside of work, though. it's like he disappears into thin air after school finishes. 

junhui

gives me eccentric uni professor vibes. sits on his desk with his feet dangling and asks all sorts of strange and irrelevant questions to the students that are, actually, not strange and entirely relevant. has everyone walking out of his lectures feeling like a changed person because he either a) managed to get horribly off track or b) made them rethink their entire life choices. loved by all, and maybe a bit too much. poor guy definitely had an obsessed student try to follow him home before he got lost himself and so they both ended up in the middle of nowhere

hoshi

chemistry teacher. no other reason other than i think he'd look great with a pair of goggles on his forehead pushing his fringe back at funny angles whilst he grins maniacally and goes, “hey, kids, today we're gonna set things on fire!!!!”. so passionate about teaching these things to the students, and rambles on like he only has 5 minutes left on earth and he's gonna use every second to cram in as much chemistry knowledge into the students’ brains as he can in that time. it works, too. his passion inspires so many of them to take chemistry further up in the school. 

wonwoo

history teacher. all the students want him for their teacher when they take history because he's actually, like, competent and knows stuff. known for taking no shit when it comes to doing assignments on time because he sets reasonable deadlines and if you can't make them, then that's on you, not him. students love him. also super duper helpful if you have any questions and is always free at lunch to help bc he'll do anything to escape the hyperactive claws of mr. kwon and mr. wen who are always up to shenanigans

woozi

music teacher (2). mans life literally revolves around music and i can't imagine him doing anything else. department ace. conductor of both the symphony and concert orchestra, and rearranges all of the parts himself when the students find it a little too difficult. also do Not engage this man in a conversation about anything to do with music theory because he will rant for ages and any quick question turns into half of your lunch break being missed. he means well, though, and always gets ridiculous amount of thank-you presents at the end of the year. 

minghao

art teacher (1). dresses like one, too, and has been voted as ‘best dressed teacher’ for the past 3 years in a row. all the art students are kind of afraid of him because if you ask for feedback, there is a 50/50 chance that he'll rip you a new one whilst explaining what you did wrong. there's never any true cruelty to his words, though, cuz hes always actually giving genuine advice and he's always right in what he advises, so students either love him or hate him for his criticisms, though mostly it's the former. he's pretty, too, and his works are pretty, so that's a plus

mingyu

teaches business studies to the older students, purely cz i think he gives maths-adjacent vibes. he teaches a “special” subject that's not available to the younger kids and he's ridiculously handsome so he's kind of like a legendary figure in the school. even if he's a bit silly and adorable at times, he's also super good at holding intellectual debates with his students about current economic and political affairs. can be found bickering with mr. yoon bc the kindergarten teacher wants him to help with his taxes.

dokyeom

art teacher (2). smiles brighter than the sun at all hours of the day, and when the senior students are drowning in coursework and artist research deadlines, he's like the one and only guiding light that helps them get through it because of how endlessly optimistic he is. half the seniors take art solely because of him, actually. also a firm believer that all art is good art and there's no such thing as a “non-artist”. scolds minghao after work when he feels like the other teacher was being too harsh to the students

seungkwan

part of the senior leadership team. takes his position veryyy seriously, strides briskly around the school with a jingle of w set of keys he managed to procure from…somewhere. is always on top of uniform inspections which is always annoying for the kids, but he's also melodramatic and smiley so they love him anyway. the students are always try to recruit him for teacher quizzes and events bc he makes everything way more fun. 

vernon

classics teacher. this might seem odd but hear me out!!! dude loves ancient history and Will do deep dives on old artefacts and cultures that interest him, and i think that passion can definitely be transferred to him teaching kids about latin, ancient greek, old civilizations. known for sharing nothing about his personal life but also being able to talk for ages about something that happened over 1000 years ago. the students all find him super cool and also super endearing. 

chan

the guy who's hired externally from some sports club to act as the teacher to students during after school clubs. teaches martial arts, mainly, but he supervised an impromptu dance club one semester and the students loved it so much that they managed to bring the dance club onto the permanent schedule. everyone loves him. his sports club is 10000% sure that half the children who come to them were recruited through chan's lovely personality alone. 

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[acciomorningstar]

Shattered

Story tags: Hogwarts Legacy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), Poppy Sweetingxgn!MC Characters: gn!MC, Poppy Sweeting, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Natsai Onai, Amit Thakkar, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes Synopsis: After MC is permanently scarred at the repository battle, they will have to adjust to a new normal – which is proving to be their most difficult challenge yet

Warnings for heavy angst, mental/physical scarring and disabilities, depression

Reread my previous angst post and got inspired, so I decided to try my hand at something heavier. It turned out longer than I expected, but I'm proud of the end product, considering I usually suck at bittersweet storytelling lol Significantly heavier than most of my previous posts on here, so tread with caution.

While relief took hold among the students of Hogwarts and things soon returned to a sense of normal after Ranrok’s attack, for some the struggle was only beginning. Poppy had attempted to find MC in the wake of the repository battle, but all she was told was that Professor Fig had perished and MC had been critically injured, having been directly transported to the infirmary once their unconscious body had been retrieved from the rubble. She wasn’t allowed to visit, so her only resort was to hassle the nurse for details whenever she was able to. Eventually, she managed to find out that MC was being sustained in a magical coma as the pain of being awake was likely to tear them apart. It wasn’t so much a matter of when they would wake up – it was whether they would ever wake up at all.

The news took its toll on MC’s entire inner circle. Sebastian and Ominis bickered less, Natty was strangely absent-minded during classes, Amit’s marks in Astronomy tanked to the point where Professor Shah constantly asked whether he’d taken ill, Garreth’s concoctions noticeably suffered from the absence of his potion companion, and even Imelda seemed more prickly than usual.

Poppy herself wasn’t faring much better. She woke up sick to her stomach every day without any news about MC, and she found that her usual pastimes weren’t doing much to keep her mind off things either.

And then, after a few agonising months and a lot of sleepless nights, news came that MC’s condition was stabilising. The nurse cautioned that they were by no means out of the woods yet, but at least they were allowed to have visitors over.

Poppy made her first visit along with Natty, who had also jumped at the opportunity to see their friend. MC was barely responsive when they stood at their bedside, and the nurse told them to get out after five minutes because they needed rest.

“All those scars… there were so many of them,” Natty said, shaking her head as they walked back through the corridors. “I cannot even begin to imagine how they will ever bear the pain if they regain consciousness.”

“They are still the same person underneath,” Poppy insisted. “You’ll see.”

She knew she was mostly talking to herself, but the alternative was simply too painful to consider. And for a while, things genuinely seemed to be improving. After a few weeks, she received news that MC was finally awake and responding, and she rushed to the infirmary so fast that people in the corridors looked at her with shocked faces and asked whether there was an emergency.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, she noticed MC’s bed had been moved to a sectioned-off corner in the back of the hall. It was for the wellbeing of the other patients, the nurse explained – MC had developed a habit of waking up screaming every night, to the point where it had become an active obstacle to the recovery of their fellow patients. As horrified as Poppy was to hear this, it was even less of a shock than the sight she was confronted with once the curtain was drawn back. Fresh scars ran up the right side of MC’s body, all the way up to their face, which looked as if it had been cut up with a knife. Purple veins stood out under the almost transparent skin near their right eye, which appeared strangely discoloured. When Poppy looked down, she noticed an unmistakable tremble in their burnt hands.

“Poppy,” MC said in a raspy whisper, “is that you?”

“Yes, my love,” she answered, having to suppress the quiver in her own voice as she gently took one of MC’s hands. “I’m here.”

MC seemed disoriented, so she had to remind them where they were and explain how they ended up here. Her heart broke when they asked where Professor Fig was – she debated internally whether she was the right person to tell them, but she didn’t want to lie to them either. When she told them the truth, MC just sat there against the pillow, their brow furrowing as they tried their best to understand. Then the tears came, and the screaming, and all of a sudden it wasn’t clear anymore whether MC was wailing out of sadness or out of pain, and Poppy ended up holding them until the nurse hastily arrived and instructed her to leave.

For all the lack of news in the last couple of weeks, there suddenly seemed to be an awful lot of it… MC was regaining strength in the parts of their body which weren’t affected by Ranrok’s magic, but it wasn’t like there were a lot of those left to begin with. Their eye wasn’t healing and at this point this likely meant they would end up losing half of their vision; the tremble in their hands persisted and they barely had any mobility left in their right arm, but the worst news she was told by MC in person. Apparently, the magic had eaten away at the nerve system in their spine, which would likely leave them all but paralysed from the waist down for the rest of their life.

“They say I’ll never be able to walk again,” MC sobbed at her through a mist of tears. “Never play Quidditch again, never again climb the hills or swim in the lake –”

Poppy simply held them as they cried. She didn’t say anything, lest her voice betrayed the tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

The inner circle and the school faculty tried their best to accommodate MC however they could. As soon as MC was allowed to leave the infirmary for short periods of time, professors accompanied them to help levitate their wheelchair up stairs so they were able to attend classes. Whenever MC was too tired to leave their bed, the professors would organise little private classes at their bedside. Sebastian and Ominis would indulge them with late-night chats about their personal experiences with living with a disability. Natty would entertain her with stories about her homeland, staying with them to ease their path into deep slumber, after which she’d watch over them. Amit made sure to supply them with notes to help them keep up with schoolwork, Garreth frequently dragged his potion kit all the way up to the infirmary to brew new concoctions next to MC’s bed (much to the chagrin of the nurse), and Imelda personally escorted MC to every Quidditch match, jinxing everyone who gave them as much as a funny look. Sometimes it would even feel as if things had truly returned to something resembling normalcy – if it wasn’t for MC freezing up at every strike of lightning or explosion in the corridors, or bursting into tears whenever someone as much as mentioned the name of Professor Fig.

In spite of everyone’s monumental efforts, no one was as devoted to taking care of MC as Poppy. She visited the infirmary and offered to push them around the castle as often as she was allowed to, and if she wasn’t she would spend her hours holed up in the library and interrogating Professors about any means to alleviate MC’s suffering. People started commenting on the bags under her eyes and she had to give up most of the free time she’d usually spend caring for beasts, but those were sacrifices she was willing to make.

Which didn’t mean that things were getting any easier. She had her own life, and juggling commitments had never been her strong suit. Moreover, the more time she spent with MC, the more often she would find herself at the receiving end of their outbursts of frustration and self-loathing. One particularly nasty fight came after she had taken Highwing out for a flight, only to suddenly remember that she’d promised to take MC out to the courtyard for some fresh air.

“I am so sorry,” she gasped as she stormed into the infirmary, cheeks flushed from exertion. “I was caring for Highwing and I lost track of time –”

MC looked up at them from their wheelchair, a cold expression on their scarred face. “Oh, don’t bother with excuses,” they said. “I’m sure your beasts need your help more than I do.”

The sneer struck her like a hot arrow to the chest, but she knew not to take it personally. “Don’t be silly,” she answered as she walked up to them. “You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be –”

“Please,” MC scoffed. “You’re only here because you pity me. Guess that’s all I get for risking my neck for a bunch of stupid birds.”

She felt something different now, a fit of hot anger bursting its way up from her core. “How can you say all of those things? You know, I haven’t had a single proper night of sleep since they found you under that rubble, and I’ve been sacrificing everything to help you when all I get in return is anger and resentment –”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you!” MC snapped back, their voice cracking. “Next time I run into Ranrok, I’ll just ask if he finishes the job, all right?”

“Please,” Poppy said, tears running down her cheeks, “you don’t know what you’re saying –”

“I don’t want your help!” MC shouted at her, before hunching forward in their wheelchair, crying out in pain as they clutched their sides. Poppy took an instinctive step forward, reaching out to help them, but the nurse pushed her away, telling her to leave. She did as she was told, and ended up crying herself to sleep.

They made up, eventually, as they always did. But the argument revealed an underlying truth which was slowly becoming undeniable. Poppy was pouring all of herself into MC’s well-being, to the point where she didn’t have much more left to give. She knew it, felt it, but still she toiled on, not knowing what else to do.

A few weeks after their fight, Poppy was called to the garden above the Hufflepuff common room. Upon her arrival, she saw MC sitting on a balcony, facing the lake. They had their eyes closed and the sunlight gave their face an ethereal glow, which made even the scars look less gruesome.

“Hello,” Poppy greeted them with a smile, kneeling next to them. “You look well.”

“Better than I’ve felt in a long while, that’s for certain,” MC chuckled. They extended their good hand to her and she took it, gently rubbing her thumb over their skin. MC’s expression grew sober. “Poppy, I’ve given this a great deal of thought. The lengths you all have gone to these past few months to accommodate me – I… I will be forever indebted to you all, and to you especially. You’ve given meaning to every minute of my life since I met you, even if it was at your own expense… I would never have dreamed of anyone ever doing that.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Poppy answered. “You… you have touched so many lives around you, MC… if only you could see that the way I do –”

MC smiled. “I know. But I can’t allow you to keep throwing away all of that because of me. That’s why I’ve made the decision to leave.”

“Leave?” Poppy asked, feeling her heart stop. “But… to where?”

“To a place where I’ll be able to live in peace. I know telling you this would hurt, but I can’t keep going like this, Poppy, not with everyone looking at me with pity in their eyes and feeling like a burden to every person I care about,”

“But you’re not,” Poppy insisted, tears welling up in her eyes, “you can’t give up now, there’s so many things we still haven’t tried –”

“Poppy, listen,” MC said, and they winced as they brought their hand up to cup her cheek. “You’re so much stronger than you think. You’ve escaped from a terrible existence and built up an entirely new life for yourself. There’s so much you’re still going to achieve, you can’t let all of that go to waste just for me,”

“But that choice isn’t yours alone to make. You don’t deserve any of this –”

“Maybe not. Bad things happen to good people, you of all people should know that. But this is the only thing I’m able to do to repay you for all you’ve done, and it might very well be the last choice I’ll ever be able to make – so please, let me make it.”

Poppy finally broke out sobbing, leaning against MC’s shoulder as the tears flowed freely. MC gently stroked her hair, feeling something moist running down their own cheek.

“I-I’ll never forget you,” she sniffled, her voice barely above a whisper.

MC planted a kiss on top of their head. “Never.”

And so, life went on. MC left Hogwarts, and after a while they even disappeared from daily conversations as people found new things to laugh and worry about. Poppy found it hard to pick her life back up at first, often still ending up at the infirmary with the intention to ask about MC or visiting Professor Weasley for counsel. She didn’t get back into her shell as far as friends were concerned, however. MC wouldn’t have wanted her to, and she was determined to do right by their memory.

Eventually, she was able to move on – though she would never forget the day that one new fifth-year came to Hogwarts and changed her life, for the better.

[lantsovsupremacist]

i saw that you asked for requests and i also saw that you wrote some nikolai stories based on taylor's songs (i loved). so you could write something based on wilders dreams or you are in love or call it what you want, you choose pls

MY BRAND yes of course i can.

nikolai lantsov: you are in love

and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars...

“marry me.”

you shook your head. while any other girl would likely collapse onto the cobblestones had they the pleasure of hearing those words from the king, you would not. you could not. the possibility of accepting his proposal was a lie you no longer could afford.

“i have a certain inclination to your use of words, darling,” nikolai caught up to your strides easily, “without them, you answers are so very unclear.”

you stopped your pace, shutting your eyes. obviously, nikolai only meant to try and persuade you of his reasoning. he was unaware of how the repetition further shattered the pieces of your heart.

“stop asking,” you requested unevenly, “i cannot marry you because i cannot be a queen.”

“cannot or will not?” nikolai dropped his calm disposition. his words now swam through endless seas of exasperation.

eyes widening at his assumption, you glared, “your people will not accept a grisha on the throne. they will not make an exception for love because they cannot understand how such a thing between you and i could exist.”

albeit offended, nikokai softened, “and i wish i could do more to protect you but even i am unable to offer you reprieve from your own doubts.”

however bold or brash his words seemed, you took them because there was no other conceivable explanation. you refused to argue with him further, not when your remaining moments were already beginning to slip away.

“you have too much hope in the world.”

nikolai scoffed, knocking his shoulder into yours. you saw through his sly smirk and glowing grin, and he knew it. the fox could hide away from just about anybody but never you—not that he ever wanted to.

so, he would pretend for a minute or two, rile you up with his plethora of personalities. then, he would sober up, resounded to your ability to penetrate his defenses. your keen awareness of every notch in his armor, every foothold to climb his fortress, both aggravated and comforted him simultaneously.

“somebody has to,” he chided you, content to snake an arm around your waist and pull you flush against his side, “i don’t want to forget.”

“forget what?” you questioned, turning to face him more fully as a soft pout formed on your features.

“that i have this,” he motioned to your entwined limbs, “you,” he kissed your forehead, “to come back to. i only ever hoped my heart would find its home.”

you stilled. surely, an artist from above could have captured the moment perfectly because of it. they would have to gently shade your individual silhouettes into one, execute the softness of his gaze, and reproduce the muted lighting with watercolor.

you liked to organize your life into two categories; there was the before nikolai lantsov and the after him. before saltwater became the first thing to invade your senses in the mornings, you would have set fire to the bridge of any desperate man’s creation. after you learned to never assume anything impossible, you willingly gave up a piece of your heart to the most lovesick of them all. the one you simply could not have.

gingerly grabbing ahold of his fingers, you aimed to kiss the tip of each one. as always, he pulled away before allowing you to complete your objective. with a frown, you ran your thumb over his cheek.

“i only got to six. none of that,” you minded him with a calm look, “sobachka,” you began to warn him. 

“it’s more than five,” he commented with a reference to the day before. quickly, he kissed you to remove any possibility of a retort. you could not escape his lips even if you intended to try, which you did not.

the need for air ultimately pulled you away from nikolai. you frowned discontentedly his way, still frustrated by his actions. you understood his insecurities and accepted the validity of his feelings, but it did not ease the pain of watching him crumble before your eyes.

“my love,” you urged, “i have never understood many things and ended up running,” you held him off with a look, “but i want to stay and learn every part of you.”

bashful, he tucked his head into your neck.

“you have to spare some hope for yourself,” you said softly, leaning your head onto his.

he groaned, indicative of him sourly acknowledging your truth. you turned to kiss his temple, giving your lips the respite to linger just beneath his curls. you sucked in a breath when he responded with one of his own, planted upon the column of your throat. tender yet unexpected.

“but i want you to have it,” he responded, careful to inject the appropriate dose of his personality to make you smile without doubt of his sincerity being a means of withdrawal from the subject.

rolling your lips into your mouth, you melted under his gaze and into his arms, “okay.”

he smiled as radiantly as the sun, with a blush to match the artistry of it setting. you thought you could stay in that moment with him, that not even he could carry you to the next quite yet. you should have known better to predict his unpredictable behavior.

“so,” he drew out, “marry me, then.”

“nik-,” you breathed, fighting a losing battle with a smile of your own. his persistence did not force you to agree, rather charmed you to.

“no!” he cut off deliberately, “no,” the delivery of his words now intentionally softer.

“nikolai,” you enunciated, “if i’m a queen,” you caught the exact second light filtered back into his eyes, “i will never have you again in the same way—not how i do now, at least.”

“i don’t understand,” he frowned between his mumble of the phrase.

“we will be closer than ever before,” you voiced, “but i fear that could push us further apart than we have ever been,” you expressed with a sunken tone.

not letting you pull away either emotionally or physically, he took you into his arms. already feeling more grounded, you breathed in his scent of sea and pine. he was all around you, and it was enough.

“i could never not love you,” he countered.

“that’s not what i’m saying,” you refuted, “but what if you don’t like me anymore? after we are stressed and overwhelmed and stubbornly disagreeing?”

nikolai giggled, kissing every inch of your face, “i like every single piece of you,” his thumbs slipped down your cheeks and onto your throat, pushing your head back for further access, “i like you more than any travel i have been on, any adventure i have sought, and more than any squabble we might face.”

looking up at him under a thick set of eyelashes, you quirked a crooked smile, “really?”

“oh, yes,” he divulged, “i like you more than anyone else—even myself,” he began to taunt you, “and i happen to like myself quite a bit.”

“fine,” you relented with a light sigh, “let me show you just how much i like you and i’ll be your queen.”

a smirk stretched across his face but before he could dip his head to yours, you grabbed his hands away from your neck.

“i like you,” you began with a breath, leaning forward to kiss each of his fingertips, “one, two, three,” you continued as he watched you delicately, “eight, nine, ten.”

blinking rapidly, his gaze softened, “don’t be my queen,” nikolai mouthed, a single breath away from your lips, “continue to be my best friend, the woman i look for in every room, the reason time moves way too fast.”

“thank you for sharing your hope with me,” you spoke and drew your lips in a straight line, “thank you for letting me be in love with you.”

“i never let you do anything,” he began to sway, “could only hope you would keep coming back.”

“i’m in love with you,” you insisted, “and i happen to like that very much.”

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 2

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language and Angst!

Author's Note: It's amazing how much one can write when they've got a story to tell, eh? Enjoy! -Thorne

Set Three Years After PT. 1:

Life for her revolved around work in the A.M. and community college in the P.M. If she wasn’t brewing cappuccinos and baking apple turnovers, she was writing research papers and taking physics exams. It was hectic and it was hard, much harder than anything she’d done, but it was her life, and she was going to make the best of it. The money she’d taken from her savings account had only lasted her long enough to get a decent one bedroom one bathroom apartment in a small complex and the rest went towards tuition. The coffee shop two blocks from her building had fortunately been looking for a new hire when she arrived, and she took the chance where it was, not going to look the gift horse in its mouth.

The life she lived now was a complete 180 from her old one. Back then, she didn’t have to work (though she did at a high-end department store in the mall—her father got her the job but at least she had one) and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t get with a swipe of a credit card. Now she was on a budget that consisted of five and ten tips and the last time she actually bought a new pair of shoes over a hundred dollars had been last year when she needed them for an interview, and even then, it cost her a limb.

Everything was so different, but she didn’t want to go back, preferring to be on her own and away from Gotham. From the newspapers and media, her family had convinced the world that she’d taken a few years to go overseas and spend time in Europe. A mental reprieve, they’d called it. Partially true if she was honest, but she wasn’t going to open her mouth about it lest they learned where she was. She didn’t go through all that trouble to be found within three years.

“Melisandre.”

Maybe I should move again?

“Melisandre?”

Moving would take a long time but it would be effective.

“Melisandre!”

Someone grabbed her arm over the counter, and she jerked with a start, eyes widening as she finally realized someone was standing in front of her.

“Barry?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Finally,” he snorted. “I’ve been calling your name for like ten minutes now.”

She felt a flush creep along her cheeks, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. Usual?” she murmured, marking a disposable coffee cup with a marker.

Barry nodded with understanding and handed her a credit card. “I hear you. How’s studying going for that physics exam?” His blue eyes darted to the science book she had sprawled over the counter.

“It’s going,” she muttered and turned, starting to mix together his latte. “I still can’t get the thermodynamic laws down. They’re a bit confusing.”

“Yeah, it’ll take a while. You know if you need my help, all you gotta do is ask, right?”

Shrugging, she glanced at him as she poured. “You’re a busy man, Barry. I can’t have you trying to help me while trying to solve cases too.”

Barry chuckled and accepted the freshly poured latte. “I’m an excellent multitasker, Melisandre. Besides, you don’t have to worry about it messing with my work.” She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. “Seriously, shoot me an email about whatever questions you’ve got, and I’ll take a look at ‘em, okay?”

Her eyes narrowed warily, and she inquired, “You’re sure it won’t interfere? I’d hate for you to get in trouble for working on non-work-related things.”

“I promise, Melisandre,” he smiled and accepted a bag of apple turnovers too. He couldn’t help but pull one out and bite into it, letting out a delighted noise. “God, what do you put in these things? They’re phenomenal.”

She giggled and winked as he handed her a twenty. “A baker never reveals her secret, but if you really want to know, I use a little vanilla extract.”

Barry shook his head with a chuckle and started making his way to the door. “See you later, Melisandre!”

Waving at him, she called, “Bye Barry! Take care!”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped and spun around, suddenly asking, “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Blinking, she glanced at the physics book then back to him. “Well, I was going to be studying for the exam…why?”

“My nephew is in town and I wanted to introduce him to you. I’ve already mentioned you a bunch of times and he wants to meet you.”

Her face pinched. “Barry Allen, what did you tell that poor boy?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “That there’s a lonely college student who has no friends but has the greatest baking abilities in the world.”

“I cannot believe you told him I had no friends! Why!”

“You don’t.”

“Well, yeah! But still! You don’t just tell someone that! It makes me seem like there’s something wrong with me!”

Barry waved a hand. “Relax. Wally’s the least jerky person you’ll meet.” He smiled. “You’ll like him.”

She frowned. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, Barry.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s here to see you and your wife, not come meet the person who feeds your apple turnover addiction.”

The blonde’s cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson and he spluttered, “It is not an addiction!” he spun around and marched through the door. “I’ll send him over tomorrow! Bye!”

And he left before she could even say a word.

***

It had to be hieroglyphics. It was either that or some ancient cuneiform he’d recently taken up interest in, because there was no way whatever he’d written on the paper was English.

She cocked her head to the side, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Barry, did you write this on a caffeine bender? Your writing is like chicken scratch.” She tipped her head to the other side trying to decipher it when someone leaned over her shoulder.

“Which problem do you need help on?” they asked, and she pointed to the sheet.

“I have no idea what that says.” She turned and saw a red-haired stranger. “If you think you can, be my guest.”

He took it and read over it a moment, green eyes scanning over the page then he said, “Let’s see, he wrote first, ‘The third law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a system at absolute zero is a well-defined constant. This is because a system at zero temperature exists in its ground state, so that its entropy is determined only by the degeneracy of the ground state.’”

Pausing, he scanned it again and added, “Then he marked a note beside it and wrote, ‘In simplistic terms, if an object reaches the absolute zero temp. of (0 K = -273.15C = -459.67°F), its atoms will stop moving. In other words, at absolute zero, the entropy of a perfectly crystalline substance is zero.’”

Glancing at her, he smiled. “Make sense now?”

She huffed and nodded, taking the sheet back. “Yeah, thanks. I don’t even know how you managed to get all that from his writing.”

He nodded. “Yeah, Barry’s handwriting is deplorable.”

Her eyes went wide, and she immediately questioned, “How did you?”

Sticking a hand out, he greeted, “Wally West. I’m Barry’s nephew.”

Shaking his hand, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe he actually told you to come up here and meet me.” A smile came across her lips. “I’m Melisandre Hale.”

“That’s a pretty name, Melisandre.”

“Thank you,” she grinned and waved him to one of the bar-stools on the adjacent side of the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll get you something to eat and drink.” As she slid behind the counter, she inquired, “Anything specific?”

Wally stared at the bored, offhandedly mentioning, “Barry said something about apple turnovers that could make you cry with joy, so I’ve gotta have one of those.” His evergreen eyes met hers. “Maybe two if I’m being honest.”

She grunted, but a grin crossed her lips, nevertheless. “Barry exaggerates a lot, Wally. They’re good, but they’re not mind-blowingly good.”

“Then I guess that leaves me to be the judge,” he countered with a smirk. “What should I drink?”

She thought for a moment then offered, “Have any judgments about drinking before five o’clock?”

He let out a startled laugh and shook his head. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

With a grin, she turned and started working her magic and a moment later, she was sliding a plate with two iced apple turnovers over along with a clear steaming mug of dark coffee with cream on top. She leaned her hip on the counter and watched him pick up one of the apple turnovers and take a bite.

Immediately his eyes went wide, and he exclaimed, “Holy shit.” He gaped at her. “This is delicious, Melisandre!”

Despite herself, her cheeks warmed, and she gave him an easy smile. “Thanks, Wally.” She nodded to the crystal mug. “Try the Irish coffee.”

He did so and tossed his head back, letting out an exaggerated groan that had her laughing until her stomach hurt. Wally was on his second turnover and he looked at her.

“You’ve gotta open up a bakery or something, Melisandre. Your pastries are awesome.”

She huffed and took the plate from him as he finished the last bite. “Let me get through college first and then I’ll wonder how to rack up enough to open a shop.”

“What are you studying?”

Pausing, she tossed a quick glance at him. “There’s no specification right now. I’m just doing general studies to get all the basics out of the way.” She put the dish in the sink and started rinsing it. “I’m at the four-C right now.” His brows pulled together, and she added, “Central City Community College.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right! It’s been a while since I went to the four-C.”

Her eyes found his and she curiously asked, “Did you go there?”

“Yeah, a few years back.”

“You don’t look that much older than I am. How old are you, Wally?”

He sipped his coffee and set it down as he replied, “I turned twenty-eight a month ago.”

“Happy belated birthday,” she smiled, and he gave her one in return.

“Thanks. How about you?”

“I turned twenty-one a few months ago.”

“Hmm, happy belated birthday to you as well.” He grinned, quipping, “How’s it feel to finally be able to legally do all the things you were doing before you turned twenty-one?”

She shot him a look. “Shame on you, Wally West, for assuming I was doing illegal things.” He chuckled and she shrugged. “But to answer your question, it feels great, so thanks.”

Wally snorted at that. “My best friend and I got absolutely hammered on our twenty-firsts and swore to never drink hard liquor again after we woke up in the bathroom in our underwear after passing out on the floor.”

A shudder passed over her at her own memory of waking up beside the toilet after her birthday celebration with a bottle of white rum. She cocked a hand up with her water bottle in it. “Here, here,” she toasted and took a sip as Wally raised his coffee and drank too.

She glanced at him. “Are you in school, or are you done?”

“I finished a while ago. I work out of a tower with a group of friends in Manhattan.”

For a moment, her eyes drifted to the simple pair of jeans and graphic shirt he was wearing. She lived in the upper area of Gotham and she knew what uptown Manhattan was like, and it wasn’t jeans and t-shirts.

Evidently, he did too because he scowled, “I have suits and ties, thank you very much.”

She snorted and took the empty mug from him. “I didn’t say anything, Wally.”

“You made a face.”

“Is a face a ground to be hostile?” she grinned. “I was just wondering what type of business in Manhattan ran on flash t-shirts and skinny jeans.” She eyed him. “Tech?”

He shrugged. “It’s…a bit of everything if I’m being honest.” It sounded like he didn’t exactly want to say, and she let it be, rinsing out his cup before setting it to dry.

A buzz sounded and she felt for her phone when he said, “That’s mine.” Wally pulled his phone out, read the message, and stood up. “I’ve gotta go, Melisandre.”

She nodded and took the twenty-dollar bill he handed her, waving her off when she tried to hand back the change. As he started towards the door, she called, “Wally?”

He turned on his heel and waited and she felt foolish for saying it, but she admitted with warmth in her cheeks, “It’s been a while since I had any semblance of a friend…so thanks for this afternoon.”

Wally gave her a pearly white grin. “Barry said you’d say something like that,” he chuckled as she scowled and he added sincerely, “Can never have too many friends, Melisandre…and I hope you’ll become a great one of mine. So far, you already are.”

She smiled, “Same here, Wally.” The bell signaled his exit and she let out a heavy sigh as her heart warmed in her chest at the feeling of a newfound friendship.

***

She was dead on her feet when she finally got through her front door and into her living room, practically collapsing onto the couch. Though it wasn’t far from the truth as she flopped down and toed off her shoes, heaving a long and winded sigh as she stared at the dark ceiling. She wanted to turn on the lamp on the table beside her, but she didn’t want to move. Hell, she barely wanted to get up and take a shower, so she didn’t go to bed sweaty.

Just a moment. She thought. Just a moment to close my eyes and I’ll get up and go shower.

Of course, the second the shut them, she was opening them to her phone telling her it was two A.M. She groaned and picked herself off the couch to shuffle into her bedroom, and when she got there, she peeled off the clothes from her body and let them fall, not caring about the hamper just a foot away. She’d do it tomorrow after class.

The shower was quick, and she crawled into bed a few minutes later, glancing out the window at the stars that were still in the night sky. Even if she tried to avoid thinking about it, she couldn’t, and her mind drifted to when she was a young girl and would stare out the window in her bedroom back in Gotham, watching the spotlight come alive and paint the silhouette of the bat symbol against the night sky.

She missed them. She missed them a lot. Missed eating meals at a full table and the laughter in the manor. Hell, she even missed being ignored, because at least then she could see familiar faces every day. Now, it was wake up, go to work, go to class, then come home. And the process repeated every morning. She was alone in a city where she didn’t know anyone except for one forensic scientist and his wife, going to a college that didn’t even have her real identity. She’d not even said the name “(Y/N) Wayne” out loud for fear that someone with super hearing would hear her and tell her father, instead going by “Melisandre Hale”, a twenty-one-year-old born and raised Central City citizen going to community college. It pained her to admit, that with her decision to grant herself the freedom she desired, it came with a heavy price, and that was the loneliness. And it was worse compared to what it was like back then.

Sighing, she rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head, hoping that when she shut her eyes, she’d stop thinking about what she left behind. Unfortunately, the universe and her mind were never kind, and as she drifted to sleep, she saw the pained faces of her family.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 1

... I have no self-control do not perceive me

Marinette stared at the pile of bright red, yellow, and green clothes on the ground. It was all she’d done in the five-ish minutes since she’d portaled onto the scene. Just… stared.

It wasn’t like there was much else to do, anyways. Red Robin was currently beating the absolute fuck out of the person that had the audacity to disintegrate his brother right in front of him. It wasn’t like she could even fix it because the witch had been out cold before she had been able to pull Red Robin off to get a hit in so she could use her lucky charm.

So, she stared.

It was weird. She could almost feel a person inside the clothes but… maybe that was the residue or the ashes or whatever gets left behind when you zap a person out of existence? She didn’t really want to check, to be honest. Gross.

Eventually, though, she hesitantly leaned down and brushed her hand over it, trying to find the energy and get rid of it because it was really uncomfortable --.

… oh hell no that pile of clothes did not just fucking giggle at her.

She narrowed her eyes and carefully lifted up the bottom of the shirt, only to yelp and fall back. She scrabbled on the gross Gotham alley ground until her back hit Red Robin’s arm and he was forced to pause or risk hitting a meta (which would not have been good for his health).

“What?” He hissed.

She swallowed thickly. “That’s a child.”

“... what?” Red asked, all the anger bleeding from his tone in his confusion.

“We let Batman’s kid turn into a baby,” she whispered… then, it sunk in more. “We let Batman’s kid turn into a baby.”

He straightened on top of the thing that was really more bloody pulp than person at this point. “What do you mean ‘we let Batman’s kid turn into a baby’?”

But she didn’t really get a chance to answer because the baby chose that exact moment to be sick of being suffocated under all the armor and pushed it off.

Red Robin gulped. Because, yep, that was Robin as a baby. Batman was going to kill them.

Except he wasn’t going to kill them. Because Batman doesn't kill. No, Batman would find something even worse and that would suck.

The baby -- Robin? Should she still call him that mentally? -- giggled at their pain. Like an asshole.

They were so fucked.

~

He’d let B’s favorite kid get turned into a baby. Was there a way to get unadopted? Because if there was it was totally going to happen. Or maybe his dad would just cut him off because he was 19 now and could just get kicked out.

No. Nope! Not going to happen. No. He could fix this.

“Okay. Okay okay okay. We need a plan,” he heard himself saying.

Ladybug scoffed. “We? I was barely even here, this is on you.”

“Leave me alone to deal with this and I swear to god I will tell B that you did it.”

She paled. “You wouldn’t. No way.”

“Yes way. So, help me think of something.”

The baby giggled and started crawling over and both of them averted their eyes because, unfortunately, the child did not get baby clothes to go with his random transformation. Baby Damian didn't seem to care as he reached them and started climbing on Ladybug since she was closest. At least it wasn’t him. He did not want to see his adoptive brother’s… ew.

Ladybug made a gagging sound and then quickly summoned a lucky charm. She kept her face turned away as much as her neck would physically allow as she fumbled her way through swaddling the child in a polka-dotted blanket.

And then her shoulders slumped a little. “Great. Great. This is… great,” she muttered, picking up the bundle o’ baby.

He let himself look down now that it was safe.

“Alright, we need to go to another dimension where time moves faster,” Ladybug said after a few seconds. “And then we wait for him to age… fifteen-ish years. Best way to not make Batman notice.”

“... what about us? We also age.”

“Huh…? Oh. Right. You’re human.” She pulled off the glasses she was wearing and blinked a few times before handing it over. “Congrats on your upgrade. The tiny horse god is named Kaalki. She likes cake.”

“The tiny --?” He let out the world’s manliest screech as his eyes landed on the floating bug horse hybrid thing holy shit no no no no no the sci fi movies didn’t prepare him for this shit.

Kaalki looked a little offended but then her eyes landed on the baby and she gasped. “Aw, baby humans are always so cute.”

“Great, Kaalki, you take it,” said Ladybug.

Kaalki did try, to her credit. It just so happened that the approximately one-year-old baby was a lot bigger than the… whatever she was. Tim was refusing to believe that this was a god. Too many implications. He already had something to have a breakdown over, he didn’t need another thing right now, thank you very much.

Tim rested his head in his hands but he had more things to worry about than the blood that he was accidentally streaking through his hair.

“Okay. Okay. We can go to another dimension and try and raise him. Maybe we can make it have a ratio of one month here for every year there so any differences could be blamed on that.”

“Ya!” Said baby Damian. He probably didn’t actually know what was going on but he sure seemed excited so that was cool.

Ladybug sighed and nodded. “Great. You get food and money and clothes and I’ll take this lady to the cops… and I guess I’ll watch the kid until you get back because your dad cannot know.”

They shook on it.

~

This may be the dumbest idea that she’d ever had, and that was saying something. She didn’t know if she could trust Red Robin on this one, they hardly ever worked together. What if he just left her alone with this kid and let her try and figure this out on her own?

No. He wouldn’t do that. He was the last person known to be with Robin. Robin going missing would be bad for him, too. And, besides, she was pretty sure that he was a duty-driven person based on what she’d heard, she just had to hope that he saw this as his duty, too.

She turned the baby in her arms to get more comfortable as she waited for him to (hopefully) come back.

Part of her wanted to try and find someone from this world to reverse this but she didn’t know any outside of her, Adrien, Alix, and (now) Red Robin. Not on a personal level. Not enough that she knew for sure that they wouldn’t blab to Batman about it.

So, no, this is what she was doing.

But she had things to do. So, she pulled out her yoyo-phone-hybrid-thingy and wedged it against her ear.

“Chaton,” she said the moment he picked up. “You’re alone, right?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Great. I, Ladybug, relinquish the Miracle Box and name Chat Noir the new guardian.”

“WHAT --?!” He didn’t get to finish as a box dropped on his lap and knocked the wind out of him.

“Just for, like, a year and a half. Sorry. Bye!”

“DON’T JUST ‘BYE’ ME WHAT THE --?!”

She hung up and closed the yoyo, hooking it back to her belt and ignoring it when it started buzzing again.

She looked down at Robin, who was squinting up at her. She returned the squint. Why was this baby so quiet? She didn’t get it. Surely, he should have been crying at this point.

“Do you still… remember things?” She asked, hoping against all hope that maybe he had retained his memories at the very least.

Robin smiled at her, but it was the blank-eyed baby smile that meant he wasn’t really understanding her. She bit down a curse.

Great. So, she’d not only gotten a baby but she’d gotten a fucking weird one. Great.

~

Tim left a note for his family saying that he, Damian, and Ladybug were bored and were going dimension hopping. His family would probably be suspicious but, hey, at least it wouldn’t be his problem for a good fifteen years on his end.

And, yeah, he knew this was probably one of his dumber plans but… it wasn’t the dumbest. And he was always one to commit when it came down to it. One time he had faked being shot and dealt with crutches for an entire year just to convince Vicki Vale that he wasn’t Red Robin. He had no fears that he couldn’t see this through.

Ladybug, though? A total mystery. She did nearly everything on a whim as far as he knew. She hopped from city to city fighting crime for absolutely no reason outside of boredom and made up all of her plans on the fly. No, he was a bit concerned about her ability to keep doing it.

So, he went as quickly as he possibly could. There was no rhyme or reason to what he was grabbing. He was just… putting stuff in there. There was money and three watches to help them move between dimensions, yes, but there was also a fanta orange and a copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and exactly seven pairs of socks.

… yeah, he had the necessities. Probably.

He nearly got out the door before he realized he was still in his crime-fighting gear and he quickly shucked it all off and tossed it into the tub so the blood wouldn’t track any more than it already had. He did not need to avoid Batman’s wrath only to end up on the receiving end of Alfred’s.

He pulled on the first hoodie and jeans he could grab and looked around to make sure he hadn’t left anything of importance.

Okay. Now he was ready to go.

~

Marinette was awkwardly bouncing the baby when Red Robin finally showed up.

… not that she would have recognized him if she hadn’t felt Kaalki hovering in his pocket. In her eyes, he was just a random white guy wearing shades in the middle of the night.

She glanced up at him and gave him an awkward smile.

“Ready?”

He smiled back and held out two watches. Neither fit baby Robin so she prepared herself to choke out a literal baby holy fuck what even was her life.

“Which dimension should we go to?”

“Preferably one without miraculi,” Marinette said. “I don’t want to know what happens if there’s two of the same god in a dimension.”

He nodded slowly. “Probably best if Batman doesn’t exist, either, he’d probably notice my existence.”

“... so… no heroes at all?”

“Looks like we’re going cold turkey,” Red Robin said in a tone that was probably supposed to be joking but just came out flat.

She pushed herself to her feet and waited as he scrolled through the millions of dimensions.

Finally, he came upon one and she added the coordinates to her and Robin’s watches.

She readied Robin’s watch against his neck and tried to ignore the kid’s sudden squirminess.

“3… 2… 1…”

They were gone in a whirl of blue light.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses

[kookingtae]

falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

[morganaspendragonss]

I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

*

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

*

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

*

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

*

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

*

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

*

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

[jiminrings]

Okay I just wanna say that I really love your writing!!! Hope you and chimmy are doing well! Can I request a drabble with merman tae and y/n's a human and they're childhood besties and tae likes her but she's a dumb little bean. I just realised how many 'ands' are in that sentence. If you don't like it then...ahem know that I still love you!!! 💖💖💖

pearl of mine

pairing: taehyung x y/n

wordcount: 5k

glimpse: merman!tae is the reason why tourists can’t find any more shells and pearls in the shore, y/n owns more beach houses than deduction skills, and concierge!yoongi’s the hero :D // gif from pinterest

notes: are u kidding me baby i love it AND you!!!! chimmy barks his regards <3

“hmm? where’s barnacle boy?”

alright there goes your peace and quiet

it’s very nice to know that where yoongi is, translates to meaning that all your peaceful thoughts automatically aren’t there

if he’s not manning the concierge, it means he’s there keeping you company!!

annoying you

your ten minutes of bliss of just having your calves dipped into the water is interrupted now but it’s ok!!

after all, yoongi’s ur right-hand man anyways!! he’s the one who keeps track of everything and you’re so close to convicing your dad to put him in the family will too

you can’t manage your family business all by yourself!! how exactly are you gonna manage fIVE of the hotels that your parents have put under your care by yourself

five of the seventeen hotels that your family owns..,.,.,

（；＿；）

your dad gives you tOO much trust and he believes in you like actually a lot

a lot more than you could ever trust yourself tbh

he doesn’t want you to take charge only when he retires or dies!! you’re his little dove and he wants you to be as immersed in your family’s group of companies

it’s generous but of course it’s hectic

which is why you’re spearheading the handling of the actual main hotel he’s put under you!!

and the rest of the less major ones, you’ve had to go through a long and tedious process for so you could find an actual trustable manager and supervisor that wouldn’t commit embezzlement and-

yoongi’s about to scare you again by nudging your lower back with his foot, but you’re ahead of him when you nip his ankle with your nails

“... it’s mermaid man.”

he scoffs out a laugh because what was supposed to be a teasing nudge for your friend that’s clearly nOT human, turned to your joke instead of his

he doesn’t need to look at his watch to know what time it was by then bc he’s practically memorized the skies and the tide at this point

every 5:20 in the afternoon, you and taehyung would meet here!!

you come outside at exactly 4:50 to give yourself some leeway into preparing whatever you’d be giving him or rather, pestering yoongi what you think you should give him for that afternoon

it doesn’t necessarily have to be grand! on most days you just make him waffles without the crusty edges (he likes it the most when it’s so hot that it was still soft and jiggly) and the filling would be whatever food he hasn’t tried yet

.... basically.......... almost everything

but now it’s 5:23 and he could tell with how the water didn’t settle to the wooden platform as well as it did when it was 5:20

yoongi could actually TELL the difference because he’s seen you do this for the four years he’s been working here

the hotel had three wings — the shore wing, the balcony-sturdy-treehouse-type of wing, and the cabana wing

you bounce all around the place because naturally, you aRE the boss here, but afternoons really were just reserved for the cabana wing

where there’s a staff cabana by one of the wooden paths that lead to it, and one specifically reserved for you and probably yoongi now lmao bc he wouldn’t take a nap anywhere else

it’s you just sitting by the deck of your cabana that houses your too-expensive waffle maker, and a cozy blanket then deck pillows outside where you lay when taehyung’s there perched by the wood

you easily have three plates always, and yoongi just goes a lil bit soft that you let him intrude your routine with the merman

but today, all that highLy seems unlikely

“he’s totally not coming,” he exaggerates all in one breath, not having the decency to wait bc he’s stuffing his cheeks full with waffles

everything’s a hit or miss with mermaid man anyways and yoongi would rather nOT try his adventures of waffles with buttered rice in between no thank u

so that’s why he’s sticking with his trusty s’mores waffle!!! :D

put chocolate spread in between while it’s STILL in the pan, then tiny little marshmallows with crushed graham crackers and 10/10 u will see heaven

he gets crumbs on your sundress and you barely even grimace because you’re used to yoongi and all his yoongi-ness at this point

“yes he is! we’ve been doing this everyday without fail for like, twelve years already.”

you know what.,.,., maybe even longer than twelve years

this one’s marked on your calendar you can just SNIFF it

what you distinctly remember is your dad picking you up from school then suddenly deciding that he’ll teach you the ropes

you knew what everything was coming to because suddenly, you’d take your daily after-school snacks at the hotel

and then your weekends were slowly merging into memorizing names and amenities

... and then sitting by your dad’s chair with a juicebox when he had meetings

then before you even realize, you’re managing five hotels under your name and a particularly large one mainly

it was when you’ve had a suckish day at school because you cannot seem to just gET the multiplication table of 7 and your dad’s chasing after you again so you could get to see the fire escape plans as “fun little puzzles!!”

ya know what maybe you should go outside

it didn’t exactly click into your young mind that holy shit your family’s LOADED

all you knew was that people greeted you left and right even if you didn’t know them and you’d always be offered stuff you didn’t even ask for :D

all you cared about was skipping by the cabanas but holding by the rope on the side bc what if you fell lmao

yet what did fall to the water beside you was your bracelet!!!

:((

a red, single-threaded, string bracelet from your wrist that must’ve gotten loose

it’s something you’ve never took off and the sheer panic in your mind was tOO HIGH

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

even before you could call out to your dad though, or any of the staff that would literally drop everything to help you, something just shifts in the water

it’s too quick for you to even decipher and the multiplication table of 7 would’ve been easier to figure out

the moment you crouch by the end of the deck was when you see it aGAIN

there’s this incredibly pretty boy that emerges from the water, only his shoulders up to his head peeking out

he most certainly didn’t look... from around here tho

your attention’s immediately fixated on your bracelet, the one on his mouth as he only tilts his head when you do the same, an eager squeal breaking him out

hold on

wait a second

you’ve seen this in the tv sometimes!!! they were uh creatures that liked being by themselves in the sea

lol which is basically every sea creature

but the narrator said something about them looking like humans???

AND BESIDES

you overhear your dad talking about them sometimes

AND THEN IT HITS

THE HANDSOME FACE!! THE SHINY PRETTY-

up and age???

opened etch????

how do u spell that again

THE TAIL!!! THE PRETTY TAIL LOOKING LIKE THING!!!

“o-oh!! you’re-...”

“t-taehyung...?”

the boy who looks like your age replies, looking unsure of himself yet didn’t want to disappoint you either

you meant merman but it’s okay!!

your hands retrieve the bracelet from his mouth, a little giggle at the complexity of the situation

he was completely sold at that

this was his first human!!! his first actual human interaction and it wasn’t really bad as what his brothers painted out to be

you and taehyung took off from then and ya know what,,, maybe you even start purposefully dropping things in the water if you feel a little impatient that he hasn’t peeked his head yet

and yes yes that’s a completely iRRESPONSIBLE thing and your dad stopped you before you could possibly throw out a whole backpack into the water

which was weird for him to look at because there’s absolutely no one he could see in the water

it was a routine that not one of you ever skipped on once!!

even if you were sick and tae thinks that it’s the most pathetic thing because he doesn’t EVER get sick??? sue him for having a cold because he’s in the water 24/7 yea

even if one was late and wouldn’t be able to see the other, there would be an item placed by the deck as proof that they were indeed there!!

tae sometimes leaves a random conch shell or even seaweed in the shape of a heart when he’s swamped with his arrangements

even if there’s a storm, which taehyung absolutely loves because the water’s all cold!!! and it gives him a fun little ride when the waves are all wonky

you leave out a lunchbox that’s snug in a fixed mailbox (you forced yoongi to attach it) by the side of the deck poles and that would count as your attendance

“yes he is! we’ve been doing this everyday without fail for like, twelve years already.”

you are totally UNBELIEVABLE

yoongi snorts, almost choking on his waffles with how hard he did it

“and you’re twelve years dumb.”

ok now you take offense

huh???

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you can’t be any more clueless, can you??

as if on cue, there’s the familar flop and splash that you nudge yoongi to be in his best behavior

taehyung makes his afternoon appearance by outlandishly doing his trick in the air, undoubtedly giving you a splash you’re used to by now

he literally does not care at the thought of anyone possible seeing him

besides, they physically can’t anyway because there’s a spell cast onto the area, allowing nobody to see them besides you

... and yoongi ://

he’s rather grand with his gestures and his words and even before taehyung knew the common lingo on ground, you could tell he was a little more stubborn with his strong expressions

after all, taehyung’s a prince at sea but at land.,.,.,.

<3 well <3

“i’m here!”

taehyung bEAMS radiantly, making you crouch and hold out your hands, him putting his face out immediately for you to squish

“oh, oh! i got you something, y/n!”

he seems to remember out of the blue in the middle of chewing his waffles, yoongi having to suppress another sigh

the prettiest pearl necklace :-)

“tae i already told you that-...”

you’re about to start berating him again with the gifts because what seemed to be so ordinary for him is very fAR from yours

you pout and tae only pushes the necklce to you further, not taking no for answer when he had to squint his eyes extra hard to look for the pearls this morning

to be honest you have sO much jewelry from taehyung

the common theme of it was of course they’re something you could get at sEA

and whenever people ask you about them, u have no idea how to tell where you got them

today’s pearl necklace was a little different ��� something more dainty and smaller and wraps around your neck like a choker would, a little more suited for everyday wear

“thank you!!!”

you smooch taehyung on the cheek extra quick and it takes every fiber in his tail to stop squealing

yoongi watches you two be disgustingly sweet and PLATONIC yet again, and he could only zero in on the pearl necklace around your neck

that is the fifth time this week

that is the fifth set of pearls you’ve gotten this week

normally you’d get a pearl every now and then and the often minuature sand sculptures

but this week changes the wHOLE ball game

“do you want a pearl ring?”

taehyung wiggles his eyebrows, boxy smile on full display and he looks breathtaking in the golden hours that you immediately poke his cheek

yoongi’s eyes widen because that’s literally-

you don’t seem to find the weight on his question because you only let out a non-commital sound and whisk him away on another conversation about his day

he’s long since dropped out of yours and taehyung’s conversation, going back to the concierge because his presence is required

and he still can’t shake off how CLUELESS you are

it’s when the night gets a little more chilly and you could see taehyung go beneath the water more often, taking it as a sign that he’s going back and his brothers are looking for him

“night-night, tae.”

you offer the top of his head a kiss, rushing back to the cabana to put on your coat and right on time, you miss the way taehyung’s eyes are bigger than a goldfish’s

(@_@)

oh my god

oh my fucking god

taehyung really hATES you

he hates you so much!!!!

SO SO MUCH

he resigns back into the water and he doesn’t even move at all

just defeatedly sits on the seabed and his aura effectively puts off everything around him

his heart’s beyond heavy and his eyes sting and he never wants to resurface ever again

he’s trying not to get upset too much because his emotions have the capacity of changing the tide and it would literally resonate through the seas if he gets even more sad

taehyung’s trying to rEPRESS everything back in but it’s no use :((

“hey, hey, calm down. what’s wrong?”

his brother immediately swims to his side at the first slight tremor he felt, having only little trouble in locating him

“i-i asked y/n if she wanted a pearl-...” tae stutters and he has to physically hold his chest to not sOB at your name, an insurmountable feeling of dread at his chest 

yeah, you! namjoon knows you

in fact all his brothers know you and you’ve met each other multiple times, but not as often as you and tae did

they don’t need to see you everyday to know that taehyung is head over tails in LOVE with you

the mention of you and their brother’s gifts in the same sentence isn’t anything new

“okay? but you give her pearls all the time? and-”

“... ring.”

oh

OH

pearl ring

“yeah? and what did she say?”

joon himself tries to quell the distress he feels because taehyung’s emotions are morE than potent to affect to everyone, most especially his brothers

he sees the others swimming to them from afar, worried frowns already on their faces and namjoon doesn’t want to panic even more

“nothing!! she said nOTHING!!!!”

jungkook tilts his head, cheeks puffed out as he tries to diffuse the situation

“but tae, it could mean-...”

“nothing. y/n absolutely wants nothing to do with me!”

taehyung half-huffs and half-sobs, immediately swimming past them that leaves them confused and with a headache

this was definitely going to be a problem

it already is

today has got to be the slowest day ever

the water is so still and timid

oh my god it literally just looks like tap water in a bathtub that’s untouched

you’ve noticed in the first thing in the morning

was it nORMAL to have the water so still???? practically no waves at all??? not even ripples????

you must be losing your mind right

you dragged yoongi from the concierge desk all the way outside

he squints his eyes because the water.... is definitely not supposed to be this way....

“huh. now that’s just odd.”

some of your patrons don’t seem to mind at all because that just means they could go take their pictures without waves putting their phones at risk

but nO

most especially the swimmers n the surfers and even the lifeguard are all ????

everyone’s collectively looking at the water

yoongi takes a twig and just pokes at it to go do ATLEAST something, but even the ripples it produces are mundane

the water is too still and it makes you miss the one who makes it all better

you spend the better part of your whole day in your sundress and hanging around the cabana, yoongi scrunching his nose up at the fact that he seemed to be more active than the actual hotelier here today

“taehyung doesn’t go up for another seven hours, y’know?”

he finds you sitting by the edge of the deck, feet vigorously splashing around the water without any resistance at all that it feels so unnerving

“yea i know that... just wanted to hang out with him.”

you murmur out the last part, making yoongs do a double-take at his boss who was never this soft-spoken

“and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since childhood? sit by the edge then hang out?”

he wants to push a couple of buttons to get you out of your phase of the day today, but he only gets some insistent nodding and nothing more

“that’s so mundane. that’s literally a decade-long routine!!”

“it’s a routine i don’t mind!!”

and that’s true

it’s a routine you want to do with the rest of your life because it now feels like the equivalent of showering basically

you feel so incomplete without it and satisfaction doesn’t settle on your bones until you do it with taehyung :D

“surely, there must be sOME reason for taehyung to not get bored from doing the same thing with you, right?”

alright one more nudge

you’re considerably more perky now that’s for sure

but that doesn’t mean any less clueless unfortunately

“must be the food!!”

oh my god,,,,,, u are so dumb

he leaves you alone and you don’t even question it because you’re too busy waiting for taehyung

you expect the tide to change when it’s already noon but really, nothing happens still

5:20 passes and he still isn’t there

it’s time for dinner and yoongi has to fetch you aLL the way from the other side of the wings he needed to supervised because you’re spending all your time waiting

you were supposed to have dinner with staff tonight but you don’t even think twice in telling him to go eat without you, giving the company card more than eagerly

“don’t you think it’s time to go home?”

yoongi pipes up when they’ve finished dinner and you’re still there

he feels so sorry for you :((

“w-what if he shows up last minute?”

there’s still hope in your voice and he doesn’t want to taint it as much as people

“hey. they need sleep too. you should go get some for yourself too, okay? now just leave a cookie or something,” he has to pry you off the deck himself, not wanting to feel any more sorry for you because you’re starting to tremble with how chilly the air is

taehyung doesn’t resurface the next day

or the next

and the day after that

taehyung doesn’t show up the entire week.

you’re worried OUT of your mind and you’re tempted to just take your dad’s yacht and sail across the water to try and look for him

or oR maybe you should get one of the divers to try and look for him!!!! but no that wouldn’t work, would it??

how about you go and look for tae yourself???

yoongi’s been busy with the hotel bc the actual hotelier of it (read: you) is too busy MOPING

you’ve ditched your sundresses and waited in hoodies and sweatpants you could roll up in the morning and roll down at night to wait for him

most people don’t even recognize you as the owner and they just walk rIGHT past you when they see you in the hallways

you’ve also been stress-making waffles that you reek of the batter and butter, the staff now having an abundance of experimental ones that you’ve made

you’re definitely not okay

“uh y/n you really rEALLY need to go to sleep.,.,”

yoongi gapes at you when he visits you at the cabana, clearing his schedule out to go watch over you and bc your dad won’t sit still with how unkempt you’ve been

he gestures to the hammock you’ve always begged him to put up, but his handiwork’s wASTED because you don’t even spend more than five seconds looking at it

you should be screaming with glee by now :((

how in the world could he possibly distract you from crushing sadness and worry

he’s been brainstorming the past week and his head’s even more hollow than the decorative coconuts in the gift shop

... wait a minute

hey this has got to be his most stupid idea but the one with the most promising results!!!!!

11/10 risky but it’s the cLOSEST he could get!!

“hey do you wanna do something stupid??”

your eyes glance at him immediately because it’s the first question he’s ever asked you besides if you’re okay or when was the last time you slept or when do you intend on picking yourself up

yoongi fishes for his tablet and whips up a video immediately, only taking minutes for him to explain and seconds for you to agree

it’s what made you end up this way

it’s the reason in your swimsuit with your legs all the way inside a duvet cover and the corners of it knotted tightly on your waist

you don’t know how yoongi’s managed to convince you to race him in swimming with your whole lower body inside a king-sized dUVET cover from one of the cabanas whose guests are arriving in an hour, but here you are lmao

“first one to the furthest cabana wins, alright?”

he practically yelps in explaining in an effort to hype you up and a hundred dollars dOES seem to make him excited himself 

you’re buzzing for the first time in the week and it’s the panicked shoves you try to give each other before starting that kicks you off in an eager mood 

“GO!”

you immediately dive in and you don’t expect the heaviness of your makeshift tail behind you, momentarily cussing yourself because wHY on earth did you get the high-quality ones smh ://

oh my god this is so fucking stupid and oddly enough, you’re ENJOYING it

you can’t exactly paddle your legs fluidly like the times when they aren’t wrapped in a duvet, and the distance of the last cabana seems so tiring now that u think about it

yoongi’s already ahead and you don’t get HOW has he managed to come that far???

also not to mention that the gap between the two of you is large and now you’re just struggling to even move

also doesn’t help oNE bit with how good of a handyman yoongi also is because that is one secure knot you got there sir

it’s only dawning in you that you’re NOT well-versed in swimming!!

not even close to an expert!!! all you know are the basics

but the basics seem hard to even apply when you’re dragging a king-sized duvet cover by your legs

you’d expect more skills from someone whose family owns water-centric properties bUT NO <3

you’re flailing almost to the bottom and your eyes sting then your limbs feel heavy

you’re not necessarily drowning either, it just feels so difficult to swim back up

you’re about to try again and boost yourself up by pushing from the floor but then suddenly you’re being HAULED BACK UP

you have no chance to even try and get away because you know that the hand around your waist aren’t yoongi’s

“are you out of your goddamn mind???”

you instinctively take a big gulp of air when you come up the surface, legs fluttering now that you have some type of support to keep you up

“why would you do this?? who did this??”

the deep voice only registers in you seconds later that it’s taehyung who’s in front of you and holding you up, staring you down intensely

your puzzlement only frustrates him even more, going back down while keeping his hands on your waist before he untangles the duvet cover by your legs rather quickly and powerfully

he emerges back up and he’s looking at you with sO much stress that you wanna dive back down

“y-yoo-...”

you don’t even manage to finish speaking before taehyung snaps his gaze away from you and really yELLS

“YOONGI!!!”

as if he didn’t manage to startle you enough, he looks back at you and pats at you all over out of instinct, wanting to know if you’re hurt by any means

you’re more shocked but it’s over the fact that you’re finally seeing him again

this isn’t the first time you’ve swam with taehyung but this IS the first time in this context

you’ve never been this close to him either and you’re out of breath just by looking at him

he doesn’t seem to share the sentiment though because he looks like he’s gonna pull his hair out in both relief and frustration

“oh my god! i fucking thought that my soulmate would die in a — i-in a bedsheet!”

you are so ridiculous that it actually makes his heart clench

he intentionally didn’t come to see you for a week because he was so hurt over your rejection

he did see you from a distance and he also has a particular someone to watch over you, but he never imagined that you’d be doing THIS

his heart just minutes ago was beating against his ribcage because his soulmate was in danger!!! he physically and literally cannot drown but that’s what it felt like

“i’m your soulmate?”

your breathless gasp explains it all

:O

oh so...

oh my god how could you have nOT known this all along???

HOW COULD YOU BE SO OBLIVIOUS

taehyung probably acted this way and most especially that way when he ignored you!!!

you vaguely remember yoongi telling you that pearls PROBABLY mean a lot to taehyung even if the tone he’s used on you is beyond certain

the pearl ring was meant for courting!!!

that explains why yoongi gasped and looked at you inrcredulously!!!!

no he’s been courting you ALL this time

you are so..... insuffeable

“i’m so sorry!!” 

you’ve crammed in twelve years of experience into two minutes of critical thinking, throwing your arms around taehyung and burying your face into his neck

he grunts a bit at that but he’s not complaining at all

“you mUST hate me,” you frown and the need to cry overpowers you, taehyung sensing it again which is why he immediately strokes your nape in comfort

“i could never.”

the waves come back and even if they’re present, the water was calming

you’re too entranced with tae and your realizations to even notice that the water felt so much better compared to when it was dead still

it’s when you hear a familiar set of giggles that you sNAP your head in anger

yOONGI????

yoongi’s much more near you now, floating and floating until you make the move to look down and see not a duvet cover, but rather a tangerine-colored tail by him

all you’ve been doing this day is squeaking

tae, although still a lil bit mad at yoongi because he’s endangered you, smiles at his informant who’s helped make him last through the week

“half-merman!! i’m sorry if i didn’t tell you sooner, y/n. but since tae’s full, that’s the reason he could only come on land once a month! and since i’m half, i could only come underwater once a month!!”

he grins at his explanation he’s been trying to piece together for the last couple of months

ok maybe years

it probably explained to why it’s no accident that he’s clicked with you instantly and he trusts you with his whole life!! you were truly a gentle human that’s an all-rounder

also explains to why yoongi wasn’t all THAT shocked when you brought him out one day on his first year of working and pleaded taehyung to rise up with only even his eyes blinking up at him

no wonder tae warmed up to yoongi quick even if he did say he had distrust with majority of humans!!

how could you not doubt for one second that it’s the reason why he’s always been really good at swimming too and holding his breath

yoongi chose his day of the month to be today because you were so down in the dumps, and aLSO for the reasoning that he missed the boys so that’s why he’s going down there in a heartbeat

taehyung pinches at your thigh, a bright grin on your face when you come face to face with him after waving yoongi goodbye

“are you gonna make me wait another twelve years more?”

he pecks your cheek and it doesn’t feel platonic anymore, a giddy smile in realization that you’ve finally come to your senses

“would you mind?”

://

the teasing lilt in your voice doesn’t seem to go anywhere anytime soon hee-hee

“maybe a little but-“

“no more waiting.”

you kiss taehyung and almost launch yourself at him, savoring the taste of him on your tongue that he has to grip your thighs around his waist a little tighter

yeah ur a little slow but ur spirits are high!! you’re on the right direction!!

you’re definitely worth waiting for

and panicking over

and courting

and loving

:)

[the-last-kenobi]

Ooooh may i ask for 24 for the dialogue ask with hurt Cody (and Obi-Wan as the rescuer/comforter)? I love your writing!!

Of course!! Thank you! <3 Cody deserves so much more attention than he gets.

From this various prompts list.

Requests are currently closed.

-

They had dragged Cody and his contingent of nine others off the battlefield, whoever “they” were.

Obi-Wan had been occupied several klicks away, fending off far greater numbers of droids than they had been anticipating. The last he had heard from Cody was the distinctly suspicious report that Cody and his men were encountering virtually no resistance.

And then their comms went down, and by the time the rest of the 212th had beaten back the Separatist forces, Cody and the others were gone, leaving only the signs of an ambush and shallow grooves in the earth indicating that they had been quite literally dragged away.

“Sir,” Longshot said quietly.

“I need you to stay here and organize the men,” Obi-Wan said. “Make contact with General Skywalker, tell him where I’ve gone.”

“General, please bring at least a few of us,” Waxer said, his voice crackling through the busted vocorder of his helmet.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. Something isn’t right about all this. If I get closer to the situation and there’s need for backup, I promise I will call for you. But for now— no, I will go alone.”

The posture of his men showed that they were distinctly unimpressed with this decision. Longshot, the only one not wearing his helmet, looked at his General with open concern. “Sir, General Skywalker and the 501st can’t be more than an hour out. Can’t you wait for them?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan firmly. “I cannot. Longshot, you have responsibilities to attend to. Waxer, Boil, I’ll keep in radio contact.”

The 212th waited, on edge, while their General went off alone in search of their missing brothers.

Obi-Wan had only been walking for five minutes when he found the first body. It was Nip, one of the men with Cody, barely out of the “shiny” stage. Obi-Wan ran forwards and knelt beside him, but he knew it was too late; the feeling of stillness in the Force and the neat blaster hole through Nip’s chest plate told him that before he touched the pale wrist.

Obi-Wan sighed and radioed it in, instructing a small group to come collect their fallen brother.

Not three minutes after, he found another body.

And then another.

And two more.

The path the abductors had taken was littered with corpses as they deliberately eliminated one clone after another, whittling down their burden.

The youngest and least experienced first.

Whether they were guessing, or had beaten the information out of one of the brothers — as unlikely as that was — or they had inside information was unclear, but even soldiers of the same rank were eliminated by order of age. Youngest to oldest.

Until at last, his body and heart aching, Obi-Wan crested a hill just in time to see a shuttle speeding towards the atmosphere, carrying, he knew, only the unknown enemy and one Marshal Commander.

They had taken Cody and slaughtered the others.

And Obi-Wan felt a surge of anger such as he had not experienced since he saw his Master fall.

When Anakin arrived at the place where The Negotiator was grounded, it was to disarray — a quiet, controlled disarray, because Obi-Wan’s men were not prone to panic and disorder.

Anakin, on the other hand, accidentally shattered a broken down starfighter when Longshot informed him that nine Clones had been murdered, Cody captured, and that General Kenobi had taken a fighter and flown off in pursuit without so much as alerting the Council.

It took Obi-Wan three days to track the shuttle to its destination.

It took him another two to realize that — firstly, these were indeed Separatists, and not merely mercenaries trying to get on the good side of the Confederacy — and secondly, that they had switched ships and continued onwards.

Every discovery he made painted a darker picture for Cody.

He had been specifically targeted.

The other nine had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But what could they want with Cody? The possibilities were disturbing, ranging from being taken for the position he held and the information he possessed to simply being a bargaining chip or a trap to lure in Obi-Wan himself.

Obi-Wan turned aside from his pursuit just long enough to uncover an undercover ally on this backwater planet, leaving behind an informant who could talk to Anakin, who was no doubt chasing him.

“General Kenobi,” the informant whispered hastily. “What will you do if you can’t find the Marshal Commander?”

The Jedi paused in the doorway, his hands raised as he drew his cowl over his head, concealing his face. He stood there for a moment, the wind rustling his cloak.

And then he left without a word.

After the chaos and din of battle in close quarters, filled with blaster fire, shouts, the sound of bodies slamming against walls, and the hum of a lightsaber, there was a silence.

It dragged on for a minute.

Then there was a soft click, and the door beeped and slid open.

Light spilled in for the first time in an eternity, illuminating grimy walls stained with human filth and misery, and falling unflatteringly on the man sitting in the corner.

Cody had cuffs around his ankles and wrists, both of which were chained to the walls. He sat ramrod straight against the dirty walls, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands locked around his legs. His head was tilted back against the wall.

He stared into a dark corner and did not look at Obi-Wan once as the Jedi stepped softly into the room, his lightsaber extinguishing as he did.

Cody remained absolutely still.

Obi-Wan approached cautiously, sinking down to his knees and finishing his approach in a crawl, heedless of the filth. “Cody,” he whispered.

Cody still did not move.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan said again, and he slowly raised his hands and placed them softly, feather-light, over the manacles on Cody’s wrists.

The Commander gave a full-body flinch; his head jolted and there was a sickening thud as his skull slammed against the wall. Obi-Wan gasped and shifted one hand, wedging it between Cody’s head and the wall, cradling it gently. The Clone’s dark eyes roamed about wildly, sliding vacantly in every direction, and Obi-Wan realized with a sinking sensation that Cody could not see him. Could not see anything at all.

“Is someone there?” Cody demanded. His voice was hoarse from disuse — or overuse — and was pitched much too loudly. It echoed grossly off the walls, stiff and defiant and full of barely restrained fear. “Get your hands off me!”

Obi-Wan let go immediately, rocking back on his heels and staring at Cody, desperately waiting for the man’s eyes to focus on him.

“Cody?” he asked weakly.

But the Commander could not hear him either.

“I don’t know what it is you want from me,” the man said, voice wavering, too loud, too angry, too frightened. “I don’t know what you want from me. Tell me. Tell me, please. Please, give me back my hearing, please I want to hear, I need to see —” Cody broke off as his composure began to slip.

“Tell me what you want,” Cody whispered.

It appeared that even after thirty days of imprisonment, even Cody did not know why he had been taken.

Obi-Wan’s face twisted. These missing senses could be permanent, or it could be temporary. It could be drug-induced, or physical damage.

But right here and now, his Commander was blind and deaf and terrified, and Obi-Wan felt the weight of guilt and failure crushing him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his hands again.

This time, he placed them on either side of Cody’s face, feeling new scars and too-prominent bones, and with a whisper of the Force he put all the warmth and gentleness he could summon into that touch.

Cody remained rigid. His expression stayed as professionally blank as it could, but the dark eyes flickered with doubt.

Obi-Wan prayed that this was the right thing to do.

He kept his hands on either side of Cody’s face, and with the Force he unlocked the cuffs and cut loose the chains.

Cody inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Obi-Wan let out a trembling breath and gently tilted Cody’s head forward, away from the wall, and then leaned forward and pressed his own forehead to Cody’s.

For a moment they remained that way, half-shrouded in darkness, one unable to see or hear, both of them trembling slightly, the smell of battle and sweat on the air.

And then Cody took a shuddering breath and collapsed, crumbling forwards, and was caught immediately by his Jedi. “General Kenobi,” Cody gasped, and there was no doubt at all in his voice.

“I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan said, even though he knew the Commander couldn’t hear him. He wrapped his arms around the other man and just held him for a moment, knowing Cody would hate to be carried but was not yet strong enough to walk.

Eventually, he would have to find a way to help Cody walk out of here, have to face whatever realities were behind his condition, deal with the motivations behind his capture. The Marshal Commander would despise this moment of weakness, would hate it if Anakin and the others no doubt on their trail witnessed this.

But for the moment, they could just take time to breathe, and let relief wash over them.

fin.

[hongism]

give and take - k.ys, j.wy, k.hj 18+

pairing; wooyoung x yeosang x hongjoong genre; angst, smut, 18+, the angst isn’t bad i swear it’s temporary wc; 16.8k summary; watching the two people he has feelings for come together in a relationship that holds some of the greatest moments of intimacy. and sure, yes, yeosang acknowledges that it could be something purely physical for them, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the two people he has feelings for are fucking and have been fucking right under his nose for the last several weeks. warnings; explicit smut, fingering, oral sex: m, dirty talk, praise, lil degradation, slight exhibitionism and voyeurism, explicit smut, multiple orgasms, come sharing, masturbation, handjobs, threesome, sub woo, sub yeo, dom joong, yaknow the works an; happy belated valentine’s day! i hope you all enjoy muahmuah xx also this is grossly unedited im sorry but my internet is gonna go out again at any second and i just wanna post this ;;-;

﹊﹊﹊

It starts, as many things do, with a little bit of jealousy. And honestly, Yeosang could not for the life of him tell you what exactly that jealousy was in the slightest (at least that is what he tries to convince himself on nights where his thoughts all but consume him). He was not the first to notice the sudden dynamic shift between Hongjoong and Wooyoung, and he was positively certain that the others would catch up soon enough. He was the third to detect the shift in their demeanors around each other; Seonghwa obviously being the first since he’s so close with Hongjoong and apparently has to vacate his own bedroom whenever Wooyoung disappears inside. Jongho, the ever-observant and perceptive youngest, was the second to notice, and he is actually the one who prompted Yeosang to take a deeper look into what was going on.

At first, Yeosang thought nothing of it. Hongjoong and Wooyoung had been getting closer, moving past those first fumbling awkward moments they had in the beginning and blossoming into a closer relationship. It seemed only natural for the two of them to spend more time together. Then Jongho pulled him aside one day after Wooyoung quite deliberately turned down the opportunity to play games with San and Yunho. 

“What’s going on with Wooyoung-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung?”

Yeosang had blinked dumbly at the younger and made some sort of dumb noise asking why Jongho would be bringing the question to him of all people, then it sunk in that of course he would bring it to Yeosang. Yeosang is both the one who has known Wooyoung the longest — and is subsequently the closest with the younger brunette — as well as Wooyoung’s roommate, so he spends a considerable amount of time with the man.

“He’s not mentioned anything to me?”

Yeosang cursed himself then for sounding so dumb and unsure, but it was the truth in the very least, and Jongho gave a slight shrug before walking away with a shady ‘maybe you should pay closer attention, hyung’ that left Yeosang glaring at the spot where the youngest just stood. 

Pay closer attention to what?

Yeosang didn’t have any idea what exactly he was supposed to be paying attention to, so he just did what he thought he did best, which was observing from the sidelines. One good thing about being quiet by nature was being able to examine conversations and interactions with greater care, as well as listen in on things that perhaps he should not be listening to but sometimes the others are just too loud for him not to overhear.

After Jongho mentions it to him though, Yeosang truly does start picking up on things. How Hongjoong snaps at Wooyoung in practice only to give him a twisting smirk afterward, how Wooyoung side-eyes the leader before dipping into the bathroom on movie nights, and especially how Hongjoong always waits three minutes and forty-five seconds before getting up to head down the hall proclaiming to need ‘sleep’. Yeosang is positive the two are doing something behind everyone’s backs — well everyone except Seonghwa, because the eldest always stares after Hongjoong’s back as the man departs with a look in his eye that Yeosang is incapable of placing. 

The most important thing is that Wooyoung is spending less and less time with Yeosang, and consequently, Hongjoong too is spending less time with Yeosang. And the visual truly didn’t think there was anything wrong with it at first. He wasn’t bothered or bent out of shape about the increase in their shady encounters or whatever it is they’re up to because he didn’t think it was too out of the ordinary. 

Then Wooyoung asked for a raincheck on their typical Thursday evening ramen stop. Yeosang saw him darting off to the studio moments after, and he didn’t return to their shared room until Hongjoong did. (Yeosang definitely did stay up waiting for either man to return; he didn’t need the confirmation, of course, he could have just assumed, but what’s several hours of lost sleep to him now?)

And after that, Hongjoong canceled one of their producing sessions together saying that he was simply too busy that day to check in on Yeosang’s progress. He had promised to look over his work and listen to his song when they returned to the dorms, but when Yeosang packed his things and left the studio for the day, he saw a very distinctly Wooyoung-shaped figure dipping into Hongjoong’s studio behind him. 

Yeosang thought he wasn’t one to get jealous. He thought he had learned that lesson the painful way when Wooyoung started casting him to the side to spend time with San instead of him, then when Hongjoong and Seonghwa called him out for the behavior, the issue had been resolved and Wooyoung returned to giving him ample amounts of attention. So truly, Yeosang cannot understand why he feels the small stirrings of jealousy in his gut whenever he sees Wooyoung running to Hongjoong. And even worse are the nagging jealousies that come when the leader is the one to seek Wooyoung out. Yeosang cannot for the life of him rectify that one, because why is he jealous of his best friend for simply spending time with Hongjoong?

He cannot admit it out loud, but in the nights where he finds himself staying up late and waiting for Wooyoung to return with Hongjoong, he thinks deeply about those curling tendrils in his gut. 

Yeosang has come to the conclusion that for once in his life, he does not like this because it makes him feel like he is missing out on something. That is a startling realization in and of itself because Yeosang has never been one to care much about those sorts of things — it just isn’t in his character or personality — so at first he denied that possibility and tried to look to other sources. When nothing else could ever make sense in his mind, Yeosang just had to accept that this was a new and growing feeling to work through. And perhaps it has something to do with the other emotions swirling through his gut that he refuses to name.

Which lands him where he is now: outside Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s door with hand raised and ready to knock on the wood. It isn’t Wooyoung and Hongjoong inside though, not at this time of day, but rather Seonghwa, the one who has the most amount of contact with Hongjoong and also the one who vacates the room whenever Wooyoung comes running over. So if anyone is going to be able to cure Yeosang’s illness that is Not Knowing What the Fuck is Going on, it will 100% be Seonghwa. Yeosang dares to bring his knuckles down on the wood and raps against the door several times before he hears Seonghwa make a noise from inside the room. 

“Hey, Woo, he’s not here right — oh, Yeosang!” Seonghwa blinks several times at the man before him as though he cannot believe that it is Yeosang and not his best friend standing in front of the door. “Are you looking for Hongjoong too? I’m afraid he’s still holed up in the studio right now.”

“W-What? No, no, hyung, I was looking for you,” Yeosang says with a quick shake of his head. Seonghwa’s eyes remain wide in surprise as he speaks, but once the words process, the older steps to the side and beckons for Yeosang to enter the room.

“Don’t be a stranger, of course, sit wherever you’d like. I was just reading a bit.”

Yeosang has no earthly idea how long this conversation might take. For all he knows, it could take a whopping two minutes or perhaps thirty minutes that falls into a lecture about jealousy and all that. So he resolves to perch on the edge of Hongjoong’s lower bunk, nudging one of the stray plushies to the side to make room for himself while Seonghwa pulls the chair from the desk to sit across from Yeosang. It already feels like something of an intervention, and Yeosang makes a note to choose his words very carefully to avoid sounding too upset or jealous about the situation. 

“Has Wooyoung mentioned anything to you recently?” He starts, but perhaps that isn’t the best place to start at all, he realizes once the question is already out.

“Is there something he is supposed to have mentioned?” Seonghwa asks, tilting his head further to the side. 

“No, like — that’s not what I mean. Has he said anything—” This is the moment of truth for Yeosang. Either Seonghwa picks up on his jealousy in an instant, or he receives a straightforward answer and moves on with his life with at least a bit of understanding. “—anything about why he’s spending so much time with Hongjoong-hyung these days?”

“Hm?” Seonghwa seems genuinely perplexed by the question for a considerable amount of time, eyes darting down to look at a spot on the floor as he mulls over the question. Then, he shakes his head a few times and draws his lips into a tight purse. “Not to me at all, no. Has something happened between you two? Is he not speaking with you? Did you have a falling out? If something happened the—”

“No, no, hyung, please,” Yeosang interjects in a rush. Seonghwa cuts his thoughts short with a small frown, and Yeosang knows he is going to have to offer more of an explanation than that to ease the older’s worries. There is a bit too much shame burning at his gut presently though, a nagging and lingering feeling of embarrassment as he realizes he will inevitably have to admit that he is jealous of all things. And that is going to be another issue because Seonghwa knows him almost better than Wooyoung does, and the older for sure knows that Yeosang is never one to be jealous. 

“It’s okay if the two of you are having issues, Yeosang. It happens to everyone, especially people who have known each other for as long as you and Wooyoung have. I’m not trying to insinuate anything of course, but I just want you to know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of if that’s the case.”

God, Yeosang wants to crawl into a tiny hole and die more than anything else right now because fuck this feeling.

“I’m just — I’m only asking because h-he turned San down the other night to spend time with Hongjoong. He has never done that. He and San are th-the closest and they never turn down the opportunity to spend time with each other, and it seems so odd that he would deny San so that he could spend time with‌ Hongjoong instead, and that’s just weird. It’s weird, and he doesn’t talk about it with me, he doesn’t mention it or anything like that, then he goes off and forgoes our plans together to be with Hongjoong too. And that’s fine, yeah, like they should spend time with each other, I don’t mind that part. Just… Hongjoong did it too and rain checked one of our producing lessons because he was apparently too busy with his own work and — and...”

Yeosang’s voice dies in his throat when he finally brings his gaze up to look Seonghwa in the eye, and the expression staring back at him is so raw and understanding that Yeosang cannot physically force any words out at that point. A small smile curls at the edges of Seonghwa’s lips, he huffs out a quiet laugh, and then his chin dips closer to his chest as the laugh overwhelms him. Yeosang, on the other hand, feels positively childish and stupid now that the admission is out there.

“I told them people would start noticing,” Seonghwa mutters more to himself than to Yeosang, but the younger picks up on the comment nonetheless. So he does know what’s going on between them. “Listen, Yeosang, yes, Wooyoung and Hongjoong are spending lots more time together. Yes, they are being a bit inconsiderate when it comes to the other members, but they are… at a phase in their relationship with each other where it’s easy to get caught up and spend unearthly amounts of time together. I have talked with both of them before about being a bit less persistent and intense, as well as prioritizing other people before themselves. But I am more than happy to talk with them about it again if it would help satiate your hurt feelings a bit?”

At least Seonghwa didn’t call him out on his jealousy. He should be grateful for that much. Why isn’t he grateful for that much? Oh, because of whatever the fuck Seonghwa’s rant is supposed to mean. ‘At a phase in their relationship with each other where it’s easy to get caught up and spend unearthly amounts of time together?’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? Seonghwa is still smiling like he knows, and Yeosang is fully aware that Seonghwa does truly know because there is that lingering odd emotion behind his eyes again that Yeosang despises so much.

“I — wait, what?” Yeosang’s brain is running on pure fumes at this point. The confusion has mounted into something immense, and he hardly remembers why he was so upset at this point now because of the bewilderment rushing through his system.

“I can talk with them again if you’d like?” Seonghwa repeats his previous offer, eyes wide as he blinks at Yeosang and awaits an answer.

“No, the — the part about their relationship?”

Seonghwa glances off to the side, and he seems to think over what he’s said before his eyes widen a bit in shock.

“A-Ah! Um, no, don’t — I don’t mean anything crude, of course!” Anything crude? Yeosang’s mind certainly wasn’t going down that path before but now that Seonghwa has mentioned that, it is now. And frankly, that throws him off more than anything else because he never would have assumed that that is what was going on behind those closed doors or anything. He has known Wooyoung swings both ways with little care since well before Wooyoung knew himself, and well, Hongjoong told the whole group that he’s pansexual when they chose him to be the leader because of transparency and honesty or some shit like that but... still. Yeosang would expect something like that to happen between Wooyoung and San but with Hongjoong? He can’t even imagine that — not that he wants to imagine it! He would never do that!

Yeosang’s cheeks flush a deep red when he realizes what Seonghwa means, and the older in turn figures out that Yeosang’s mind was indeed not traveling down that path and he has just caused it to. It’s a disaster, truly, and neither of them seem put together enough to even try to recover the situation. All Seonghwa does is push up from his chair and move towards the door. Yeosang doesn’t have time to wonder what the hell he’s doing or if he’s preparing to kick Yeosang out because when Seonghwa opens the door, it’s Wooyoung who stumbles in with a huff.

“Hyung,” he whines through a pout, not even taking notice of Yeosang’s presence on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed. “He sent me back here and said to wait another hour for him to come home. A whole hour!”

Seonghwa bears a strained smile, and he must look over in Yeosang’s direction because only then does Wooyoung shift and take note of the other presence in the room.

“Oh shit, were you guys — do I need to leave?”

“No, Woo, we were just having a chat,” Seonghwa insists, waving the younger man in. Wooyoung regards his best friend with a wary stare that has Yeosang’s stomach turning in knots several times before he swallows the feeling down. “Um, but since you’re here, this is the perfect opportunity to chat! Between the two of you!‌ So why don’t I step out and—”

“No, hyung, it’s okay.” Yeosang is the one to utter the words, and he does so as he pushes to his feet and away from Hongjoong’s bed. This is not what he came here to do, and yes, Seonghwa is right: they should talk, Yeosang should be honest about his feelings, but he also knows Wooyoung. He knows Wooyoung will whine and complain about Yeosang being too clingy or pointless jealousy or roll his eyes and unintentionally make Yeosang feel even worse about how he feels because that is just the way the other man is. It’s not from a bad place or a toxic place, merely Wooyoung’s way of handling issues, and inevitably Wooyoung will come crawling back to Yeosang’s bunk and cuddle him for a week straight before even thinking to hang out with another member. But right now, that isn’t what Yeosang wants. Mostly because he does not want to acknowledge his jealousy or the fact that it isn’t solely directed at Hongjoong spending time with Wooyoung. It is also directed at Wooyoung who is taking away from Yeosang’s time with the leader. Yeosang needs to work out those feelings before even thinking to discuss the issue with either man.

Seonghwa fixes him a startled glance, one that flits back to Wooyoung’s form several times, but Yeosang ignores it in favor of walking towards the door and replacing Wooyoung’s spot in the doorway. The oldest doesn’t seem pleased with his avoidance, as evidenced by the way he clamps a hand down hard around Yeosang’s arm before he can fully step out. 

“I don’t want to have to play the parent and mediate between the two of you here,” he hisses more to Yeosang than to Wooyoung, but the youngest of the trio hears the words nonetheless and blinks over at his best friend with a bewildered expression. It’s then that Yeosang knows with full clarity that he is completely and utterly caught. Even if he tries to escape now, Wooyoung will come running after him and demand an explanation. “If he hears it from you then he’ll be more like to pull his act together and realize that I’m being serious.”

“Is something going on?” Wooyoung inquires at last, voice much fainter than it had been before. Yeosang manages to slip one glare in Seonghwa’s direction before he dares to face Wooyoung head-on. 

“I just came to ask hyung why you seem to be spending so much time with Hongjoong these days.”

And Wooyoung has the nerve, he has the audacity, to actually look startled by that statement. Like he cannot believe that someone has caught on and realized how much time he’s spending with the leader, and he cannot believe Yeosang would go to Seonghwa of all people for answers. When Wooyoung shifts to look at the oldest, Yeosang doesn’t miss the way he sends a panicked expression of ‘what the fuck did you say to him’ and that’s when Yeosang’s mind really spirals.

At this point, he just wants to know what the fuck is going on so he can push his mind away from the gutter, but Wooyoung’s flushed cheeks and nervous glances are doing nothing to deter Yeosang from having the thought that perhaps Hongjoong and Wooyoung are spending their time together in a more intimate manner and he really needs to —

“He’s bothered by the fact that you keep shrugging him off for Hongjoong,” Seonghwa states, bringing Yeosang’s rampant thoughts to a screeching halt in an instant. “Which I told you both about before but you insisted th—”

“Hyung, it’s really okay, I just meant it as a harmless question, I’m not — it isn’t a big deal.” 

“Is this about me rain checking you on Thursday?” Wooyoung asks. He points an accusatory finger in Yeosang’s direction, and the older of the two is certain that he doesn’t mean it in an accusatory way but he feels pinned and cornered by the gesture either way. “Yeo, I’m really sorry about that. I just wasn’t feeling up to going out that day and—”

“But you went to hyung’s studio right after and didn’t come back until Hongjoong-hyung did,” Yeosang counters before he can stop himself. That lingering bitterness returns to his gut as he mentions the memory, along with the subsequent memory of Hongjoong pushing him to the side for time with Wooyoung.

“In the studio?! Are you two out of your minds?!” Seonghwa hisses and reels on Wooyoung, who blinks back like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“It’s — Yeosang is right there, hyung! Can’t you save the lecture for later? Or go chew hyung’s ear off instead of mine? It was his idea!”

“His idea? His idea! Of course it was. Let me guess: he felt bad for pushing me out of the room so much?” Seonghwa scoffs none too quietly. The bigger picture is started to come together, the puzzle pieces are slotting into place, and Yeosang is edging dangerously close to what he believes to be the truth. 

He can’t stand the suffocation that comes in the air a moment later, almost like his own throat is trying to choke him and end him right then and there. So, he does the only logical thing he can think of and slips out of the open bedroom door as Seonghwa snatches Wooyoung’s ear and tugs mercilessly on the cartilage. The content of their argument is no longer important, not with the knowledge Yeosang has gotten so far, and it’s frankly stupid that he is even feeling so… whatever he is feeling right now. He wanted an explanation, he wanted to know what secrets they were hiding behind closed doors, and all the signs are pointing to one thing Yeosang doesn’t want to imagine.

Yeosang unfortunately doesn’t make it even a foot outside the door before he is running face-first into someone, and judging by the height of the person he nearly just clobbered to the floor, it has to be none other than Hongjoong. Yeosang steadies himself on the other’s shoulders to keep them both from tumbling, and he brings a shaky gaze to the person’s features in search of a confirmation.

Sure enough, it’s Hongjoong, alright. Beanie squishing his mop of hair down, thick black-rimmed glasses sitting atop his dainty nose, and a bag slung over his shoulder that must contain his producing equipment. Yeosang says the only thing he can think of, which seems to be a common trend with him today.

“You’re back early.”

Hongjoong regards him with an expression of confusion and bewilderment, then Yeosang realizes that Hongjoong only told Wooyoung that part so he shouldn’t really have that knowledge, but then again, what’s the big deal? Why should it be odd for Wooyoung to tell his best friend something about their leader? Is that a secret for just the two of them to know as well? Or can Seonghwa be included in their little secret circle too?

“Yeah, I — I thought I would be able to focus but I kept getting distracted so I just packed up and came home to work on stuff instead.”

Yeosang dares to ask.

“Can I come by and work with you on some stuff then?”

“A-Ah, maybe in a bit? I’ll text you and let you know. I really need to hunker down on these…” Hongjoong trails off and rubs at the back of his neck. Yeosang doesn’t miss the way the older man glances off towards the door to his and Seonghwa’s bedroom. 

“Yeah, of course, hyung, no worries,” he forces out, adding a tight smile that he hopes will ease Hongjoong’s stress a bit. The older nods as Yeosang steps out of the way, heading into the bedroom without further ado. 

There is no real reason for Yeosang to stick around so he doesn’t; he merely heads for the living room and makes himself at home on the couch, perching on the cushions in a way that gives him a clear view directly down the hall. He has one more lasting curiosity, and he’s determined to get the answer right now rather than waiting god knows how long for the next opportunity. Thus, he waits. Two minutes pass, then ten, along with some slightly raised voices and Yeosang is sure that Seonghwa is chewing them both out in there, but he can’t make out anything of what they’re saying. Then after twenty long minutes, Seonghwa slips out of the room with a huff and a grumble, eyes rolling nearly to the back of his head, and he snaps the door shut behind him. He doesn’t even glance Yeosang’s way as he dips into the kitchen, although that’s probably because he’s covering his eyes with one of his hands and mumbling about always getting a headache because of those two. 

Still, Yeosang waits. Another two minutes meld into ten. Wooyoung still hasn’t left the confines of Hongjoong’s room. It’s odd and peculiar in his mind because Hongjoong insisted that he needed to focus, he needed to work, but Wooyoung has to be — and Yeosang says this as lovingly as possible — the most distracting human being on the face of the planet. 

It is enough to grab Yeosang’s attention by the horns and drive him to push up off the couch. He doesn’t think twice about what he is doing, that twisting and churning in his gut is the only thing on his mind right now, but he doesn’t stop his warpath until he reaches the end of the hallway where Hongjoong’s door sits on the right. A few seconds of precious silence pass, then he leans towards the wood and presses his ear to it. 

For a moment, he feels entirely too foolish because he doesn’t hear a thing other than the quiet clicking and tapping of what must be Hongjoong’s computer. He turns to leave with his chin tucked to his chest in shame at the thought of how certain he was they were doing something… something in there. Then there’s a quiet moan, followed by an airy giggle that can only be Wooyoung, and a sharply hissed ‘stop that’ from Hongjoong.

“But I’m having fun, hyung. Aren’t you having fun?”

“The only thing I’m supposed to be having is you sit still while I work. You promised to be good if I came home early.”

“And you promised to make me see stars with how hard you’d fuck me. That’s not happening right now either, is it? So why don’t we…”

Yeosang’s brain turns to radio noise. Television static. Microwave beeping. All three at once. Or is that an actual microwave beeping? Is Seonghwa cooking something? He has no clue. He can’t see straight either honestly, mind too overwhelmed with what he has just heard, and shaky legs carry him back to his own door before pushing him inside with as much haste as he can muster. 

Fuck me.

Wooyoung said the words with undeniable clarity. Yeosang shakes against the door, hand still clasped tight around the knob as though it will do him any good. 

Fuck. me.

It really shouldn’t be a big deal. Yeosang should not be bothered. It’s only natural and expected for men of their age to have pent-up sexual frustrations, and of course, they have every right to exercise those urges however they want. Given their orientations, they would slot together perfectly too so why, why, why is Yeosang so bothered right now? It’s shameful the way his jealousy twists further in his gut, and he slides down the door until he’s planted firmly on the ground with knees drawn up to his chest.

He feels so fucking foolish. Thinks back to all the times he and Wooyoung have cuddled and been in close proximity over the years. The way he tried to be daring and bridge the gap between them. The lingering curiosity of blossoming emotions in his chest. The moment he realized where he sat on the spectrum when Wooyoung’s laugh sent such intense feelings of pure love through his chest that Yeosang couldn’t look him in the eye for well over a week after. Hands searching for Wooyoung’s in the dark, clasping tight together, and the fleeting sensation of lips dragging over Yeosang’s knuckles. Breathy laughs exchanged in the dark, soft admissions of love that Yeosang refused to amount to anything more than a friendship but secretly — oh so secretly he wished for more. Wooyoung’s touchy affections that came in the form of sloppy kisses on the cheek and teasing bites to the neck and shoulder. Then came San. Wooyoung stealing away from him. Hands finding San’s instead, hugs and cuddles going to the other man as Yeosang fell further and further away without even trying to pull Wooyoung back. He watched him go without putting up a fight.

What did he do then? The only thing he thought was logical: seek out the member he has the most in common with, the one who seems to understand him better than anyone, one of the view who understands and appreciates his need for quiet moments of peace.

Hongjoong.

Late nights in the studios, backs hunched and aching as they bent over a computer and Hongjoong showed him the steps to his artistic process. Compliments shared in amazement and wonder because Yeosang could not fathom how incredible Kim Hongjoong could be, yet still the older managed to exceed any expectations like it was the easiest thing on earth. The pride that would swell in Yeosang’s chest when Hongjoong congratulated him on a job well done, when he would mention the younger on his lives, the excitement in his hyung’s eyes whenever Yeosang would pop his head into the studio late at night. Hongjoong clasping a hand over Yeosang’s own shaky ones as he practiced for a cover. Whispered praises and reassurances when Yeosang would miss a note or slip up. Slow patience that waited for him without fail. Yeosang hates that he was foolish enough to let those feelings of admiration morph into the desire to be close to Hongjoong all the time, to cling to him, kiss him, have him for himself. 

And he especially hates that he was never able to bury those dwindling emotions of love and affection he felt towards Wooyoung, because now? Now it’s like he is living a nightmare. Watching the two people he has feelings for come together in a relationship that holds some of the greatest moments of intimacy. And sure, yes, Yeosang acknowledges that it could be something purely physical for them, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the two people he has feelings for are fucking and have been fucking right under his nose for the last several weeks. He wishes he could be heartbroken or something along those lines because that would be a normal reaction. That would be typical and explainable and easier to manage than the sensation in Yeosang’s gut. In that moment, he gets some clarity that it is, in fact, not jealousy of either party. It’s a desire to be involved, a want to be there with them, and a need to be involved. Did he mistake it for jealousy? Every time he saw one running to the other, he thought it was merely envy that twisted his gut, but now… now Yeosang is coming to realize that it wasn’t envy or anything like that. He just wanted to be another piece in their puzzle because those two are the ones he’s closest to (and effectively has all too real feelings for), and it pains him so much that his eyes burn. 

There are tears on his cheeks now surely, but his body has entered an odd state of numbness that he can’t piece together and cannot bother to piece together either. He doesn’t think twice before pushing himself back up to his feet, hands shaky and unstable as he moves for the dresser and pulls out a fresh set of clothes, dead set on taking the bathroom and washing his feelings away in the shower. What Yeosang doesn’t account for, however, is someone being in the hall at the same time he is, and he runs face-first into a chest.

“Yeosang?”

Fuck, and it just has to be Yunho of all people too. The one who probably won’t let Yeosang get by without drawing all his worries out of him and making sure he’s alright. And no, he’s not alright, and he doesn’t really want to be right now, but Yunho doesn’t need to know that. So Yeosang shrugs off the hands that find a home on his arms and tries to step around Yunho to get to the bathroom that is so so close yet so far away because of the wall standing before him.

“Are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, leave it alone, Yun,” Yeosang mutters through his teeth. But apparently, he can’t have a moment’s peace because Seonghwa must have heard the litany of questions and gotten concerned as well, his voice coming up behind Yeosang like a cruel shadow.

“Yeosang? Is something wrong?”

Yeosang doesn’t turn around but he doesn’t need to because Seonghwa closes the distance between them and steals a glance around his shoulder nonetheless. Yunho seems to be in the dark still in the very least, but Seonghwa will most certainly be able to figure out the source of his tears.

“Yeo… this — how bad is it? This is why I wanted you two to settle it then and there!”‌ Seonghwa exhales. His brows draw together to form a tight line that pains Yeosang to look at.

“Settle what?” Yunho inquires, blinking between both men, and his grip on Yeosang’s arms finally relents in that moment of shock. Yeosang takes the moment of freedom like a lifeline and pushes past Yunho to dart into the bathroom without further ado. Neither man behind him can catch him before he snaps the door shut in their faces, twisting the lock and trapping himself in the small room.

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa calls through the door, and he brings his fist down on the wood as though it will do any good.

“Maybe we should give him some space, hyung…” Yunho’s voice fades into the static running through Yeosang’s mind, and he no longer processes their conversation as he cranks the handle of the shower to let the water heat up. The pain in his chest also dulls, but only when he lets hot water run over his bare back, forehead pressed to the tiled wall. 

Things are catching up to him now. Reality is seeping in and he is realizing all the things that have been happening behind their backs for the past several weeks. He blames his own imagination for the flashes that come through his mind as he tries to wash the feelings away. Wooyoung pressed under Hongjoong’s weight, fervent touches and lingering kisses. The same hands that held Yeosang’s dragging over the contours of muscles and skin, filling in the gaps that Yeosang wishes he could have filled. Or perhaps Wooyoung would curl himself into Hongjoong’s lap and hold the leader as close as possible as he so dearly loves to do with the others. 

Perhaps it is more intimate and special with the two of them, however, and maybe Hongjoong fucks up into Wooyoung like that, holds him close while he works in the studio, and maybe that’s what they do when Yeosang is turned away. He bets that Hongjoong praises Wooyoung too as he loves to give all the members a litany of praises whenever they do something well, and Yeosang’s desires turns ugly when he thinks of Wooyoung being praised for being good for Hongjoong, nice and pliant and perfect for him, and fuck Yeosang wants to be part of it so badly it hurts. He wants Wooyoung to stand off to the side and watch, wants his own best friend to see him fall apart under Hongjoong’s touch. Wooyoung is such a brat that he probably acts that way in bed as well, and Yeosang feels nearly light-headed as he imagines himself being the one to receive Hongjoong’s attention and subsequently Wooyoung’s as well like he would be some example for Wooyoung to follow on how to be good. 

Yeosang doesn’t feel disgusted by the thoughts but rather the way his own body responds to the images floating through his mind, the way his member reacts to it, and the temptation to reach down and stroke himself to completion is intoxicating. He cranks the water instead so that it’s nearly icy on his skin to keep his mind from wandering too much into the inappropriate territory even though it’s already there.

The cold is barely enough to stave off Yeosang’s churning gut because the sound of that quiet moan and Wooyoung’s delicate giggle are in his ears again even as he steps out of the shower and wipes the droplets away with a towel. It persists even when he leaves the bathroom, darting into the hall to make a break for his room in case anyone was outside waiting for him, but thankfully this time he has the hallway to himself and can make it to his shared room with Wooyoung without much issue. Yeosang only says ‘much’ because just before he opens the door, a noise carries down the hall and to his ears. One that is unmistakable but most likely only audible to someone like Yeosang who is standing in the hallway. 

Another moan. This one is much more high-pitched and strung out than the last, bordering on the territory of a squeal, and based on the all too loud thud that follows, Yeosang can picture what’s going on with too much clarity.

“Hyung!” Yeosang’s heart surges forward in his chest, and he whips around like someone else has spoken the word, but it’s very clearly Wooyoung’s tone. Nonetheless, Yeosang shoves himself into his bedroom and snaps the door shut behind him as quickly as possible, flipping the lock for good measure because his cock is too hard to be ignored now. Part of him wishes he had more willpower to avoid this, and yet he’s too weak in the end. 

Less than five minutes later, Yeosang finds himself curled under the sheets of his bunk, eyes blown wide open and staring at the ceiling above his head as he drags the flat of his hand over his cock. The friction is delectable at best but still not enough to satiate the arousal blooming in his gut. Arousal that only deepens when his mind recreates the images from earlier. This time he’s with them, imagining himself sitting off to the side as Hongjoong works on‌ Wooyoung’s body.

“Sit still and watch me punish him.”

Curse his imagination for being so potent that he can practically hear Hongjoong’s words on his ears.

“Touch yourself for us, Sangie, you know you want to,” Wooyoung would purr, still giggling even though he’s in trouble and about to be punished. 

Yeosang presses his palm down harder against his cock. He won’t last more than two minutes like this; he’ll probably come like a teenager in less than that if he jerks himself with too much haste. So he forms a tight ring around the base of his cock and squeezes just hard enough to stave off the heady sensation in his veins. He debates going down to grab the small bottle of lube from Wooyoung’s end table. That’s too much effort right now, he needs his release soon, and he frankly doesn’t have enough patience in his body at the moment to finger himself open.

“You’ll be good and come when Wooyoung does, won’t you, Sangie?”

He wants to so badly. He knows he would be so good under Hongjoong’s control, he would take anything given to him because he wants that so badly, he wants someone to take the control from his hands and be at their mercy. He wouldn’t fight it or talk back, he would be so good it hurts, and a weak mewl tumbles from his lips before he can stop it. 

Yeosang flings his free hand up to cover his mouth as though someone is going to hear the quiet noises, and when he presses the butt of his hand down again, more whimpers fall out. He can’t stop the noises nor does he try to any longer. The desire for a release is too overwhelming, mixed voices touching his imagination and seeming too real for Yeosang to handle as he ruts helplessly against his palm for that delicious bit of friction. And when he comes, he comes hard and fast, eyes rolling back in pleasure as his hips continue to cant up into his hand. He moans out Hongjoong’s name as he comes and doesn’t stop to think about quieting the noise this time in his fog of pleasure. Come spills over his palm only to be smeared over his skin when he can’t stop the movements of his hips. If he thought that would end the vision in his head, he was quite wrong, because after the haze covering his thoughts disperses a bit, it comes rushing back.

“I thought you said you’d be good for us, Sangie. You came before me.”

“I told you to come with Wooyoung, baby. Why couldn’t you do that simple task?”

“You always say that you’re going to be good for us, Sangie. Yet you can’t even seem to live up to those words.”

The tears that hit Yeosang’s cheeks next are ones that come from pure overstimulation and eustasy. Heat swarms his skin, a pretty pink blush that causes his whole body to flush, and his hips just don’t stop moving even as his mind cries out for a release from the self-inflicted torture.

“Pl-Please, Woo,” Yeosang whimpers to the air above him. “I’ll — I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, p-please.” It is all too much for him to handle right then because the next thing he knows, he is coming yet again, but it’s a painfully dry orgasm since he didn’t give himself any recovery time. He releases a choked sob that breaks into a strangled moan instead, then his hips finally rest and give his poor leaking member a break. The only thing that can leave his lips for several minutes is a series of gasps and pants, chest heaving desperately as he tries to catch his breath.

When he finally recovers, Yeosang pulls himself down from the bunk and strips once more now that he’s gotten the fresh set of clothes dirty and soiled. It’s as he is pulling a shirt over his head that the door handle jiggles to no avail.

“Sangie? Did you lock the door?”

Fuck. Wooyoung. He won’t have any knowledge of what Yeosang has just done, or that Yeosang knows what he was just doing himself, but the red hot shame burning in Yeosang’s gut. He just jerked off to the thought of his best friend and his hyung including him in their personal business. Yeosang doesn’t even know if either of them would be okay with such a thing, and yet —

“Yeosang? Are you in there or not?”

“S-Shit,” Yeosang exhales to himself, tugging his shirt the rest of the way and rushing to get to the door. He flips the lock and swings the door wide open to greet Wooyoung with wide eyes and mussed hair. Wooyoung’s hair is damp and clinging to his forehead; he looks fresh out of a shower, and Yeosang has no doubt that he and Hongjoong showered together after their… activities. “Yeah, sorry, S-Seonghwa-hyung wouldn’t get the hint that I didn’t wanna talk to him right now.” It’s only a partial lie, enough to cover what Yeosang was actually up to, and Wooyoung seems to buy it by the way he shrugs his shoulders quickly and brushes past Yeosang to get in the room. He doesn’t stay long, however, coming in simply to fetch his phone before darting back out of the room. Yeosang wants to ask where he is going, but at the same time, he can probably guess that it has something to do with San or Hongjoong again.

Yeosang doesn’t stay to watch him go. Instead, he dips back into their shared bedroom and shuts the door, intent to sleep through the rest of the day and push these lingering thoughts out of his mind. It’s only when Wooyoung returns hours later whining to himself about how San never lets him win a game that Yeosang dares to speak. He waits until his friend curls up in bed and gets comfortable, throat lodged with emotion.

“I…”

Wooyoung doesn’t offer even a noise of acknowledgment. Maybe he’s already fallen asleep. Perhaps Yeosang shouldn’t say anything or he should say this for another time, but right now he just wants to see. Test the waters. Gauge his reaction.

“I know about you and Hongjoong-hyung, Woo.” Curse him for stuttering when he did, and curse him for not having the balls to say it outright. How hard should it be for you to say to your best friend “I know you’re fucking our group leader under everyone’s noses”? Saying something cryptic like “I know what you’re doing with hyung” sounded too scary in Yeosang’s mind, but maybe he could have had a better approach. Especially since the bunk under his creaks and the sheets jostle, then a Wooyoung-shaped shadow darts across the room. The door swings open, Wooyoung slips out, then it slams shut, causing way too much noise for the hour.

Yeosang isn’t sure what he was expecting. He knows Wooyoung avoids confrontation. This should have been expected, yet as Yeosang curls onto his side and faces the wall, the tears that slip out his eyes are more painful than before, and he thinks vaguely in the back of his mind that Wooyoung doesn’t want him to have anything to do with the relationship he shares with Hongjoong.

Morning is awkward and stilted. Wooyoung most definitely went to Hongjoong’s room and told him what Yeosang said; Yeosang can see it in the way Hongjoong’s gaze slips between both boys throughout breakfast. He is a bit thankful that Hongjoong doesn’t look towards him with the same amount of fear and shame as Wooyoung did earlier, and there is no disgust or embarrassment in his stare either — only concern. Seonghwa is still worried about Yeosang’s crying in the hallway yesterday, as is Yunho because the dancer got Yeosang coffee and a plate of food, staying by his side all throughout breakfast with a hand placed over Yeosang’s thigh the entire time. The tension is palpable, and there’s no doubt that everyone knows something is wrong in some way.

Seonghwa keeps sending Hongjoong looks across the table, even as San and Yunho try to bring some energy back to the table and dispel the awkwardness. Those glances are probably the thing that prompt the leader to speak. And so, Hongjoong is the one to breach the subject, but he does it in a way that Yeosang could never have expected, and based on the way Seonghwa chokes on his syrupy coffee, the older had no clue this was Hongjoong’s plan either.

“Some of you have noticed that Wooyoung and I are spending a lot more time together these days.” Yeosang dares to look over at his friend, but the man is staring down at the table with cheeks so red and flushed that he’s nearly purple. “It’s because we’re fucking.”

There goes Seonghwa choking on his coffee, Mingi gags around a mouthful of rice, Yunho’s hand squeezes painfully on Yeosang’s thigh, San bites back a laugh and cheeky smile, and Jongho drops his spoon on the edge of the table in shock. Another clatter follows as the same spoon hits the ground, but Jongho doesn’t even move to pick it up and instead stares directly at Hongjoong like the leader like he’s just kicked a dog or something.

“Does anyone have a problem with that?”

Hongjoong’s gaze finds Yeosang immediately. Oh, so the question is targeted at him. Yet even as everyone else at the table denies there being any issue with such a thing, Yeosang can’t bring himself to shake his head or deny it. It’s not that he does have a legitimate issue with it, he merely wishes to slot himself in their space and be part of it. He can’t very well admit that over breakfast with the rest of the group though, especially not with how Wooyoung reacted last night. Hongjoong doesn’t wait for a response.

“Just because we have this relationship now doesn’t mean any of the group dynamics should or have to change. We are by no means exclusive or closed off to just each other. Understood?”

A chorus of affirmations greet Hongjoong, and Yeosang actually joins in this time despite the clench of his heart.

If Hongjoong expected the conversation to fix everything on a whim, then he would be sorely incorrect.

Wooyoung continues to avoid Yeosang. He won’t come into the room at the same time as Yeosang, only comes to sleep if San or Hongjoong kicks him out of their rooms, and is always either sleeping or gone by the time Yeosang gets up. Despite Yeosang constantly looking over at his friend, Wooyoung almost never looks back, and when he does, his expression twinges with something Yeosang would almost call guilt. He tries not to think about that bit too hard or too much.

Hongjoong, on the other hand, actually makes an effort to do things differently. He invites Yeosang to the studio much more often, asks him to accompany him as he picks up food for the rest of the group at least two times a week, and Yeosang finds himself frequenting Hongjoong’s room to work on producing practice a lot more as well.

Yeosang can’t complain because it’s what he wanted and missed so dearly, and he should be content that at least one of his crushes is giving him such devoted attention, but he is loathe to admit that part of his heart is dedicated to Wooyoung and Wooyoung only. That part is shattered in a thousand pieces every time Wooyoung sees him and turns to go in the opposite direction. He doesn’t last longer than a week with Wooyoung’s behavior, and the breaking point is a Saturday evening when Yeosang steps out of his room to see Wooyoung leaving Hongjoong’s with an unreadable expression. Hongjoong steps into the doorway right after, hand chasing Wooyoung’s and catching hold of it before the younger can dip out of his reach.

And now, Yeosang suddenly feels like he’s watching something that he shouldn’t be because Hongjoong places his free hand on Wooyoung’s cheek and leans his forehead against the other man’s, lips moving quickly and quietly as they speak to each other. Wooyoung nods several times before stepping back and turning around. His body tenses a bit as he sees Yeosang standing at the other end of the hall. They regard each other with equally wide eyes and lingering stares for several seconds before Hongjoong prompts Wooyoung to move by slapping the flat of his hand down hard on his ass. Wooyoung releases a startled yelp, cheeks flushing a dark red before he rushes to San and Yunho’s door and enters without even bothering to knock.

Hongjoong finally looks at Yeosang. The younger can’t describe the feeling that swoops through his gut, but Hongjoong is smirking at him and making him feel like that infinite space between their bodies is nonexistent. It’s like the man is standing right before him and cascading warm breath over his lips and neck, then he tilts his head to the side and motions towards his bedroom.

“Did you still wanna get some work done?”

Yeosang responds with a quick nod and dips back into his own room to snatch his phone up off the dresser before fully stepping into the hall to meet Hongjoong by his door.

“No laptop?” The older regards him with a curious stare even as Yeosang shakes his head a bit.

“Just wanna watch you work some, I think. If that’s okay?”

Hongjoong’s lips twist into a gentle smile, and warmth fills his gut.

“Of course, Yeo, come on.”

Yeosang half-expects the room to reek of sex and debauchery, or for the bed to be a wreck, but that’s not the case. Everything is almost too perfect by Hongjoong’s standards, like Seonghwa came through and raided the room before Yeosang stepped in. In fact, he’s almost certain that Hongjoong went the extra mile to change the sheets, but he doesn’t comment on it even as Hongjoong settles down in the bed and pats the empty space next to him. Yeosang climbs up beside him, heart in his throat and threatening to choke him out.

“I think I’ll be able to finish this one either today or tomorrow so I can submit it for the next album,” Hongjoong mutters. Yeosang watches with wide and careful eyes as he tugs his laptop into his lap, pulling the music file up to pick up where he left off. Yeosang is frankly not paying any attention to what’s happening on Hongjoong’s screen. He’s too busy looking at the man’s side profile, the way his brows draw together in concentration. Hoodie drawn over his head with headphones pressed over one ear and the other pressed further back on his hood.

“Hyung…” Yeosang trails off, unsure of how to voice what it is he’s after, and Hongjoong’s lingering stare only makes him more nervous. But then, the older shifts in the bed and presses his back further against his pillows. He lays his laptop to the side, for the time being, throwing his legs out, and Yeosang inhales sharply at the way Hongjoong motions to the space between them. Is he asking Yeosang to —

“Do you wanna lie down?”

Oh. Of course. Why would he think Hongjoong wanted something else when he and Wooyoung have each other for that? Still, Yeosang slips between Hongjoong’s legs and presses his head to the man’s stomach like it’s glass. Once he’s fully situated and comfortable, Hongjoong pulls his laptop back, placing it atop Yeosang’s stomach without missing a beat. The angle is a bit awkward on his neck, but Yeosang doesn’t complain because he gets to be this close to Hongjoong and in his arms like this. It’s practically intoxicating, and Yeosang almost feels light-headed by the time Hongjoong shifts their position to tug Yeosang further up on his chest, letting the younger drop his head into the crook of his shoulder.

Hongjoong doesn’t speak; he merely lets Yeosang rest against him like that with the familiar beat of his track playing faintly through his headset, and Yeosang watches on with less interest than usual as he drags things across the screen and into place. Then, after some unknown amount of time, Hongjoong decides to pipe up.

“When I talked to the group last week about Wooyoung and me, you were the only one not to say you were okay with the arrangement.” He murmurs the words softly, and Yeosang nearly doesn’t pick up on them at all. The moment they process though, he stiffens in Hongjoong’s hold. Although the man isn’t holding him there against his will, Yeosang feels somehow trapped and unable to escape.

“W-Wooyoung — he ran away from me.” Maybe that’s an exaggeration but the man did straight up bolt out of the room when Yeosang brought it up.

“He’s afraid that you hate him.”

That has Yeosang pulling himself forward, knocking Hongjoong’s hands away from where his laptop sits in Yeosang’s lap. Yeosang has enough decency to snap the laptop shut and push it to the foot of the bed before shifting to face Hongjoong. The look in the leader’s eyes is unreadable when they finally look at each other.

“Why would I hate him?”

Hongjoong merely lifts a brow in response. He seems to weigh his next words on his tongue and teases the corner of his lips a few times before deciding to speak.

“Do you not?”

“Of course not,” Yeosang mumbles. “I don’t hate either of you.” He dares to look towards Hongjoong once more, eyes finding the leader’s and searching for any sort of reaction but there isn’t much there. 

“Then why didn’t you come talk to me as well?”

“I figured…” Yeosang doesn’t really have a response for that. He was cowardly more than anything else and afraid of what sort of conversation they might end up having. “I thought you would want the conversation at breakfast to be the last of it.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up for the past week.”

“What?” Yeosang didn’t even have the slightest clue that Hongjoong was wanting to talk about it. Since everything fell back into their usual routine, he simply assumed that meant everything was fine.

“When you told Wooyoung that you knew about us, what were you referring to?”

Yeosang’s cheeks heat up a bit, and he has to drop his gaze to the bed.

“I heard the two of you… I heard — y-yeah.”

“Heard what?” Hongjoong presses again, and this time Yeosang releases an exasperated sigh.

“Christ, hyung, do I need to spell it out? I heard you both moaning a-and it didn’t take much to realize what you were doing!” That pulls a loud laugh from Hongjoong’s lips, and he throws his head back with the sound.

“That’s not what he thought you heard, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says through the laugh. Yeosang swallows hard in response, sitting back a bit more and straightening his back. “He thought you heard what came after that, which is why he’s been so avoidant with you.”

“What came after?” Yeosang echoes, instinctually gripping the sheets in his fists. Hongjoong’s lips stretch a bit further into a smile.  

“He also didn’t hear the noises coming from your room after because he was in the shower.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeosang is so fucked. Hongjoong heard that? What all did he hear? Yeosang remembers moaning Hongjoong’s name a bit too loudly, but he also said Wooyoung’s name, so which did he hear? Or did he hear both? How could he not say anything about it for an entire week?

“But frankly, I didn’t hear it either since I was with Wooyoung in the shower.”

Yeosang can hardly breathe at this point, eyes stuck and fixated on some point on the mattress, and that’s not what Hongjoong wants apparently because a single finger curls under the base of his chin. Hongjoong lifts his head until they can look each other in the eye again.

“Seonghwa told me that you had been crying before taking a shower yourself. Then after you came out, he went to check on you but your door was locked, and… he heard you inside moaning my name.”

“I-I can ex-explain. It’s not — it’s not what it looks like and I—”

“And Wooyoung’s.”

“Hyung, I…” Yeosang is fumbling to figure out what he can say to get himself out of this situation. This is probably the worst thing that can happen right now, and if Hongjoong knows, then Wooyoung most likely knows too and maybe that’s the real reason behind his avoidance these days. Maybe he’s so disgusted by what Yeosang did that he doesn’t want to even look at him again. But the look in his eyes has never been disgust — only some odd mixture between guilt and sadness. 

“I didn’t tell Wooyoung that part honestly. I figured… he wouldn’t take my word for it. So I think it would be better to show him, don’t you?”

“Show him what?” Yeosang exhales. Hongjoong presses forward so far that his breath ghosts over the younger’s lips, and Yeosang chokes on thin air.

“That you want him just as much as he wants you.”

“He… he wants me?” The disbelief is palpable, but Hongjoong is patient as always, releasing a small hum and shifting behind Yeosang to grab hold of his laptop and headphones again. 

“The thing he thought you heard that day — I enjoy riling him up maybe a bit too much, and I kept teasing him with the thought of someone walking in and catching us. The only person he wanted to interrupt was you, and he kept saying your name over and over like a prayer, so loud that he thought you heard him. And thus your reaction… or rather your confrontation scared him and made him think that you were disgusted by it.”

Yeosang feels like he’s been thrust underwater, ears ringing and head clogged with a myriad of thoughts that refuse to make any sense whatsoever. He understands the basic gist of what’s going on in the very least. Hongjoong knows he jerked off to the thought of him and Wooyoung, Wooyoung wants him to some degree, and Hongjoong is pressing closer and closer now that he has slid his laptop off the bed and tucked it under the bunk. And while Yeosang certainly doesn’t want him to stop, there is the nagging thought in the back of his mind that while Hongjoong said that Wooyoung wants him to some degree, Hongjoong never said whether he wants Yeosang in the same way or not.

“B-But what — what about you?” He whispers, too scared to raise his voice any further than that. Hongjoong hums as he leans a bit closer, and Yeosang falls back onto his elbows. “Do y-you want me too?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” Hongjoong says in response. He pauses in his push forward, giving Yeosang precious time to think and breathe easy for a few minutes. “But I won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, and I won’t push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Meaning that… if you want this but are uncomfortable with the idea of having an audience, we don’t have to have one.”

Audience? 

When the realization sinks in, Yeosang draws his hands up to cover his face and hide the rampant blush that takes over his cheeks. Hongjoong is quick to respond, hands coming up to join Yeosang’s and gently clasp around his wrists.

“It’s okay, Sangie, baby, you don’t need to hide.”

Baby. Kim Hongjoong is positively trying to kill him on the spot. 

“You’re so pretty, so so pretty especially when you blush like that,” Hongjoong continues. His voice comes out in a soft murmur, coating Yeosang’s ears like honey and dripping down to his gut where the threads of arousal begin to coil. 

“Hyung,” Yeosang exhales in a tone so breathy and whiny that it nearly doesn’t come out at all. 

“I need a firm yes or no on whether you want this before anything else, Yeosang.” Hongjoong begins to pull away, and that is the breaking point for Yeosang’s sanity practically because he lurches forward and snatches Hongjoong by the collar of his hoodie, wrenching him back down to hover mere centimeters over Yeosang’s lips.

“Yes, hyung, the answer is yes, please, for the love of all that is good in this world, please just—” 

Thank god Hongjoong cuts him off or else he would have just kept on babbling for an eternity. Yeosang falls quiet with a startled gasp as Hongjoong plants his lips atop the younger’s, and the arm that holds him up buckles under the sudden weight on his body. The both of them tumble down to the mattress at an awkward angle, Yeosang’s arm trapped behind his back and Hongjoong’s foot tangled in the sheets, but neither of them pay much attention to those issues. The priority seems to be each other’s lips, not that Yeosang is complaining about the way Hongjoong rushes to swipe his tongue over Yeosang’s lower lip. He grants entrance to his mouth with perhaps too much ease. The moment Hongjoong’s tongue breaches his lips and begins to explore his mouth, Yeosang chokes out a wanton moan that reverberates through the older’s mouth and pools heat in his gut. 

It’s only then that Yeosang decides to resituate their position some, and he kicks at the sheets to unravel them from Hongjoong’s feet before pressing up harder against the leader’s body. Hongjoong seems to get the hint and leans back as well, letting Yeosang have a few precious moments of control as he eases Hongjoong back onto the pillows and straddles his hips like this is what he was made to do. Yeosang is already panting and out of breath, cheeks alight with embarrassment still, but he looks an absolute vision in Hongjoong’s eyes with blond hair enveloping his forehead like a halo and lips glistening with spit. He finds a shred of sense left in him to ask one more question before he lets Yeosang dive back in for more.

“Do you want Wooyoung to watch?”

And this admittedly is not a fantasy Yeosang ever pictured or imagined. He figured he would be the one doing the watching, he would sit on the sidelines while the two fawned over each other and fucked, but this? This is something tantalizing indeed, and Yeosang would be damned if he didn’t take this golden opportunity now. Especially with the knowledge that both Hongjoong and Wooyoung have thought about him in the throes of passion.

“Is that what you thought of when you were jerking off, Sangie?” 

Yeosang can only whimper in reply, hands drawing up from where they sit atop Hongjoong’s chest to cover his blazing cheeks again, but Hongjoong is quicker this time. He keeps Yeosang’s hands right where they are by clasping his fingers around the other man’s wrists and watches on with pure admiration as Yeosang writhes a bit atop him.

“Hm? Is it, darling? Does dirty talk make you shy? We don’t have to do that if it makes you too uncomfortable. Give me a safe word as well just in case we need to stop.”

“No! No, no,” Yeosang denies in haste. “I… um, we can u-use red because that’s easy to remember.” Hongjoong offers a hum in approval, and Yeosang has to swallow his nerves before admitting the next bit. “I l-like being embarrassed a bit.”

“Do you, Sangie? Tell me what else you like.” Hongjoong is practically purring the words, and Yeosang thinks it will send him spiraling over the edge. The teasing glint in the older’s eyes is lethal too, turning Yeosang’s insides to mush and his limbs to jello, and he can’t think of anything he wants more right now than for Hongjoong to utterly wreck him on this very bed with Wooyoung watching on. 

“I like — like being good a-and hearing that I’m doing well.” Yeosang slips his hand around Hongjoong’s. He slowly tugs it upwards, guiding the man’s hand to his neck and measuring his reaction the entire time with wary eyes. Hongjoong seems to forget what breathing is for a moment, and when he finally does breathe again, it’s merely a sharp and painful inhale of air because Yeosang is closing Hongjoong’s own fingers around his neck and blinking at him with wide and innocent eyes. “Being choked feels really nice too. And I want Wooyoung to watch… to watch you ruin me.”

Hongjoong’s fingers twitch around his neck, and Yeosang knows that his words have a visceral effect on the man just by that reaction. He also feels the way Hongjoong’s cock twitches in the confines of his pants, right against the curve of Yeosang’s ass, and that brings a swell of pride to his chest.

“Do you want to ruin me, hyung?” He asks, batting his lashes for good measure, and fuck, it’s so worth it. It’s so worth it because Hongjoong growls in response and pushes Yeosang down so that he’s flat on the bed once more. 

“Fucking hell, Yeo, how can you be so — holy fuck, you’re so perfect.” Hongjoong maps a path from the tip of Yeosang’s nose down to the collar of his shirt with his lips, leaving a wet trail behind, and once he reaches the space hidden behind Yeosang’s shirt, he uses two fingers to tug the material down just enough to expose more of the milky skin underneath. Yeosang doesn’t have time to ask what he’s doing despite the confusion rushing through him because Hongjoong latches his lips around the spot, teeth nipping at the skin until red blooms under his touch. And god does it feel euphoric to be marked by Kim Hongjoong, to be claimed by him and wanted by him, and Yeosang is certain that all reason will leave his body before Wooyoung even gets involved. 

Hongjoong chooses that opportune moment to pull back. First, he admires the way Yeosang’s chest heaves, the way sweat beads his brow and causes his hair to cling to the skin there, and the way Yeosang already somehow looks so fucked out and beautiful that it’s unimaginable. He weaves his hands down the expanse of Yeosang’s chest to catch hold of the hem. Ever so slowly, Hongjoong tugs upwards, and it’s so painstakingly prolonged that Yeosang loses his patience before the shirt even reaches his sternum. He yanks the fabric from Hongjoong’s grasp and pulls it up over his head on his own, throwing it off to the side haphazardly without even bothering to check where it falls. He knows how to play Hongjoong so well, just what he needs to do to get under the man’s skin, and he does it with such ease that it’s laughable. Because the second Yeosang leans back to the bed and flutters his lashes up at Hongjoong, the leader is hissing through his teeth so loudly that the air comes out in a whistle. 

Then he grips his hoodie but the hem and tugs it over his head, but he leaves the plain undershirt underneath on for the time being as he twists around and catches hold of his phone. Yeosang’s arousal deepens as he watches Hongjoong tap furiously at the screen. Then he has an idea that is probably far too risky but also far too alluring to pass up on.

“H-Hyung, could you…” Yeosang loses the confidence to finish the question, hand stretched midway to Hongjoong’s. Still, Hongjoong pauses and looks directly at him. His dark eyes are glazed with lust and arousal, and they bear such a seriousness to them that Yeosang has to swallow around nothing to get his next words out. “Send him a picture,” he tries again, pushing more willpower in this time. “With your hand around my neck.”

“You’re unreal.” Hongjoong’s tone bears a quake this time, audible proof that Yeosang is having such an effect on the man, and the younger revels in it as he tugs Hongjoong’s hand down to the column of his throat. 

That’s all the incentive Hongjoong needs to bend over the other, and his hand squeezes a little bit around his throat. Yeosang’s cock twitches between his legs, right where his hyung’s crotch rubs atop his, and the sensation is so heady and thrilling that Yeosang dares to rut against Hongjoong again. He pushes his tongue out just a little bit, catches the tip between his teeth, then shows off the somehow innocent for the camera when Hongjoong angles it above his face. 

“For fuck’s sake, Yeo, I’m not gonna be able to wait for Wooyoung to drag his ass in here if you keep that up.” Hongjoong snaps the picture as quick as he can before tossing his phone off to the side in a huff.

“Keep what up?” Yeosang asks before sinking his teeth into his lower lip. The pair spend about two seconds staring at each other, Yeosang with a playful gleam to his gaze and Hongjoong with a more looming and dangerous one that has Yeosang’s stomach doing small backflips in anticipation. They’re interrupted by the sharp slam of a door somewhere in the dorm, and that’s followed by a skid and another smack of what sounds like a body on the wall. Another three seconds pass before the door to Hongjoong’s bedroom swings wide open, hitting the wall so hard that Seonghwa yells down the hall about disregard for common decency. 

“Can you at least pretend to be civilized, Wooyoung? You don’t need to act like an animal just because you’re about to get boned! And keep it quiet this time!”

The newcomer comes in a blur of dark hair and tossed garments, and Wooyoung doesn’t even wait for the door to be closed completely before he’s stripping down to his underwear.

“I’m here! I’m here, hi, fuck, oh my god, I’m here. Why didn’t you get me sooner, hyung?” Wooyoung hisses as he shuts the door in a rush, flipping the lock before stepping further into the room. 

“I didn’t tell him he’d just be watching,” Hongjoong whispers into the shell of Yeosang’s ear. It draws a blush out of the younger man, one that persists as he and Wooyoung make eye contact. Hongjoong drags the flat of his tongue across Yeosang’s cheek and presses a sweet row of kisses to the same line of skin a moment after. “Why don’t you break the news, darling?” 

“Break the news? The fuck, hyung? Did you invite me just to kick me out?” Wooyoung protests.

“I told you to trust me, you brat,” Hongjoong counters, passing a half-hearted glare towards the younger with a small sigh. “You’re here to watch the show.”

“Well, I’ll do that fucking gladly,” Wooyoung huffs. He makes for the bed, moving to join Hongjoong on top of the mattress, but Hongjoong slings his legs over Yeosang’s body and steps onto the floor to block Wooyoung’s way instead. Yeosang scrambles to push himself up onto his elbows. With wide eyes, he glances between the pair, swallowing around nothing when Wooyoung rakes his eyes over Yeosang’s bare chest leading down to the bulge in his sweats. Hongjoong places a hand over Wooyoung’s chest, and slowly but surely, the leader backs him up until he stumbles back into Seonghwa’s desk chair. “Hyung?”

“I said you get to watch. Not touch.”

“What? Hyung, you can’t seriously—”

“Per Yeosang’s request. Can’t you do it for him, my baby?” 

Wooyoung sucks his lower lip between his teeth and inhales sharply at the small pet name. Yeosang watches on with wide and curious eyes, from the way Hongjoong drags his hands over Wooyoung’s tan skin to the way Wooyoung’s hips tremble in an attempt to stay on the chair.

“Good boy,” Hongjoong hums when the younger doesn’t budge after a few moments. He slips back to the bed, still smiling from ear to ear as he moves, and he greets Yeosang with a wet and sloppy kiss. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, something inherently dirty in the best way possible, and Yeosang can’t hold back the light groan that rumbles through his throat when Hongjoong brings a hand down to palm at his erection. “You still want me to ruin you, darling?”

“Always,” Yeosang exhales against his lips. At that, Hongjoong leaves him with one more chaste kiss then dips lower, not wasting any more time before pulling something out from under his mattress. Yeosang’s body tenses in anticipation at the sight of it, and even more so when Hongjoong curls his fingers around the band of his sweats.

“Be as loud as you wish. Wooyoung is such a sucker for pretty moans,” Hongjoong teases, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hyung!” Wooyoung protests in an instant, and he nearly bolts up from his chair. Hongjoong levels him with a glare though, the power dynamic slipping through and baring itself to Yeosang’s eyes, and it would taste a lie if he said he doesn’t want Hongjoong to dominate him in such a way as well. 

“Today is all about Yeo, but I’ll be kind enough to let you touch yourself too. But you can only come after he does.”

Wooyoung doesn’t voice his protests, but Yeosang can see the disapproval in his eyes. There is no opportunity to dwell on it for long because cold air suddenly hits his crotch and he feels his cock spring loose without warning. He draws his legs together to hide himself, a sudden bashfulness taking over him within seconds. Hongjoong drops his clothing off to the side, and it hits the floor with a soft thud before Hongjoong is back between his legs and easing his knees apart. 

“Don’t hide yourself, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Yeosang’s knee. “You’re so beautiful for us—” another kiss, this time higher on the inside of his thigh “—so precious and perfect. Next time I’ll let Wooyoung worship every inch of you, I promise.”

Next time. That insinuation has Yeosang preening, hips canting upwards towards Hongjoong’s body, and the older man stills him with a deftly placed palm on his cock.

“A-Ah, hyung,” Yeosang chokes out. The pressure increases a bit, drawing another louder moan from Yeosang’s lips. Hongjoong takes the opportunity to spread his legs once more, although this time he makes sure to press them wider than before, and Yeosang has never felt more exposed in his life. Hongjoong is still kissing a path up his bare leg when he reaches for the bottle of lube. The click of the cap sends a jolt through his nervous system, cock twitching weakly on the vee of his hip. 

“Hm, are you that excited, baby? You’re doing so well already. Wooyoung always complains about how slow I am when we do this.” Yeosang can do nothing but blink down at where Hongjoong is perched between his legs. Wide eyes meet his and maintain a steady sense of eye contact even as he pours some lube onto his fingers. “Am I going too slow for you, Yeosang?”

“A… a little bit,” Yeosang admits, shifting his elbows on the mattress. 

“But you’re doing so well for us, darling. Being so good and patient, hm? What more could you want?” Hongjoong trails a finger from the head of Yeosang’s erect cock down to the base. Even the slight touch has Yeosang whimpering in need, and he tries to rut his hips up into the older’s hand, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll ruin you good and nice, okay?”

“Please,” Yeosang pants. Hongjoong traces down further with his lubed fingers, using his index finger to rub small circles around Yeosang’s hole. With his other hand, he takes hold of Yeosang’s cock, then without warning, he encircles the entirety of his member in the wet heat of his mouth. “Oh m-my god, hyung!” Yeosang throws his head back against the bed. His back arches painfully with the sensation, but Hongjoong doesn’t let up until his nose brushes Yeosang’s crotch. It is vastly impressive but Yeosang is far too engulfed in the feeling of Hongjoong’s mouth around his length to think too much about it. What he does know is that Hongjoong takes him all the way to the back of his throat without gagging in the slightest, and Yeosang wouldn’t call himself small by any means, so if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed, he isn’t sure what could top it.

Yeosang squeezes his eyes shut as Hongjoong ravishes his cock, taking in the feeling of the man’s tongue tracing along the underside of his length. Hongjoong certainly sucks dick like it’s his last meal on earth and his only purpose in life. Though the number of blowjobs Yeosang has received are few and far between, he knows this is going to ruin all blowjobs in the future for him unless Wooyoung is the one to give them. Hongjoong keeps circling that index finger around his rim. It’s teasing and prodding, like he’s trying to get Yeosang to cave and beg for it, but Yeosang is too lost in the heat of Hongjoong’s mouth to even think to ask for it. Ironically, it’s Hongjoong who grows impatient as time passes on, and he at last slips one finger past Yeosang’s tight ring and buries the digit two knuckles deep in him.

Yeosang blindly reaches down to grab Hongjoong’s wrist. He desperately tries to push his finger deeper, to prod further and find that elusive spot that feels oh so good, but Hongjoong keeps him from doing so. The leader slips off his cock with a lewd pop, leaving a trail of spit to dangle between his lips and the head of Yeosang’s cock. The effort of having Yeosang so deep for such a long period of time shows on his face: his eyes are a bit puffy and red around the edges, tears glisten in his waterline, and the tip of his nose gleams just a little brighter now. Yeosang could get drunk off the sheer sight of him like this.

“Be patient, darling,” Hongjoong reminds him as he pushes Yeosang’s hand away from his own. “You’re so tight that I wanna spend some extra time prepping you, okay?”

And yes, Yeosang is touched by the gesture in the very least but he’s also quite annoyed because he wants Hongjoong deeper and deeper with each passing second. He only gets part of his wish when Hongjoong descends back on his leaking erection, scooping up the trail of precum and saliva with the flat of his tongue and diving back down on him. Somewhere in the haze of his thoughts, Yeosang thinks that having his dick sucked by Kim Hongjoong is a wholly spiritual experience. 

That point is proved further when Hongjoong pushes a second finger into his hole and gently settles it into his heat without moving for several seconds. Then, he twists his digits to the side and begins to fuck those two fingers in and out of Yeosang’s tight ring as slowly as possible. That has Yeosang’s moan devolving into choked mewls and whimpers, and his thighs tremble under the repetitive double stimulation that never stops even for a second.

Hongjoong has a talent at taking people apart it seems because he does it with Yeosang so easily that the younger is already seeing stars without having come a single time yet. Wooyoung is thoroughly enjoying the scene before him with rapt attention, and for once he actually remains rather quiet as he watches on, aside from the occasional moan and groan. The feeling of Wooyoung’s stare firmly planted on his body, from his face down to where Hongjoong’s face meets his crotch, leaves Yeosang feeling even more light-heated. He’s fairly confident that this with either send him spiraling into unknown territory or he will just straight up pass out after coming once. 

There is no time to worry about those minute details in the coming moments: Hongjoong works a third digit into his hole, and when he does, he pulls off Yeosang’s tortured cock with a lopsided grin. 

“Isn’t he so good and pretty for us, Woo baby?” 

“Y-Yes, hyung,” Wooyoung answers quickly. 

“Are you getting close, angel?” Despite Hongjoong’s stare being directed at Yeosang, the latter is vaguely aware that the question is meant for Wooyoung, but still, he nods a few times for good measure. That draws a laugh from Hongjoong’s chest. The noise resonates in Yeosang’s body, leaving him with a steady thrum of pleasure, and Hongjoong speeds up the pace of his fingers as he pumps them in and out of Yeosang’s hole. “You look so heavenly like this, Yeosang. Panting and mewling as I fuck your hole with just my fingers. You’re so desperate for something bigger, aren’t you?”

Yeosang is losing control over his own inhibitions and slipping into a place he rarely goes. 

“Y-Yes, yes, hyung, I’m — want more. Want more, please, give me more,” he babbles back, too lost to think about piecing full sentences together. Hongjoong is quick to pick up on the shift, especially in the way that Yeosang’s body turns to jello in his touch and becomes fully pliant under him. The leader snakes a hand up Yeosang’s side and finds one of Yeosang’s own hands on the bed. He laces their fingers together, clasping tight at the younger’s hand while offering a sweet and gentle smile. 

“Hyung has you, darling,” he murmurs. “I promise.” It’s the reassurance Yeosang needs to let go, and he lets himself rut down on Hongjoong’s fingers. They find a rhythm like that — with Yeosang’s half-hearted and shaky bounces and Hongjoong’s timely thrusts — and each jab to his prostate has Yeosang crying out for more. He wants to hold off, wants to make it last longer, come while Hongjoong is balls deep inside him, but Hongjoong seems determined to draw at least one orgasm out of him before they go any further. 

And that’s exactly what he does.

Less than three minutes later, Yeosang has his free hand wrapped around his shaft as Hongjoong fucks into his hole with three fingers and a sense of reckless abandon. It’s purely euphoric, and the quick jabs to his prostate are what sends him fully over the edge. Come spills over his hand, coating his knuckles and fingers in the sticky white substance, and Yeosang lets the steady jerks of his arm come to a rest. Hongjoong, however, just continues to pump his fingers in and out of Yeosang’s hole, not waiting for the man to recover before he is back to toying with his prostate. 

“Hyung, t-too much, ah — ah, hyung, I can’t!” It is a delicious bit of overstimulation, and one that leaves Yeosang exhausted and panting for air. Hongjoong stops before it begins to hurt thankfully, slipping his fingers out of the younger before mapping a path with his lips up to Yeosang’s neck.

“Are you with me, darling?” He hums into the crook of his neck. Small love bites enunciate the words, and Hongjoong drags his tongue over each little mark he paints on Yeosang’s skin. 

Yeosang honestly feels like he is floating on a different plane of existence. He doesn’t process any of what Hongjoong said, only the touches and cool sensation of air hitting the path of spit Hongjoong left on his chest. It’s concerning enough to make Hongjoong sit back and look Yeosang directly in the eye.

“Yeosang, baby, are you with me?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes, hyung. I’m — I’m here, yes,” Yeosang replies this time as Hongjoong pulls him out of the state of delirium.

“What’s our color, doll?” Rather than responding, Yeosang preens at the name Hongjoong calls him, a lopsided smile covering his lips.

“I like that, hyung. Can you — can you call me that again please?”

“I need your color first, Yeo. Is it too much? Do we need to stop?” Hongjoong cradles the younger’s face in his hands, caressing the soft skin of his cheeks and trying to make the younger look him in the eye. Even the smallest touch sends Yeosang spiraling, like he’s swimming through dark water and can’t figure out what’s going on around him.

“I don’t want to stop. I’m… I’m okay,” Yeosang insists through a nod. “I just need a few minutes to recover a bit. ‘m still green, I promise. I’m too — t-touch is too much right now.” Hongjoong nods and retracts his hands from the visual’s face, and Yeosang instantly inhales a deep breath of air like he’s been starving for it all this time. 

“Have you come yet, Woo baby?” Hongjoong shifts his focus over to the other man in the room, and Yeosang follows his stare over to land on where Wooyoung sits. Said man shakes his head quickly, fingers loosely wrapped around the base of his cock. “Can you last a little while longer?”

“Y-Yeah, of course, hyung.” 

That has Hongjoong smirking again, and the leader slips off the bed to stand up straight.

“Good because I’ve changed my mind,” he hums, stepping closer to where Wooyoung sits. He steps around the back of the chair. Yeosang makes brief eye contact with the man as he lays his hands down on Wooyoung’s shoulders, eyes glinting a bit under the fluorescent lights. “Yeosangie is going to ride your pretty little cock, and I…” Hongjoong curls his fingers around Wooyoung’s jaw and shifts the younger to look at him. He pushes two digits past Wooyoung’s lips, pressing down so hard on his tongue that Yeosang can hear the way Wooyoung gags around him. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth just the way you like. Understood?”

Wooyoung mumbles around Hongjoong’s fingers, taking them deeper into his mouth without complaint, and that seems to be answer enough with the way Wooyoung blinks up at his hyung through his lashes.

“Good boy,” Hongjoong praises before pushing his fingers further down Wooyoung’s throat. “Yeosang, darling, take your time. There’s no rush, okay? Woo could sit here with my hand in his mouth for hours and be satisfied.”

Yeosang spends the next several minutes just observing the scene before him. It’s oddly euphoric to simply stare at them in this state, Wooyoung still seated in that chair and Hongjoong standing behind him with an arm curled around the front of his body. Wooyoung seems to be working his tongue over Hongjoong’s fingers based on the dripping trail of saliva that pools at the corners of his lips every few minutes. And Hongjoong was correct: Wooyoung seems perfectly content like that, happily lavishing the older’s fingers as Hongjoong cards his other hand through Wooyoung’s dark hair.

By the time Yeosang finally pulls himself to his feet, his legs are somewhat wobbly and shaky, but he drags himself to where Wooyoung is seated with little issue. While his own cock has softened down to a semi-hard state, Wooyoung is still rock hard and twitching between his legs, hands clasped tight around the arms of the chair. Yeosang drops himself to Wooyoung’s lap without warning, and it startles the man so badly that he bites down hard on Hongjoong’s fingers. Hongjoong takes it without complaint, only letting out a soft hiss and yanking Wooyoung’s hair until the younger moans around his hand.

“Are you feeling alright, doll?” Hongjoong leans over Wooyoung’s head to get in Yeosang’s space. The visual greets him with a quick and daring kiss, then places both hands atop where Wooyoung’s sit on the armrests. 

“Perfect as can be.”

Hongjoong smiles into the kiss. He pulls off too soon for Yeosang’s liking, but Yeosang understands why he does so after a moment because the leader slips his fingers out of Wooyoung’s wet mouth and takes to stripping himself of the rest of his clothes like the rest of them. In the break of touching from Hongjoong, Yeosang and Wooyoung finally look at each other — Yeosang with teeth sunk deep into his lower lip, and Wooyoung with eyes glazed in lust.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Wooyoung admits after a second. 

“Well, you don’t have to wait any longer,” Yeosang replies with a smile before taking Wooyoung’s face into his hands. Their lips meet in a shy kiss at first, one that is testing and exploring the waters around them before they let themselves get caught up in the thick air of arousal in the room. Wooyoung shifts his hands to Yeosang’s delicate hips. He presses his thumbs to the pale skin there with enough force to bruise, but the pressure is heady and delicious in Yeosang’s mind. 

Yeosang blindly fumbles around between his legs in search of Wooyoung’s cock, and once he finally has a hold of it, he pushes up on his knees to make space for Wooyoung to slip his cock between the cleft of Yeosang’s ass. They both release a shaky sigh into each other’s mouths, and Yeosang is ready to fully drop his hips on Wooyoung’s cock if not for Hongjoong stopping him at the last second.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, darling, you need more lube.” Hongjoong disappears behind his back, and Yeosang doesn’t bother to see what he’s doing until he feels something cool hit his backside. His whole body jolts forward against Wooyoung, hands latching onto the younger’s shoulders as the chilly lube slips lower. That feeling thankfully doesn’t last long because Wooyoung presses back into Yeosang’s hole with much more ease this time. Yeosang sinks down onto his heels once more, taking the younger’s cock deeper and deeper until Wooyoung’s thighs are flush with his ass.

He looks up from Wooyoung’s chest, intent on kissing the man under him, but Hongjoong has occupied his mouth in the meantime. And if Yeosang thought seeing Wooyoung with fingers between his lips was a sight to behold, the image of him with a cock filling his mouth is even better. So good in fact that Yeosang goes a little breathless at the sight. Hongjoong has a hand wrapped around the back of Wooyoung’s head, tilting the younger towards his crotch where Wooyoung slurps messily around his member with no shame. Hongjoong coos soft praises down at the man all the while, and it spurs Yeosang to start moving his hips. He desperately wants to hear that praise as well, he wants them to tell him that he’s doing a good job and being so good for them. He is so needy for it that he works his thighs as hard as he can, bringing a pleasant burn to the muscles. 

Yeosang’s erratic movements have Wooyoung releasing a litany of moans around Hongjoong’s cock, hands fumbling to grasp at his hips so he can buck up into Yeosang’s tight heat with little sense of rhythm. There’s no real point in trying to find a rhythm with Wooyoung, Yeosang learns that quickly because every time he tries to build a steady pace, Wooyoung jerks up with a thrust that throws Yeosang off-balance. So, instead, Yeosang just focuses on his small bounces and grinding his hips down when there’s a break in Wooyoung’s thrusts. Wooyoung loses his control on Hongjoong’s cock soon as well, and his timed bobs turn into letting his jaw go slack so that Hongjoong can simply thrust into his mouth instead. The sounds in the room are purely erotic, too loud between the wet slaps of skin, Yeosang’s mewls, and Wooyoung’s gagged moans around Hongjoong’s member, but Hongjoong manages to be relatively quiet himself with only a few sporadic moans here and there. 

“Look at you, doll.”

Yeosang cracks an eye open, panting through a whimper when he sees the way Hongjoong is currently staring at him. 

“You’re doing so well for us. Look at him, Woo, look how good he is on top of you like this.” Hongjoong stretches his free hand out towards Yeosang. He reaches for the younger’s face, but Yeosang twists his neck at the last second and catches Hongjoong’s thumb between his teeth instead. He maintains a piercing stare with the leader as he sucks the digit into his mouth, effectively muting his noises. Hongjoong’s hips lose their rhythm, and he freezes with cock halfway down Wooyoung’s throat to just stare at Yeosang in absolute wonder for so long that Yeosang thinks he truly broke the man. Wooyoung slips off Hongjoong’s cock.

“Hyung,” he whines, tone so hoarse that Yeosang would be surprised if he could talk at all tomorrow. 

“S-Shit,” Hongjoong exhales, and it’s the first time that Yeosang has seen the man’s composure break in the slightest since this started. That causes his chest to swell with pride, heady arousal filling his veins, and he squeezes hard around Wooyoung’s cock. It’s all the younger needs to come, apparently, because Wooyoung releases a startled yelp that is so loud that Hongjoong has to rush to muffle him with his cock before someone comes rushing to the door. Yeosang isn’t expecting to come as soon as he does, but he is quick to follow Wooyoung in coming, hot spurts of come painting Wooyoung’s stomach and Yeosang’s hands where they rest atop Wooyoung’s sternum. He can’t stop moving, nor does Wooyoung let him with the grip he maintains on Yeosang’s hips, thus the two of them ride out their orgasms together like that until their bodies give out to the pleasure. 

Yeosang collapses forward, smearing the cum between their bodies further as he drops his head to Wooyoung’s right shoulder. Hongjoong is still working hard to come himself, and Wooyoung returns to his senses enough to assist him. Yeosang can only watch on from where he’s perched. Every muscle in his body aches and burns, but the lingering haze of his orgasms leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

“S-Shit, Woo, gonna come on you like this,” Hongjoong warns, fingers tightening around the man’s hair. Wooyoung pulls off his cock and replaces his mouth with a hand. He splays his tongue out before the head of Hongjoong’s dick, somehow managing to giggle as he strokes his hyung to completion. Hongjoong releases onto Wooyoung’s tongue and face, and Wooyoung takes every last drop until he’s milked Hongjoong dry. 

When he finally lets go of the man’s cock, Wooyoung turns back to Yeosang, twisting a hand through his hair and pulling his face up until they’re eye level, then he plants his lips atop Yeosang’s. The come is still there, sticking to his face and tongue, but Yeosang sinks into the kiss without complaint. Wooyoung thrusts his tongue into the visual’s mouth. Hongjoong’s come is salty and warm, so bitter that Yeosang almost chokes on it, but Wooyoung fares much better, although that’s probably because he has a lot more practice swallowing come than Yeosang does. Yeosang takes it as best he can, swallowing every drop that Wooyoung pushes between his lips, and he even goes so far as to clean the come off Wooyoung’s face between soft kisses. 

“Hyung,” Yeosang exhales, and he looks up to where Hongjoong stands beside them. Hongjoong seems to guess exactly what he wants with little trouble, bending at the waist to give him a sloppy kiss, and Yeosang hums into the touch. 

“What about me?” Wooyoung whines the moment they detach, and Hongjoong has enough mercy to offer a kiss to him as well.

“I’ll give you more in the shower,” he promises after pecking the younger’s forehead. “I’ll go get the water running. You two come join when you’re ready, yeah?”

Hongjoong leaves the two of them there, still seated in that damn chair with Wooyoung’s softened cock deep in Yeosang’s ass. They don’t move right away, and frankly, Yeosang is more than okay with that because his body feels weightless and unreal at the moment. 

“Want me to carry you to the bathroom?” Wooyoung offers through a smile. Yeosang only hums in response and tucks his head further into Wooyoung’s neck.

“I really… Wooyoung, I really like you. More than just sexually,” he admits, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Wooyoung’s face. “You and Hongjoong both.”

“I like you both too, so I don’t see why that would be an issue.”

“Really?” Yeosang murmurs. And maybe it’s just the afterglow of the sex or the pent-up emotions rolling through Yeosang’s chest, but the corners of his eyes prick with unshed tears and his heart clenches in his chest.

“I thought it was obvious this whole time, yeah. And I know… I know Hongjoong feels the same even if he’s not always good at voicing his feelings all the time.” Yeosang squeezes his arms around Wooyoung’s midsection at that. A soft kiss lands on his forehead, then Wooyoung shifts their weight and tucks his hands under Yeosang’s thighs.

“Are you two dolts coming or not? I’m wasting hot water over here, hurry it the fuck up!”

“He loves us!” Wooyoung laughs into the shell of Yeosang’s ear, carrying him off to join Hongjoong in the bathroom before the leader complains again.

“Yeah, I think he does,” Yeosang murmurs more to himself than to anyone else.

﹎﹎﹎

[softykooky]

sanctuary: six

summary: leaving your father was easy. leaving them? well...that’s a different kind of strength. 7.9k words.

genre: mafia au, fluff, major angst

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings:  toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, reader goes to therapy, hurt, argument/yelling, the boys are mean...

author’s note: i made you guys wait long enough hehe :) hope you like it, please let me know what you think! and please take notice of the warnings!! they are there for a reason <3

♡ series masterpost ♡

Your nightmares have gotten better...somewhat. Better in the sense that you don’t let them carry over as much to the next day. Better in the sense that now, there are seven smiling faces that greet you every morning to help the fear dissolve. But they still relent as strong as ever, and make you toss and turn every single night with no pity. 

They’ve gotten more frequent since that meeting with your father. More vivid. Some nights, your nightmares are so bad that you just end up migrating over to Taehyung’s room right next to you and sleeping on the edge of the bed (though you just end up wrapped around each other in the morning). Taehyung never bats an eye. Only opens the side of his thick duvet for you to crawl into and flicks on a lamp because he knows you don’t like the dark after a nightmare. 

Tonight is no different. From the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear your pained whimpers and mumbles that he can barely make out. Your sheets rustle as your body protests the vivid dream, and he can’t help but to bolt out of his comfortable position to check up on you. You’re still deep in restless sleep when he opens the door and approaches your bed. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, please wake up”, he soothes, caressing the side of your face with one hand. “It’s just a dream.”

The yellowing bruise on your cheek has begun to fade, but it still makes their blood boil every time they catch sight of it. Seeing it right now makes Taehyung want to burn the entire city down and your father along with it. But he is here for you. And Taehyung (and the other six) cannot be anything but soft towards you. 

“Baby, wake up”, he says again, louder this time and it makes you begin to stir out of sleep. You quiet at the contact of his skin but your eyes remain closed and that fitful frown is still on your face. Taehyung doesn’t know that his mere presence brings you comfort. Even when you’re not conscious. 

He takes the authority to nestle under the covers next to you and it’s as if your body just naturally gravitates to his, tucking yourself into his arms like a linking puzzle piece. It’s a selfish reason, and Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone, though he has a feeling the guys already know and also share his belief. But he secretly treasures the moments that he gets with you, even if it is for a heartbreaking reason such as nightmares. 

He loves the feeling of your body next to his, and the blankets that get just a little too overheated because the both of you are human furnaces. He loves the gentle thud of your heartbeat on those nights that he holds you closer than normal, when you shake like a leaf through your dreams and he is your tether to the ground. 

And to think, just a while ago he was yelling at you from the other side of the wall, complaining about your loud crying. He wants to go back in time and kick himself. Taehyung’s scared. He’s never really cared for someone like this before. 

You are already safely stowed away in his wide chest when a shadow walks by the room. Taehyung is not surprised when Yoongi creaks the bedroom door open, and not surprised when he sees Jimin in tow. 

“We heard her all the way from upstairs.” Yoongi mutters through a yawn. Jimin just sighs and looks at your sleeping figure with concern and longing. The two men shuffle into the room and as Jimin lifts up the blanket to flank your other side, Yoongi sets himself at the foot of the bed. Not that any of them lacked space, of course. The boys made sure your room was properly equipped with a large California king. 

“It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I want to help her, but I-” 

Taehyung finds himself getting choked up through his words. They all feel the same way. It’s just that there’s been too many nights where he’s had to hold your broken pieces together while you scream out the ghosts of what has happened to you. If it’s too much to bear for the seven of them, looking from the outside, they can’t imagine how it must feel for you. 

Jimin reaches over, your body nestled between the two of them, and inserts his hand inside Taehyung’s, caressing the thumb back and forth of his skin. 

“I guess all we can do is be here on the nights that are difficult.” Yoongi tilts his head so that he’s looking at you, still drifting off in your dream with a pained expression on your face.

“She’ll get through this. She’s strong.” 

The words that Yoongi whispers into the night air of your bedroom are hopeful. Uncharacteristic for a man like him, but when it comes to you, optimism is the only choice. He’ll allow himself to have hope if it’s for you. 

The four of you fall back into shallow sleep, and time passes by differently when it’s night time and your bones cry for rest. They fall in and out of consciousness for a minute or a couple hours, none of them are sure. All they can focus on is their worry, and you continue to battle through your war of bad dreams. Jimin and Taehyung awaken again when you begin to stir.

You quiver like you’re cold, even when you’re sandwiched in between two warm bodies and they both snuggle in to hold you even closer. But you remain lost to your nightmare and begin to cry tears that drip down and dampen the fabric of Taehyung’s pajama shirt. He knows you’ll apologize profusely for that in the morning, but he couldn’t give less of a damn about his shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms makes him feel like an utter failure. 

Jimin wipes away the wet trail that the tear left behind on your skin, and wants to cry himself. He doesn’t know how to take your pain away, and wants to scream because sleep is the only time where you can truly rest and the universe deprives you of even that. 

“I’m so sorry, princess. We’re here.” He whispers to your unhearing ears. “We’ll be here.”

When your cries begin to get loud and your muttering becomes pained, the door is softly opened again. This time, it reveals a wide-awake Jungkook and a not so awake Hoseok. Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the fond smile that paints his lips. 

“Jungkook, I told you to stop staying up so late playing video games.” he whisper-scolds, and Jungkook looks sheepish in the lowlight of your bedroom. They’re not surprised by his late night antics by any means, and they’re also not surprised that he abandoned them to check up on you. They all know Jungkook has an unreasonably tender spot for you. 

“Is it her dreams again?”, Hoseok says, pure worry leaking out of every word and staring at your impossibly small self in Taehyung’s hold. There’s no annoyedness in his tone. They’re all just deathly concerned about you. 

Pushing Hoseok inside the room and quietly closing the door behind him, Jungkook situates himself on the loveseat next to the bed, while Hoseok just plops on the plush rug, snatching a throw pillow and tucking it under his head. Jimin sweeps a stray hair away that had fallen into your face. 

Though they’re all trying to close their eyes and sleep, they all know that tonight will be a restless one. If you are not peacefully sleeping, they won’t be able to either. And it seems that that statement applies to all of them, when not even 10 minutes pass until Namjoon and Seokjin make their way to your bedroom, for the same reason as the other five. They wordlessly set out pillows and blankets on the floor beside your bed, nestling into each other for warmth and hoping that you can feel their sincerity even in sleep. And if anyone could see them now: big, bad mafia bosses cuddling together to help you through a night of bad dreams, Bangtan would force them to sign non-disclosure agreements. For you though, they could do this for hundreds of nights. 

When all seven are there, you miraculously slumber peacefully through the night. For the first time since Taehyung crept into your room, you are resting comfortably, quiet and undisturbed. And when you start snoring, Taehyung wants to cry with sheer relief. It was as if your subconscious vied for the presence of all the boys, and now that you have it, they finally allow themselves to drift off as well. 

The last thing you expected when you woke up this morning was to be dripping in sweat and much too aware of the extra three bodies on the bed with you. Ones you don’t remember going to sleep with last night. You have no recollection, just remembered that you went to sleep alone and now the seven men you’ve grown far too fond of were in the room with you, still snoozing the day away. 

At the foot of your bed, Yoongi stretches his limbs and groans when the sunlight peaks through the curtains into his eyes. He squints away the sleep and smiles dopily at you from under a blanket. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way you practically melt at just his gaze. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” His throaty morning voice makes you blush two shades of red. 

“Good morning”, you whisper back, not wanting to wake any of them up. They just look so adorable and so completely exhausted. Yoongi bets that all of them would rather forfeit their positions as mafia bosses before telling you it’s because they stayed up all night worrying about you. “Um…”, you murmur, eyes darting around the room, “why are you all in here?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit how whipped they actually are for you. 

“You were...having bad nightmares. So we wanted to come make sure you were okay.” 

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s confession, and it reminds you of when Namjoon had done the same for you all those nights ago. It makes your heart ache and bloom at the same time because well..no one’s really cared enough to do something like this for you. Something so simple yet significant. You blink away the mistiness in your eyes, looking around the room once again. 

Three of them are on your bed. The rest are distributed across the floor and Jungkook’s slung uncomfortably on a chair. When you look back at Yoongi, it seems like he already knows all the thoughts running through your head. He already knows the words you want to say, but don’t know how to articulate. 

“We’ll do this every night if we have to, Y/N. For as long as it takes.” 

You leap from your spot under the blankets to wrap Yoongi in a bear hug, burying your face in his shoulder as he buries his in your hair. Though you are overheated from the cuddling and still dazed from sleep, you hold him with as much sincerity as you can muster. You have a feeling he can tell when he holds you back just as warmly. 

The movement makes Jimin and Taehyung wake in unison and as they rub the fatigue from their eyes and land on the sight of you perfectly swathed in Yoongi’s arms, the two of them think it’s a sight they could get used to waking up to. They wonder if you feel the same way. 

“Thank you.” Your words are airy and light in his ear, but Yoongi knows their true weight. He doesn’t say anything. Just plants a soft kiss on the side of your temple and relishes in the scent of your shampoo. 

When he stares past your shoulders, he meets the gaze of Jimin and Taehyung, who are fondly peering at the two of you. Years of being with each other, they’ve learned to communicate certain things without having to say anything. And right now, in the gentle morning light, the realization is beginning to seep in. 

Perhaps the way they care about you is more what they had expected. 

Living with the seven of them is an adjustment. Getting accustomed to a rhythm and routine in a house that’s the headquarters of an underground powerhouse is easier said than done. You were constantly surrounded with uncertainty and tiptoeing danger but you had never felt unsafe. They were there. And as long as you had them, this house was sanctuary. 

You’re not in any immediate danger. Your father had basically agreed to leave you alone for the foreseeable future and the media had begun to calm down. However, when the tides have settled, the boys are able to see you up close and personal and at all the ugly scares you’ve tried to hide from everyone. They’re able to see what those years of trauma has done to you. 

Whenever someone’s voice booms too loudly across the mansion, yelling orders at subordinates or for any other reason, you start to quiver like a leaf in the wind. When one of them reaches towards you too quickly, for simple things like a wave or to hold your hand, you can’t help but to flinch in anticipation. And you try to hide it, but it’s impossible not to notice. 

They notice everything. 

They always do, when it comes to you. 

With every mannerism and survival instinct that has been involuntarily drilled into your subconscious, they all grow angrier that you’ve been subjected to this pain. Hoseok has had to talk Namjoon down from sending their entire fleet to dismantle the ambassador a couple too many times as they continue to learn how deep the trauma with your father truly runs.

“Y/N…”, Jin hesitantly mutters, fiddling with the food on his plate nervously, “have you ever thought about...going to therapy?” 

You freeze in between a chew and swallow, eyes staring into his with an innocent deer-in-the-headlights expression. You look like you might have a panic attack, and Jin is quick to cut the tension. 

“N-not that we’re forcing you to do it, my love. It’s only a suggestion. It’s just that..maybe it would be good for you. To talk about things and get professional help.” By the way he says it, and the way the other boys are staring at you expectantly, you realize this is something they’ve probably been discussing for a while now. And though it’s heartwarming to know that they care about your health, the idea of going to therapy is deathly daunting. 

“I don’t know, guys…” You twist your hands in your lap, a nervous habit to show your discomfort and they all instantly regret bringing this up at all. You keep your gaze glued downwards. You’re afraid that if you look up, you’ll just see disappointment from the ones that you’ve grown to care about so much. You don’t think you could handle it. 

“Could you look at us, Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice is soothing and there is no single trace of anger or frustration. You slowly tilt your head upwards and meet his eyes. 

“At the end of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want therapy, then fuck therapy, princess.” 

Namjoon feels gratification when his statement makes you smile, and his heart suspiciously flutters in his chest. 

“But we just want the best for you. We all want you to heal because…”, Namjoon looks around and makes eye contact with the rest of the boys, whom he knows share his same feelings. 

“You’re so important to us.” 

You’ve known this. You know that they care about you even when your mind forces you to doubt that anyone does. But when you hear it like this, so raw and unfiltered with sincerity leaking in every letter, it ignites something that you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Hope. 

You take a glance next to you at Jungkook, whose warm smile makes your lungs feel like molten honey. At Yoongi, who looks back at you with gentle eyes. At Hoseok, who is impossibly soft with you. At them all. It makes you realize something:

You don’t want to go to therapy. It’s scary and you’re not really sure if you want to talk about your father or your family or anything that happened before you met Bangtan. But you have people who care about you now. And if you didn’t want to do this for yourself, then, well... you would do it for them. 

“You don’t have to decide now, but-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice slices through Taehyung’s words. “I’ll go to therapy.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?”, Hoseok questions. Though he wants you to very badly, he wants you to do it on your own terms. And though your statement is strong, he can see the doubt and uncertainty swimming in your irises. 

“No, not really.” you whisper, and they practically deflate so you are quick to remedy their dejection. 

“But...I know that I want to get better. I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to get better.” You take a deep breath.

“For you. All of you.” 

The room falls silent, and the noise of clinking cutlery against porcelain plates stills. They could only look at you and wonder what country they have saved in their past lifetime to deserve to stumble upon someone like you. Someone so wonderful, and so damaged but so determined to heal. For them. For all of them. 

Jungkook scoops your hand in his, and when you look in his eyes, you are stunned to see that there are unshed tears pooling at his waterline. He looks at you and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t place. Something lovely that makes you feel like all this hurt has been worth it. Jungkook looks at you like there is something worth looking at. 

“We love…” From your other side, Jimin starts speaking, but cuts himself off halfway through and suspiciously glances around the table, meeting the gaze of the six other boys who already know how he wants to finish that sentence. But he doesn’t. 

“W-We love that you want to do that for us”, he coughs, and you return it with a smile. 

Did a part of you want him to say something different? Something deeper? You’re not sure, but the tinge of disappointment in your stomach that follows his words is a sign. 

Could you allow yourself to think that someone could actually genuinely like you past platonicity? Much less seven powerful men? After years of your father telling you the complete opposite, accompanying each scathing word with a bruise, it’s difficult to believe anything different. 

Therapy was, in a word, completely exhausting. It was tiring dancing around the subject of your father’s abuse, your mother’s neglect, Soyeon’s blatant denial and just the complete package of being the eldest daughter to Ambassador Yoo. When they all had scheduled you for 4 sessions a week, you immediately wanted to decline and opt for one. But their eyes had all looked so hopeful. So excited for you to get professional help, and there was no possible way you could have turned them down. 

Progress is frustratingly slow, though. Some days you just want to quit.

 You plop unceremoniously on the large plush sofa, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and cradling it to your chest. The boys are all in the other room, but are now fully aware of your presence after you slammed the front door and huffed your way to the comforting couch. They can practically feel the rays of stress emanating from you. 

“Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” Jimin is the one that first approaches, and the rest stare on with concern leaking out of every pore. And when you reply with a sniffle and hiccup, their hearts all collectively break. 

You feel a dip in the couch and crane your neck to lock your teary eyes with Jimin’s, whose brows are deeply furrowed. You involuntarily launch into his arms, tucking your face into his neck, and inhaling his cologne that always manages to calm you down. You hear them all shuffle around you. 

“It’s just..”, your voice pitifully cracks, “hard.” From your position, they are thankful you cannot see the heartbreak in their expression. It’s so hard for them to see you as anything but happy. 

“I don’t know if I can do it”, you breathe out, feeling a new wave of tears begin to rise. You want to cry even more at the thought that they would be more disappointed in you. .

But there is a warmth from your other side, and you don’t know who it belongs to as it sits next to you. 

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N”, Namjoon whispers oh-so-softly. They are such simple words. Arguably mundane and ordinary. Then why does it knock the wind right out of your chest? Why does it light up your dark tunnel? He’s proud of you. They all are. Even when you are an emotional mess with low mental energy, Namjoon is sitting next to you and telling you that he’s proud. 

You erupt into heart wrenching sobs that won’t seem to stop no matter what you do. It’s the kind of cry that feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. A cry that comes straight from your core and it sounds painful but truthfully, it’s just relieving. You know that all of them are worried out of their minds. You can feel it in the way Jimin shakily holds you as tight as he can, as if you are delicate chipped porcelain in his arms. 

But this is how you rebuild. With the seven of them by your side. You tell Namjoon to cancel your future therapy sessions the next day. Your psychologist was far short of revolutionary, and when they all asked you why, you admit that it’s not the therapy that’s helping you get better. 

It was just them. Being around them. Talking to them. 

It was Seokjin carding his hands through your hair and rubbing out the tension that always inevitably develops in your temples. It was Namjoon letting you lounge quietly in his office as he goes through paperwork, enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his. It was Yoongi and Hoseok rambling to you about their adventures on the field (leaving out the gory details, of course. They wanted to keep you innocent and soft). It was Taehyung sneakily replacing your pink peonies as soon as the first petal began to wilt, even after the infinite amount of times you told him it was unnecessary. It was Jungkook and Jimin making excuses to spend the afternoon snuggled up on your bed when you all knew it was simply because they wanted to hold you. 

It was all of them tiptoeing around affection, craftily sneaking in spare kisses and touches on the skin. Holding you a little longer than necessary, a little more tenderly. Intertwining your hands under the dinner table, or when their subordinates weren’t looking. 

You notice the way they blush more often, if you let your touch linger for too long, or if you brush past them and make skin contact. You notice how pet names are easier to spill from their lips; ones like: my love, honey, sweetheart, baby...and you can’t help but to completely indulge in the way it is addressed only for you.  Little ways to subliminally tell you that perhaps you meant more to them than they were ready to admit. And you would be lying if you said your feelings for the seven of them were completely platonic. You would be lying if you said love wasn’t on the brain. 

Perhaps you are the missing piece to a puzzle they hadn’t realized was unfinished. 

“Hyung...I think I love her.” Jungkook is unsurprisingly the first one to voice it. The six others don’t even bat an eye. 

“No, Jungkook. I know you love her”, Hoseok whispers back in the tense silence of their meeting room. You are fast asleep on the floor above, but their hearts call out to you through the short distance. 

“I am too. We all are.” It is a truth they’ve known for a while. Sooner than they’re proud to admit. 

“I guess now all we have to do is figure out how to tell her.” 

They did want to. Tell you, that is. They wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make it known to the world that you are the angel that has snatched their hearts without even realizing it herself. If it hadn’t been for the disaster that suddenly struck their mafia, the boys would have already bared their souls to you. But timing was never kind. 

Bangtan were not known to be gullible. Not known to be easily fooled. So when Taehyung ran into their meeting room, red-faced and clenching his fists so hard they turned white, the Judas in their gang had come as a scathing surprise. 

One of their inner circle. Someone they had poured their trust and faith into, who had learned the system of their syndicate, had been a mole the entire time. Of course, they had disposed of him quickly, but the damage had already been done to their business. Allies and affiliates were backing away from collaboration in fear that Bangtan had been breached by law enforcement. Shipments were going missing more frequently, and even the lower hierarchies of their gang were beginning to become doubtful. To say the least, the seven of them were under debilitating stress and frustration. 

Nowadays, things were different than before. You were mostly kept in the dark about their business but you knew that something had happened. Something to make them so wound up, and it worried you to no end. It’s impossible not to notice how tense the house had become. 

Taehyung no longer stops by your room late at night, and in the early hours of the morning, you can still hear the frustrated clacking of his keyboard from next door. Not that you needed him to help you through your nightmares, but...you’ve gotten used to his comforting presence next to you.

Jungkook doesn’t seek you out for random conversations, and Namjoon just completely disappears in his office most days, not sparing you a single glance when he does manage to show his face outside. He locks the door now. You take it as a strong message that you are no longer welcome, and it upsets you, but you understand they are going through a rough patch. Your job is to be the least bothersome person you could possibly be. 

But Yoongi just flat out ignores you now, and you know Hoseok pretends to care about whatever topic of conversation you bring up. You can see right through his empty affirmations and nods. The kitchen is completely void of Jin, and there are no more clanging pots and pans when you try to cook for yourself. And Jimin is just like the rest of them: absent and indifferent to your presence. 

You know that it’s not you. The problem on their plate is bigger than you, but it still feels like you are a walking, breathing burden. You know that it’s not you, but your mind tells you they don’t want you here anymore. They’re sick of you. 

Two weeks pass by, and they’re still so cold even after all your attempts at trying to be calming comfort in their chaotic lives.  They still talk to you, but it’s strictly refrained to small talk that feels obligatory and like they have better things to do than spend time with you. They’re so busy that you often find yourself hanging out alone in the garden or making light conversation with the maids, or gang rookies that hang around the mansion. 

And it hurts to admit, but they don’t notice when you begin to regress to your old behavior. They don’t notice when you begin to flinch at anything that moves too quickly again, or the way you begin spacing out more than usual when you delve too far into your thoughts. They don’t notice when your nightmares start worsening again, too busy in their pooling stress to hear you toss and turn late at night and emerge from your bedroom with red, sunken eyes in the morning. You are relapsing into the learned behavior from your father, and you are terrified to admit it to yourself. But after a particularly bad day of anxiety and panic attacks, you put your fear aside to talk to the boys again about going back to therapy. It was virtually pointless, but you won’t let the seven of them take the brunt of your mental health when they had so much going on already. 

You timidly make your way down to the lower level of the mansion, slow footsteps leading you to their meeting room, where they’re all engrossed in their work and you can feel the tension choking the air. None of them notice your presence at first, until you cough to get their attention. They all snap their heads up and stare.

“Hey, could I um..talk to you guys for a couple minutes?”

 You feel like a specimen under a microscope. You used to be so comfortable talking to them. Now it just feels unnatural. 

“Can it wait, Y/N? We’ve just lost another shipment, and it’s a big one”, Yoongi grumbles from his seat, rifling through a tall stack of papers with a permanent crease in his brows. 

“Okay, then when can we-” 

“We’re just really busy right now.” 

Jungkook doesn’t mean for his voice to be so loud. He probably didn’t even pay attention to it, but it makes you flinch and stumble backwards. Makes you melt more into the girl you used to be. The one who stayed quiet out of survival, diminishing under the authority of a loud voice with cruel intentions. You know he doesn’t mean to do it. But you can’t help but see the face of your father again, and those long-healed scars seem to re-flicker with pain. 

Still, these were your boys. So you push on. 

A deep breath. “I was just thinking that maybe I could go back to-”

“Y/N, please. We don’t even have enough time to breathe. I’m sure whatever you need can be addressed later.”

The room falls into silence. Their message is loud and clear. And though it's painful to hear, it’s your own fault for exaggerating your place in their lives. He was right, it could be addressed later...you were just being a bother. 

“Right. Sorry.” Your halfhearted mutter falls deaf on their ears. They haven’t spared you a single ounce of attention, eyes still glued onto their work. You swallow down the heavy feeling in your throat and force the tears away. Why does your chest feel like someone’s twisted up your heart? 

You’re always so sensitive, Y/N. Such a crybaby. You can’t even take care of yourself. 

The tread upstairs back to your bedroom feels like an arduous journey as you try to hold yourself together and pretend like their actions hadn’t hurt you. But they weren’t responsible for your trauma. Your problems. You couldn’t blame them for not making it a priority, when their empire was threatened. 

They don’t hear you that night when you hold a goose-feather pillow to your chest and sob out the fear of being unwanted again. They don’t show up at your bedroom door when you wake yourself up from crying through a nightmare. 

You’ll figure it out yourself, with or without a therapist and with or without depending on them. From now on, you decide to make yourself invisible, focusing all your energy on dragging yourself out of the dark place you’re stuck in once again. So if you have to suffer in silence for their sake, so that they don’t have another insignificant loose end to worry about, you’ll do it. It’s the least you can do.

But you’d come to learn that those words are easier said than done. 

“Miss Y/N?” There is a light knock at your door, and the soft voice of the maid barely penetrates through the thick wood. You remember her name was Jun. The noise goes through in one ear and out of the other, and you can’t even find it in yourself to reply. 

“You haven’t left your room in two days. I was just...making sure you’re okay.”

Her statement shocks you out of your dazed stupor, and you hadn’t even realized the amount of time you spent staring into space, limp on your mattress.

 It was getting harder. To just function and drag yourself out of your bedroom so you didn’t, and two days unknowingly passed. But to you, they only felt like hours. Time passes by differently when you’re blindly navigating through trauma. 

It’s hard to sit up and slowly tread to the door, and your bones ache after not moving for so long. When you open it, guilt pools in your stomach to see her worried expression. Though you can guess why she looks so concerned. You’re a complete disaster. 

“Oh, honey…”, she sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “here. Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.” 

You mindlessly let her help you out of your days old T-shirt and sweats, mindlessly let her guide you into the shower and turn on the water, mindlessly let her rub shampoo into your scalp. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth and tell her the water’s too cold. You’re still stuck inside your own thoughts, and you can only hear your father’s voice in your ear as he repeatedly affirms how worthless you are. Useless Y/N, that’s what he would say. Good-for-nothing Y/N. 

You’ve somehow gotten it into your head that the reason why they’ve been so absent with you is because they don’t know to tell you they want you to leave. After all, staying in the Bangtan mansion was only supposed to be a temporary solution. Maybe this is how they kick you out. 

When Jun wraps you in a fluffy towel and drags you out from underneath the showerhead, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, and the dark circles under your eyes look almost painful. And somewhere along with that reflection is the image of your father. His angry face, glaring at you and screaming why you let yourself get like this. 

“Jun, have they…are they still busy?” Her eyes widen at the first words she’s heard from you, but there is sad sympathy on her face in a split second and you’ve already gotten your answer before she can say anything. 

“Yes, dear. The bosses are very occupied. But they can always make time for you, hm? They care about you a lot, you know.” Jun’s statement makes you frown, but you don’t retort. Maybe you used to think that they cared, but now it just felt like their kindness was out of obligation. They felt guilty for sending you back to your father. Or perhaps they used to care for you. But now...you weren’t so sure. 

When she manages to get you downstairs, in the kitchen, and set you in front of a bowl of soup, the boys are nowhere to be found. Jun tells you they’re out doing business and you tell yourself you’re not hurt that they hadn’t even noticed your absence for the past two days. 

They’re just roped up in other things, that’s all. 

After your shower and meal, Jun insisted that you take a stroll around the garden, and specifically instructed you to check out the new peony bush she had just planted. She mentioned it was per request of the seven bosses, but you had a hard time believing any of them would be concerned with something like that during this time. They hadn’t even made the time to talk to you. 

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to be outside and breathe in fresh air until you stepped out into the grassy space. Even though the solitude was getting to be too much, you were experiencing a newfound peace that you wanted to keep for as long as possible. Jun was right, and the peony bush was absolutely gorgeous. You actually feel like an alive and functioning human being. It was surprising that you were so dependent on the boys that without them, falling apart was inevitable. But now you were coherent and not so drowned in your toxic mentality (you’ll have to thank Jun profusely later), and you feel determined to talk to them again.  About going back to therapy, no matter how useless it felt back then, and try to get on your own two feet. Now that you had seen and felt how serious it was, you wouldn’t be so complicit if they tried to silence you. 

From over the tall hedges, the sounds of wheels rolling on gravel could be heard before the tense slams of car doors. The sound of Jungkook and Namjoon’s low muttering falls on your ears and though it sparks excitement inside you, you’re also fearful of what they might say. You don’t think you can handle another swift rejection like last time. Their indecipherable conversation ceases when you hear the entrance doors close, and seal them inside while you are still out here in your own world. 

The white peony that’s cupped in your hand feels so fragile and soft that you don’t want to touch it anymore. It makes you think of them. Of how delicate it feels recently and how you’re so deathly afraid of them changing their minds one day and kicking you out with nowhere to go. Maybe you’ll just wander around again. There’s a distant cousin in the states also, but you’d have to figure out how to get out of the country without alerting your father. You shake yourself out of your intrusive thoughts. 

No way your boys would do that to you.

Right?

The way back from the garden to the house is brief, but your anxiety about talking to them lengthens the trips and the feet feel like miles. You are wrapped up in your thoughts the entire way, and when you make your way into the house, you almost don’t notice the angry voices that are bouncing off the walls. It sounds like Taehyung is yelling, and the sound curdles your stomach. You hate it when people yell. It just reminds you of your father. 

You follow the commotion to the kitchen, extra cautious and apprehensive. The sheer volume of their reprimanding seems to shake the house and your hands begin to quiver as you get closer. Peeking out from behind a wall, their backs are to you but you can see the face of a sheepish boy who hangs his head, gaze glued to the floor as the seven men continue to berate him. You recognize him as one of the newer members that was initiated a couple weeks ago; you’ve talked to him a couple times and he was never anything but courteous. He looks like he’s about to cry and it makes your heart ache.

Your attention pans back to the seven out of shock. The only time you’ve seen them this angry was at the meeting with your father, so you can only imagine what that young boy has done to land himself in this position. 

“I told you a fucking million times too many, Lee. I told you to check in with the shipments as soon as they arrived in Myeongdong. So imagine my fucking surprise when I get a call notifying me that they’re all missing. Stolen.” Namjoon’s voice cuts straight through the room. His fists are clenched and even from the back, you can tell the expression on his face is one of scalding fury. 

A shipment? They’re this infuriated over a shipment?

“I-I’m sorry, Boss. Please, I...please forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I’m new here, a-and I swear this will not happen again.” He shrinks into himself and you quietly whimper in sympathy. 

Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “You swear? The only valuable thing you have to swear on is your life. And even that’s not worth much.” 

It’s moments like these that you forget how cruel and ruthless they can be. They’ve always been so soft and gentle with you before, you forget they are mafia bosses overseeing an entire empire. That they’ve gotten here for a reason. You forget that people fear them. But you remember now. 

Lee stays silent and still refuses to look up, but you can see the way his knees shake uncontrollably. He is one person standing up against 7 huffing bulls, so angry they can’t see straight so if you - tiny and meek you - has to be the one to come to his defense, so be it. 

Because you’ve been that person going head to head with a bull. You see yourself, terrified and regretful, in Lee. And you’ll be damned if you have to watch and not do anything about it. Your heart beats thunderously in your chest but you push past the fear. 

Their heads all snap up in surprise when you march into the kitchen and stand in between them and the boy, who looks even more painfully young up close and sporting that deer-in-the-headlights expression. You lock gazes with each of them, swallowing your nerves before speaking. 

“Is it really that big of a deal to yell at him like this? Look at him”, you gesture to the cowering person behind you, “don’t you think he’s had enough?” Your voice is still soft, and such a contrast to their angry ones. But it seems like your gentle tone just makes them even angrier, and snaps them out of their initial shock.  

“A big deal? He cost us thousands in shipments! I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, Y/N.” Jungkook bursts out, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and looking at you with an angry frown. You flinch at his volume. The stress on their shoulders is more apparent than ever.  

“Why are you defending him, Y/N? You don’t even know who he is”, Jimin spits, growing even more irritated. There’s a hint of jealousy in his words and it’s so subtle that you don’t even notice it. 

“I know that he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this for a little mistake. One that I’m sure he is regretful of making.” It suddenly feels daunting when you realize that you’re going up against all of them, and now, they’re all staring at you with the same anger that was meant for the one that messed up their shipments. 

“And what if that mistake is a sign that he’s traitorous? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s a trend going around here.” From behind you, Lee is quick to open his mouth and begin to protest, but you interrupt and speak strongly. It seems this disciplining session has morphed into a full blown argument between you and them. 

“It was one person. I get that it’s shitty, and I’m sorry it happened. I understand that you have to be on watch now and extra cautious. I do.” You sigh, a pleading look in your eyes but they remain stone cold.

“But one person did that. Are you going to treat everyone like they betrayed you? Are you going to treat me like I betrayed you?”

“I don’t know Y/N, you were so quick to defend him. Maybe you did. I wouldn't put it past you.” 

Taehyung’s words run through you like a hot knife to butter. You almost stagger back at the shock. You’re no stranger to hurtful words but when they are coming out of his mouth, it hurts tenfold. How could they think you would betray them? 

They promised to trust you, didn’t they? They promise they’d believe you after they failed to the first time. Now it just feels like you’re that spoiled little rich girl again in their eyes, standing in front of them and pleading your innocence. 

“W-what? No, I-”

“You know nothing about our world, Y/N. You can’t possibly understand.” Jin’s silver voice is colder than you’re ever heard it. 

“I know that, but could you just please-”

“As a matter of fact, this is a mafia business matter”, Yoongi shoots, poisoned words designed to hurt. 

“I’m not sure why you’re here at all, Y/N. Just leave.” 

Gone is the strong persona that you had put up to protect this young boy. Gone is the confident woman who thought she had the will to stand up for herself, much less someone else. You can only keep your eyes glued to Yoongi, and hope that he doesn’t see your heart crumbling right in front of him. How had he aimed mindlessly at your insecurities, and shot a bullseye into the biggest one?

Maybe you did, Y/N. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Blame it on the blurriness through your tears or the sheer shock running through your veins, but you can’t find one smidgen of regret or guilt in his expression. On any of their faces. Just anger and annoyance, aimed directly at you. And suddenly the spacious mansion feels all too suffocating. 

You know nothing about our world Y/N.

The words you plan to say die on the tip of your tongue, as quickly as they came. There is nothing that comes out and in the aching silence of it all, the way you maintain eye contact with each of them speaks volumes. Yet they are blind to the way you are ripping at the seams, and oblivious to the turmoil they are putting you through. The coldness of their gaze and words shoot through your core, like a blade of ice piercing through your heart. 

I’m not sure why you’re here at all. 

Just leave. 

In short, right at this moment, they look like strangers. Strangers who know what scares you, what foods you don’t like, your favorite flowers, your favorite color. Strangers who have seen your heart, welcomed it, and who were now crushing it in front of you. 

What a fool you were to think that they could reciprocate your feelings. 

What a fool you were to think that they wanted you as much as you wanted them. 

Your pained chuckle is a discordant sound in the tense quiet. Their stares burn on your skin and though you are trying so hard to now show how utterly broken you feel, you wonder if they even notice. when you look back into the eyes of the boy directly in front of you, he is still so angry and red you find it hard to believe anything but your alleged cold, hard truth:

The seven boys you have fallen in love with utterly despise you. Perhaps they always have. 

“Yeah”, you whisper brokenly. “Maybe I will.” 

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[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!  

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

~

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

     “I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward. 

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again. 

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation. 

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.” 

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either. 

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.  

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look. 

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece. 

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction. 

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars. 

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait. 

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over. 

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight. 

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.         

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe. 

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see. 

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing. 

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face. 

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking. 

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

    The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce. 

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way. 

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction. 

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out. 

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems. 

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths. 

     You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again. 

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky. 

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together. 

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes. 

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says. 

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble. 

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later. 

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth. 

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest. 

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it. 

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks. 

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another. 

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea. 

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it. 

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly. 

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

    She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here. 

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word. 

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women  - especially this woman. 

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

     “And you listened to her?” you ask. 

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week. 

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin. 

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him. 

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath. 

     It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods. 

     There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel. 

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.” 

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

      The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you. 

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times. 

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet. 

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying. 

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

     There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much. 

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it. 

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him. 

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore. 

He sits and listens. 

    The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move. 

You’ve been trapped in worse. 

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really? 

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad. 

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up. 

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape. 

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.” 

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face. 

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees. 

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight. 

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue. 

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.” 

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now. 

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough.  “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer.  “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.” 

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.” 

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested. 

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod. 

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave. 

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

    It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor. 

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch. 

     The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in. 

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon. 

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so. 

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive. 

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling.  “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment… 

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him. 

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head. 

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider. 

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.” 

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

     You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.  

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly,  “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

     The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again. 

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke. 

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass. 

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense. 

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime. 

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer​ @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng​ @mycosmicparadise​ @missnighttigress​

[waveypedia]

A Day in the Life of Gyro Gearloose

Ao3

i. 

Gyro arrives at the lab at six A.M. on the dot, two hours before call time. The lab is empty, for once. He slips through the elevator doors and darts around the lab, putting on coffee (even though he’s already had two cups at home), and arranging his papers.

At last, he settles down at his desk, fully prepared to get a good amount of work done before Fenton and Manny bustle in with their noise and cheer that used to bother Gyro oh so much.

He’s excited to have the lab to himself, for once. Even Lil’ Bulb is still charging, as it’s too early for him too.

Gyro lifts his pencil, ready to write… and lowers it, unable to think of a concrete idea.

He struggles to put words and calculations on paper, and only gets a couple steps in before he inevitably loses focus again.

“This is ridiculous,” Gyro spits at the empty air, startling a sleepy Lil’ Bulb out of his slumber. “I am Doctor Gyro Gearloose. I do not lose focus.”

Missing the rest of your team? Lil’ Bulb flashed at him in Morse code.

It’s a testament to how far Gyro’s come since Fenton’s original hiring that he only crosses his arms indignantly and mutters a quiet “Maybe.” 

It’s not physically possible, but Gyro knows Lil’ Bulb is smirking, somehow.

He busies himself by bustling around the lab, taking inventory of mundane machines and ordinary tools. The lab is still uncharacteristically silent, but at least with Gyro’s manually manufactured noise it’s somewhat bearable.

Fenton, bless him and his errant punctuality, arrives a blissful seven minutes early. 

“Good morning, Dr. Gearloose!” he chirps, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud that would’ve made the Gyro of a year ago scoff, but today’s Gyro just sighs in relief. “How are you today?”

“Unproductive,” Gyro grumbles. He’s reluctant to admit the supposed cause of his unproductivity, but knowing Fenton it’ll come out sooner or later.

Fenton hums in response. “Sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll escape your funk! In my experience, a refreshing walk always clears my head!”

Gyro snorts. “I’m not going outside, Doctor Intern.”

“I’ll get you out there someday,” Fenton replies, not swayed in the slightest.

“Whatever you say,” Gyro says, waving him off and turning back to his workstation. Fenton’s presence in the lab is noisy, which used to bother Gyro to no avail. Now, it seems, he can’t focus without it.

“Huey’s coming later today,” Fenton calls over as he makes coffee. “He has a promising project he’s presenting.”

Gyro snorts goodnaturedly. “You make it sound like a school assignment.”

Fenton shrugs. “Huey’s words, not mine. Besides, I think that format works well for him. It does for me, too.”

Gyro snorts in lieu of a reply. He actively chooses not to tell Fenton it works for him as well.

As their conversation fades out, Gyro settles down at his desk. With his coworkers’ chatter floating around him, he slides easily into a focused headspace. In fifteen minutes, he’s made more progress than he had in the hour before his coworkers arrived.

While Gyro tinkers with a gadget, he’s vaguely aware of Fenton getting up and crossing to Manny’s desk. Usually he’d pay more attention, but he’s busy cursing ridiculously small screws.

“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton calls. It only half registers, and Gyro hums in response, waving a hand dismissively.

“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton says, a little more insistently this time.

Gyro starts. He blinks down at his project, which is nearly completed. “What do you want, Doctor Intern?”

Fenton quirks a brow. “Can you look this over?”

“We’re having trouble with it,” Manny clops via Morse Code. “Could use an extra eye. Or four.”

Gyro rolls his eyes behind his aforementioned glasses. “What are you, six? I’ve never heard that used outside the elementary school playground.” But he acquiesces, crossing the lab and settling his hands on his hips as he eyes the gizmo Manny’s been working with. 

“It’s the double-sided shrink ray,” Manny says, pushing it towards Gyro with his hooves. 

“We were able to activate the shrinking command upon request, but it’s unstable,” Fenton says, carding a hand through his swoopy hair. “The beta waves are successfully translating into gamma rays, but some of the neutrons are glitching.”

Gyro pushes closer to the table. “Let me see.”

“That’s why we called you over,” Manny clops, but steps back. Fenton chuckles softly, making Gyro roll his eyes.

He picks up the device and squints at it, examining it from all angles. After a little while of tinkering, he drags a nearby chair over. Fenton drops a cup of coffee next to him, but he barely notices it.

The lab falls back into its quiet - but not silent - rhythm while Gyro works. It’s comforting.

During the second dissection attempt, Gyro lets out a small “Aha!” and tweaks a few wires. Triumphantly, he leaps out of his chair and holds the device out to Manny, puffing out his chest. “That should do it!”

Manny twists the device sideways and fires. Simultaneously, an apple and a pile of paperwork shrink into almost-nothingness.

“You did it!” Fenton’s grin splits his face in two. “Thank you, Dr. Gearloose!”

Gyro still finds it difficult to meet Fenton’s gaze when he’s so openly enthusiastic and supportive, even now. He settles for glaring at the coffee maker behind him, pointedly not looking at Manny either, even though he’s laughing. “Of course. It was nothing.”

Fenton’s smile softens, but it’s no less genuine. “Well, we still appreciate it.”

Gyro crosses back to his desk. “Well. It was nice to actually get some work done.”

Fenton frowns, dropping his pencil to focus on Gyro. “What do you mean?”

Gyro drops his gaze, gritting his teeth. “Well… maybe… I’ve unfortunately gotten used to your incessant, needless background noise,” he finishes in a rush, scowling. “It was too quiet this morning.”

Fenton beams back at him. “Aww, Dr. Gearloose! That’s so sweet!”

“It is merely an observation,” Gyro grits out. 

“Admit it, “ Manny says. “You love us.”

Gyro only huffs in response. 

“Well, it’s nice to work with you too,” Fenton says, still smiling widely. Gyro would say his grin is too wide, but for some reason it doesn’t quite bother him like it used to.

He’s grown fond of it. He’s grown fond of them all.

ii. 

There are three constants in life. Change. Death. Gyro Gearloose’s inability to leave the underground lab for long periods of time.

Della texts him just often enough to be a nuisance, but not often enough for him to justify blocking her (it would result with a very angry Della in his lab, a volatile variable he’d rather not contend with, especially when Fenton, Launchpad, and Scrooge fulfill that dangerous category as well. He knows this from experience.). The familiar buzz of Gyro’s phone, once startling from disuse, is now a surprisingly comforting constant of the background noise in the lab. Gyro’s a scientist working under Scrooge McDuck, with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera and Manny the Headless Manhorse in his lab - he has to be able to tune out the white noise. 

You. Me. Coffee. Della texts. She leaves no room for argument, which frustrates Gyro to no end even though he’s the exact same way. He sighs, tucks his phone under a towering pile of papers, and resolves to ignore her until the time she’s set for their gathering has passed.

But Della cannot be swayed that easily. Nothing can stop Della Duck.

At five minutes to their set meeting time, the elevator doors open with a ding. All of the lab’s primary occupants are present, but Gyro is too buried in his work to notice.

He does, however, notice the next noise. It’s impossible to ignore.

“Heeeeyyy, G-Man!!!” Della chortles, all exuberance and energy. She’s next to Gyro’s desk before he can say “Blathering Blatherskite!” (Hey, it was his catchphrase before it was Fenton’s!). She slams her hands on his desk, sending papers flying. Gyro squawks in protest, but Della ignores him.

Della shoves her face in his personal space, grinning like a maniac. Gyro maintains his death glare for a moment longer before slumping into his chair, dropping his head into his arms.

“I’m not going for coffee with you,” Gyro groans. “I have enough on my plate right now,”

“Enough of that,” Della nags, smacking his shoulder lightly. Gyro just groans in response. “You prooomiiised!”

Gyro’s head snaps up. “I did nothing of that sort,” he hisses, low and dangerous. “I didn’t even reply!”

Della smirks triumphantly. “But you did see it,” she says, tugging on Gyro’s perfectly pressed shirt. “So you were ignoring me! Now you have to go.”

“Of course I was ignoring you,” Gyro replies matter-of-factly. “I hate you.”

Della grins at him. “C’mooooon, you looooove me. Now let’s get going!”

Gyro turns pleading eyes back towards his crew. “Tell her! Tell her we have work to do!”

Fenton smiles at him apologetically. “Dr. Gearloose, you worked really hard today and got a lot done. You deserve a break!”

“Yeah,” Manny clops. “Also, I’m kind of tired of hearing your inhuman screeches whenever something goes mildly wrong. No offense.”

At that, Gyro treats his coworkers to one of said inhuman screeches. None of them enjoyed it very much, it seems.

Which is how Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb (betrayal!) ended up bodily shoving Gyro into the elevator with Della dragging him by the shirt and pressing the buttons for him, Gyro glowering furiously all the way.

“You’ll regret this!” he vowed, shaking his fist. “You will rue the day! The great Dr. Gyro Gearloose will never forget this act of betrayal!”

“Aw, you care!” Della says flatly as she opens the elevator door. “Now c’mon, let’s get some coffee in you that’s not from your lab machine. You look like you need it.”

—

By the time they’ve arrived at Della’s fancy coffee shop across town, ordered, and gotten their drinks, Gyro has calmed down considerably. Nursing two coffees that will be sure to give Gyro a heart attack someday, he settles in across from Della on the patio. Outside the thin fence separating the restaurant from the sidewalk, passerby flit along on their way through the city. Downtown Duckburg is usually far too crowded and populated for Gyro’s taste, but today, separated from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and sated by the infuriatingly good (if ridiculously expensive) coffee, it is… palatable. Almost enjoyable, although there’s no way he’s telling Della that.

Della grins at him like she can read his mind. (Did Mr. McDuck mention anything about a mind-reading artifact last time he stopped by the lab? Or did the Narration 3000 reach her hands? He could’ve sworn he sold it for scrap metal…)

“So.” Della sets down her coffee on the table and leans forward with her head resting on her hands. “Gy-man. Nerd. Mr. Mad Scientist. Bearer of Bad Taste.”

Gyro frowns. “Excuse me? Bad taste? I’ll have you know that black licorice is objectively the finest taste in existence. You have bad taste.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” Della says, lazy and lethargic, smirking like she just won a presidential debate.

Gyro huffs and crosses his arms, turning sideways in his seat to face away from Della as much as he can. She cackles. 

“You’re a dummy,” Della says, smiling fondly.

“I’m a world-renowned scientific genius,” Gyro replies, rolling his eyes.

Della snorts. “I know. You’re still a dummy.”

“Impossible.” Gyro wants to say more, but Della laughs and laughs. They dance easily between insults and compliments, toeing the line between teasing and hurt. Their arguments continue, sometimes flitting dangerously towards genuine. They both revel in the fact that an average eavesdropper wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re friends or not.

Sometimes Gyro himself can’t tell if they’re friendly or not. But he knows for certain they’re friends, at least.

Before he knows it, his coffee cup is empty.

iii. 

After Della returns to the mansion for Dewey’s flight lesson (a phrase that made Gyro want to flee into an underground bunker for a year) Gyro heads back to the lab and vows to actually get something done for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, in his life, things rarely go the way he wants them to.

Even with Huey in the lab (why did Fenton agree to work with him once a week anyway? Why did Gyro agree?) and Manny, a surprising force of calm, out for lunch, they make it an entire hour without incident. Before things inevitably go wrong.

The first sign of trouble is the explosion that rocks the Money Bin.

It takes all of them by surprise. Gyro and Huey scramble to save their projects while Fenton calls for the Gizmosuit. With the Gizmosuit’s enhanced strength, Gizmoduck shoves aside debris and forces open the elevator doors only to find a supervillain already there.

To their credit, the supervillain, a broad-shouldered orange lizard with medieval-style armor, seems just as surprised as Fenton. 

They narrow their eyes at Gizmoduck behind their mask and drop into a fighting stance, their fists raised and their weight centered beneath them. “I don’t know how you predicted that I, the Liliputan Lizard, would raid Scrooge McDuck’s coveted lab. But now that you’re here, we will have a battle for the ages!”

While the villain monologues, Gizmoduck’s head snaps around to stare at Gyro and Huey. He can feel Fenton’s piercing gaze through the impenetrable visor. 

“Get to safety!” Fenton hisses through his teeth, flapping a frantic, dismissive hand. 

“But-” Huey steps forward, raising something he’s holding, but Gizmoduck just shakes his head and turns back around, readying for the villain’s attack.

The force of their gadget knocks Gizmoduck into one of the side tables. Taking advantage of the chaos, Gyro snags Huey’s arm and hightails it into an all-too-familiar closet.

“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey yelps, stumbling along at his heels. “Wait!”

“Blathering blatherskite,” Gyro scowls, peering frustratedly through the tiny gap in the closet door. “I’ll never get anything done at this rate. They’re going to ruin all my projects!”

“Dr. Gearloose,” Huey snaps, tugging at Gyro’s sleeve insistently.

Gyro spins around. “What, kid.”

Huey clutches whatever he grabbed close to his chest and peers up at Gyro with wide eyes. “We have to go out there and help! I have-”

“No way,” Gyro says, cutting him off. “That would mean too many variables. I’m not about to see another project crushed to bits because you want to get in the way.” He glares out into the fray, fists clenched. “Although I have half a mind to go out there and punch that guy for messing with my work.”

Huey presses up onto his tiptoes to peer around him. “But I can make a difference,” he insists, impassioned. “Look.” 

Huey holds up his object, and Gyro reluctantly turns away from the fight to examine it. He pushes his glasses up on his beak to get a better look.

A short, stiff antenna pokes out from a small rectangular box with a big red button in the middle. As far as gadgets go, it doesn’t look very impressive - but looks can be deceiving.

Gyro adjusts his glasses. “Did you make this?”

“Fenton helped,” Huey confirms bashfully. “It discharges electricity, in both large bursts and streamlined blasts. Theoretically, it can reprogram circuits and switches, although I haven’t had any chances to test it out yet.”

“Just my luck,” Gyro grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. So that’s what they’ve been working on. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, kid. I test all my inventions to the nines, and they all seem to blow up in my face. It’s worth a shot. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”

“Not all of them,” Huey says, smiling in a way that’s far too knowing for a twelve-year-old boy. He steps in front of the doors, readying the remote.

Gyro reaches for the unlock button he’d painstakingly installed after one too many times of getting stuck in this closet.

Huey steps around Gyro to peer through the gap. “If we cross behind these tables here and Manny’s desk, we’ll have a clear shot at the elevator. I can use my remote on it.”

He glances up at Gyro, eyes wide. “Is that good?”

Despite himself, Gyro’s beak quirks up. “Yeah. Let’s get these jokers out of my lab.”

Huey’s face lights up. Gyro snaps his head away, unwilling to let the sappy moment go on for any longer, and punches the unlock button with far more force than necessary. 

They duck out of the closet (with an undignified sigh of relief from Gyro) and behind the worktables. Almost unconsciously, Gyro scampers just ahead to slip closer to the tables, keeping his body between Huey and the fight. (With the tables between him and the fight, of course.) 

Within seconds, they clear the worktables and duck behind Manny’s desk. Huey steps out, angling his remote to the most precise degree. He’s got a clear shot - but he’s also out in the open.

Gyro’s fingertips hover just over the hem of Huey’s sleeve, not quite holding on. But if anything happens, he’ll pull Huey back to safety.

Hopefully.

At that moment, Fenton dives towards them to avoid an oncoming attack. Gyro can tell the moment he sets eyes on the pair - his jaw tenses and his shoulders flick back. In the back of his mind, Gyro wonders if it’s even noticeable to others. The supervillain certainly doesn’t seem to notice. 

Does he really know Fenton so well he can read the nuances in his body language?

It feels nice.

The softness blossoming in Gyro’s chest is unfortunately overridden with adrenaline and fear, and he barely registers it. Gyro gives Fenton a tiny nod towards Huey, who waves his remote.

Gyro can see Fenton grapple with the situation internally, before eventually giving up and turning to distract the Liliputan Lizard. He grabs them by their shoulders and spins them, hauling the villain so his back is to Gyro and Huey. 

Gyro nods begrudgingly. Smart.

With the window Fenton’s given them, Huey lunges forward and blasts a stream of electricity at the elevator. It dings, and the floor numbers at the top whir and whir. They don’t settle.

The Liliputan Lizard’s head snaps up. “Huh?”

Huey frowns, deep in thought. Gyro doesn’t mirror his cliché thinking pose, but they’re both pondering the same dilemma: What now?

A fresh surge of adrenaline pumps through Gyro’s veins, and, on impulse, he jumps out and does something twelve months ago he wouldn’t even have considered.

“My lab is filled with dangerous, votile inventions,” Gyro snaps, intentionally drawing out his words with more annoyance than he feels. He steps out from behind the desk, away from the elevator. “You just messed up my project! You’ve doomed us all!”

He points an accusing finger at the supervillain and wills it not to shake. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?!”

The Liliputan Lizard shoves Gizmoduck away (no easy feat) and strides towards Gyro, slow and confident. His tail lashes behind him, knocking a vial of bubbling fluid to the floor, but they don’t even flinch. Gyro drops his hands at his side and clenches them into fists.

“Ah, Gyro Gearloose,” the villain says, smirking. “I almost forgot the reason I came here in the first place. Thank you for reminding me.”

“It’s Doctor Gyro Gearloose, actually,” Gyro intones, holding up a finger. “And what is that oh-so-important reason? Surely it cannot be more important than my projects. Which, may I remind you, you’ve ruined!”

The Liliputan Lizard is close enough to touch now. They stop an arm’s length away from Gyro and settle into a wide second position with their weight centered. It’s a position of power. 

“The double-sided shrink ray,” the villain drawls. “Hand it over.”

Gyro narrows his eyes. “And why should I do that?”

“Well, I’ll trash your precious lab, for one,” the Liliputan Lizard says, gesturing lazily to the already trashed-lab. Gyro growls. “More than I already have, of course.”

Gyro takes an unwilling step back, his feet moving of their own accord. Something hard brushes against his back. His hands hesitantly fall on the edge of Manny’s desk.

“So what’ll it be, Dr. Gearloose?” The Liliputan Lizard mocks, stepping forward into Gyro’s personal space again. He snarls. 

Gyro chances a glance behind him. On Manny’s desk, glinting underneath the overhead lights, lies the famed double-sided shrink ray.

Oh, if only he hadn’t given it to Manny for the finishing touches today. Today, of all days!

Gyro chances a glance back at the scene before him. Fenton’s still on the ground, and Gyro staunchly refuses to acknowledge Huey in case the villain will see him.

Is it worth it?

Gyro’s fingers graze the corners of it.

“Hey!” A bolt of electricity, sparking blue, arcs into the villain’s side. They double over, revealing Huey behind them. “Leave Dr. Gearloose alone!”

Fenton rises to his feet just in time and cracks his knuckles. “All right. Playtime’s over.”

The Liliputan Lizard whirls around, snarling, as Gyro twists and steps sideways. “Like you can stop me! I’m getting this shrink ray, like it or nooooooooooooooooooooot!”

Tinny screeches pierce Gyro’s ears, but it’s the most damage he takes. The once-mighty Liliputan Lizard stands tiny on the lab floor, joined by Manny’s desk lamp.

Slowly, Gyro lowers the shrink ray. “Stay out of my lab,” he snaps, sharp and biting as always, but with a rather uncharacteristically dark undertone. “Stay away from us.”

Gizmoduck scoops the tiny figure up in his gloved hands, muffling any protests. “I’ll get him out of your feathers, Dr. Gearloose!” he says with the awkward, stiffly polite manner they use to protect Fenton’s identity.

Gyro nods once sharply as Gizmoduck leaves. All of his adrenaline leaves him in a rush, and he sinks heavily into the nearest chair (which happens to be Manny’s, but he’s out for lunch and Gyro can’t bring himself to care).

“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey scampers over to him, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He bustles around to Gyro’s side, not waiting for a reply. “The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook advises to rest after stress.

Gyro takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I did have a quiet day planned. Mostly.”

“With your track record, that’s highly inaccurate,” Huey snorts, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Gyro grumbles. “All my excitement was planned for later, thank you very much. I’ll take a quiet rest of the day.”

iv. 

Except things are never quiet in McDuck Industries’ Research and Development.

It’s a surprise when the elevator dings, signifying an arrival, but the figure that emerges is no surprise at all.

The elevator is still in pieces and sparking with remnants of Huey’s electrical blast, but that’s never stopped Scrooge McDuck. In fact, he probably finds the challenge appealing.

“Gyro, my boy!” Scrooge says, spreading his arms open wide. “

“Mr. McDuck,” Gyro acknowledges his boss with a nod. “What do you need? Progress checks?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Scrooge saunters over to Gyro’s desk, glancing around the lab. He smiles to himself, the kind of smile only a secret brings, like a joke just before the punchline.

“I thought you could accompany me out, eh?” Scrooge says, light and lilting. “I’ll let you choose where we go~”

“I sense a conspiracy,” Gyro grumbles, dropping his chin. He levels a fierce glare at Fenton, who hides a triumphant giggle behind his hand.

Scrooge tugs on Gyro’s arm, gentle but forceful. “Come on. It’ll do you good, laddie!”

“I already had one spontaneous outing today,” Gyro grumbles. “With your niece.”

Scrooge only beams brighter. “Ah, good lass!”

With a little more poking and prodding, Gyro begrudgingly allows Scrooge to drag him out the door and into his car. True to his word, Scrooge lets Gyro choose where they go. For a while he drives around aimlessly, with the intent of wasting time until Scrooge gets bored and lets them go back. But before Gyro can see his plan to fruition, he spots somewhere he’d actually like to go.

“Ah, the library. Good choice, lad!” Scrooge praises as they step out of the car. “All the wee lads and lassies prefer that blasted telly to good, old-fashioned books.”

Gyro frowns at Scrooge. “I’m not one of your kids.”

Scrooge just snorts and brushes past him, leaving Gyro to run in his footsteps.

When Gyro catches up to Scrooge, he finds the older duck humming to himself in front of a displayed stack of books about Inducknesia. Planning for a new adventure, probably. Gyro laments the lack of science books in the front and starts to head to the back in his search.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice pipes up. “This book will likely interest you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Curious. Of course everyone should know the name of Dr. Gyro Gearloose, acclaimed inventor and mad scientist, but unfortunately that just isn’t the case. Yet.

So just who is this mysterious stranger?

Gyro whirls around to find a familiar-looking child, holding a thick leather-bound book patiently out to him. He squints at her.

“Violet Sabrewing,” she supplies helpfully after a minute of dead silence. 

“Ah.” Gyro nods awkwardly at her. Isn’t she one of Pink Niece’s friends?

Scrooge wanders over, likely to check that Gyro hasn’t somehow set the building on fire in the five minutes he’s been gone. His gaze lights up at the sight of Violet. God, all the Duck-McDucks are weak for children. “Ah, Violet! What brings you to the library today?”

“Hello, Mr. McDuck,” Violet says politely. “I’m looking for references on micronanite portal technology.” 

“Ah, micronanite portal technology!” Scrooge says blusteringly, grinning wide to hide his confusion. Gyro snorts.

Violet’s smile flattens. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Scrooge confesses abashedly. 

“It uses miniscule robotic parts to create wormholes in time and space,” Gyro jumps in flatly, earning him a nod of approval from Violet. Gyro tries not to sneer, since Mr. McDuck would likely chastise him for it. He doesn’t need approval from a child.

Even if it is a very, very smart child. Who’s working with micronanites, which Gyro didn’t get to study until he was working under Dr. Akita. Who’s also friends with the Niblings.

Scrooge chuckles softly. “Thank you, Gyro.”

Gyro nods sharply.

Scrooge turns his attention back to Violet. “That sounds… interesting! I look forward to seeing your adventure with this technology,” he says kindly. “

As they converse, Gyro wanders away to peruse the library. Every so often, he passes by Scrooge and Violet, deep in conversation.

Eventually, Violet leaves, and Scrooge finds Gyro flipping through a book of scientific theoreticals. “I’d say it’s about time we left, eh, laddie?”

“Finally,” Gyro mutters, but he makes them stop to check the book out. Scrooge smirks knowingly at him.

On the drive back, Scrooge prattles on about his latest adventure. The constant socialization is zapping Gyro’s energy exponentially by the minute, but Scrooge seems content to fill the silence himself.

It’s only when they’re walking into the Money Bin does Gyro finally initiate conversation.

“You have a weakness for children,” Gyro tells Scrooge flatly as he walks into the elevator. “You should spend more time humoring them instead of me.”

Scrooge smirks at him. “Really,” he says teasingly. Gyro feels like he’s somehow fighting a losing battle, although he has no recollection of entering any kind of argument. “Aren’t I, though?”

“I’m not a child,” Gyro tells him again.

“Neither are Donald and Della,” Scrooge responds immediately.

Oh. Oh.

Quick as a flash, Gyro spins away from Scrooge, pressing a fist to his beak. Behind him, Scrooge laughs heartily.

After he’s composed himself, Gyro steps away from the episode. Scrooge pats him on the back, harder than he usually does. Gyro stands there frozen for a moment, hesitant, before giving into his instincts and pulling Scrooge into a tight, impulsive hug.

Scrooge lets out a grunt and coughs dramatically, but he hugs Gyro back just as tightly.

Just then, the elevator doors open with a ding and out steps Gyro’s favorite person in the whole world. 

“Hi, Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd chirps. “I went down to the lab to see Huey, but he just went home, and Dr. Fenton said you’d be up here!”

Gyro smiles fondly and turns away from Scrooge. “I was just about to head down there, but now I guess I don’t need to.”

Boyd takes Gyro’s hand as they leave. Gyro smiles down at it, soft and loving. Lil’ Bulb hops from Boyd’s shoulder to Gyro’s, and he keeps carefully still as Lil’ Bulb clambers across his head to perch on his favorite shoulder.

As they pass, Gyro turns to say goodbye to Scrooge, who looks like the cat that caught the canary. Gyro raises a questioning eyebrow.

Scrooge’s triumphant smirk turns into an all-out, unabashed grin. “Where do you think you got it from, lad?”

Gyro looks at Boyd blissfully clinging to his hand and Lil’ Bulb contentedly perched on his shoulder, and chokes.

v. 

Within minutes, Boyd and Lil’ Bulb are safely packed away into Gyro’s rickety car and on the road. Gyro slides in one of his cassette tapes Boyd likes, one of the eighties soft rock tracks his dad gave him. Lil’ Bulb perches on the dashboard, fiddling with the volume dials. They coast through the streets of Duckberg with Boyd’s bright chatter and electric guitar notes floating through the car.

Gyro relaxes at the wheel, slumping back in his chair and exhaling gently. He’s often the personification of road rage. It feels odd to not white-knuckle the steering wheel today. But when Boyd came back into his life, and subsequently into his car, he has made a conscious effort to not let frustration get the better of him. At least, not when he’s driving a two thousand pound death machine with a child inside (robotic child or no). 

But to Gyro’s delighted surprise, he’s found that Boyd’s mere presence calms him more than any of Donald’s breathing exercises or Dickie’s yoga classes. When he’s with Boyd, he loses tension he didn’t even realize he had.

After a quick drive, Gyro pulls into an offshoot of the Duckburg Mall. Boyd’s out of the car before Gyro’s fully parked, making the chicken roll his eyes and grumble under his breath. When he’s ready, he steps out of the car with the full intention to admonish Boyd. But one look at his excited face and the way he bounces eagerly on his toes, and all feelings of frustration vanish.

On Gyro’s shoulder, Lil Bulb cackles via Morse code. Gyro pointedly does not look at his other son as he takes Boyd’s hand and lets him lead them to their destination.

“Huey and I come here all the time,” Boyd babbles as they cross the parking lot. “We always get the Sugar-Free Butter Pecan, because Huey doesn’t do well with sugar.”

Gyro ruffles where Boyd’s head feathers would be. It’s metal, but warm to the touch, just like Boyd. “You can have sugar, though.”

“Yeah,” Boyd replies, unperturbed. “But I like the routine.”

Gyro nods in understanding. They reach the ice cream shop and peer up at the menu. “Do you want to get that today?”

“Hmm.” Boyd puts a finger to his chin, contemplating. After a moment, he brightens like a lightbulb - somehow more than the actual lightbulb on Gyro’s shoulder. “I think I’ll try something new today! I’m not with Huey, after all.”

Gyro hums in agreement and examines the menu himself. They order and choose a small table outside the restaurant, overlooking the parking lot.

“Did you have a good day?” Boyd asks, digging in with his spoon.

Gyro thinks about how his day started crappy and unproductive, but immediately flipped when Fenton and Manny came into the lab. He thinks about how Della’s impromptu visit, for all of his frustration at the break in routine, provided a much needed excuse to see his friend. He thinks about his terror and fury when a supervillain entered the lab, and the rush of adrenalinic joy helping Gizmoduck gave him. He thinks about his quiet afternoon out with Mr. McDuck, and how he’d missed researching in libraries as well as hands-on in labs. He thinks about how the people he cares about shaped his day. 

He turns his gaze towards Boyd and Lil’ Bulb, who fit perfectly into that category.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “I did.”

Behind Boyd, the sun is setting, with pinks and purples blossoming across the tangerine sky and seemingly setting the clouds ablaze. The grapefruit-orange light of the setting sun makes Boyd and Lil’ Bulb shine. Gyro’s heart clenches and aches, but it’s with love.

Boyd beams back at him. “I’m glad.”

“You’re my favorite person,” Boyd says, tilting his head back to gaze unflinchingly into Gyro’s eyes. Although the self-deprecating side of Gyro vehemently denies the sentiment, but somehow his words ring with a truth Gyro can’t deny. He may not believe in himself, but Boyd does wholeheartedly.

Gyro splutters and coughs, still unused to open affection after all this time. After a minute of struggling to cope, he settles on setting his ice cream down so he won’t squeeze the cone so hard it cracks. (It’s happened before, but it was fueled by anger, as many things are in Gyro’s life.)

Boyd reaches up to take Gyro’s free hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I know this is hard for you. But I want you to know how I feel.”

Gyro bites the inside of his beak and rubs his thumb over Boyd’s hand. “I… I wish it wasn’t,” he whispers, surprising even himself with the rare display of vulnerability. 

Boyd scoots his chair over next to Gyro’s and leans against him. Gyro exhales, feeling a knot of tension leave his chest, and leans back. 

Lil’ Bulb, already perched on Gyro’s shoulder, scampers over his head to settle on Boyd’s shoulder. He rests his head against Gyro’s shoulder, settling directly between them.

Gyro squeezes Boyd’s hand tighter. Boyd squeezes back.

“You are loved,” Boyd says. 

Gyro smiles. “I know.”

“Thank you.”

~

this is my piece for the Gyro Gearloose zine run by @georgiarose and glo.draws! I had a wonderful time working on this zine, and there are so many amazing pieces in it! It’s free to download, and we’re asking for donations to the Crisis Text Line in lieu of payment. I highly recommend checking out the entire zine!

For this piece, I wanted to explore the variety of relationships Gyro has with the people around him. he’s such a fun character and i love writing for him so much!

both the micronanites and huey's gadget are references to existing tech in disney animation (which i probably spent too much time researching to represent accurately akfghak). cookies if you can guess them!

thank you to @mrpinniped for the beta and to the entire Gyro Zine server for the lovely encouragement and feedback!

[kodzukenscorner]

Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Ushijima, and Atsumu react to your curly hair

anon asked: Hi! I just saw request are open, I’m so excited!!! If your comfortable can you do a couple boys (Oikawa, Iwa, Ushijima, and Atsumu) with a girl with big curly hair? Maybe she’s a foreign student, so they’re not ised to seeing that hair type in japan at all?

wc: 1,590

✶   ✶   ✶   ✶   ✶

Oikawa

He is so enamored the first time he sees your hair

Let’s be real, we’ve seen Oikawa’s hair, there’s no way he doesn’t style it or take care of it in some way

So he’s very appreciative of when people have well kept and unique hair

But the first time he sees your hair he is in love with it

He wants to ask so many questions about it and you but he knows you’re new and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you

When he notices that he’s not the only one who has taken a liking to you that idea about not overwhelming you is completely thrown out the window

The second he sees you alone he approaches you with his sickeningly sweet smile

Of course you know who he is, every girl in the school can’t stop gushing about their cute volleyball team captain 

Even if he has no shame, he’s not just out right going to start talking to you about your hair because that’s weird

So instead he gets your name and has some small talk with you

You’re honestly pleasantly surprised that he seems fairly normal and not like the playboy you were anticipating

He even invited you to his volleyball practice which you happily accepted, excited to make some new friends

During the practice you couldn’t help but keep your eyes glued to Oikawa as he unleashed his monster serves 

Not only were you impressed with his skills but the way he looked during his run-up definitely made you feel some type of way 

And not to mention the way his hair bounced back into place as he landed

It looked so cute and soft you just wanted to run your hands through it

After practice he approached you and asked what you thought and you didn’t hold back on your compliments 

“Your serves were incredible and the way your hair bounced was really cute!” 

He was honestly so surprised at how forward you were but jumped on his opportunity when he saw it 

“Wanna touch it?” He offered, leaning his head down for you

You giddily ran your fingers through his locks and just as you suspected, it was as soft and silky as you had hoped 

When you pulled your hand away with a shy smile he reached his hand towards your head

“Can I?” He asked

You nodded and let him grasp a few of your curls and the look in his eyes was like watching a kid open presents on their birthday 

He kept twirling his fingers around your hair like he was in a trance and even got surprised when he seemed to get stuck

Normally you were a bit wary about letting people touch your hair like this

But if it was Oikawa, you weren’t going to complain

Iwaizumi

Honestly, Iwa doesn’t pay much attention to you or your hair at first

He does take notice of you and knows who you are but he’s not someone to just walk up to another person and introduce himself

And trust me, your hair is one of the last things he’s thinking about

But you, on the other hand, cannot stop thinking about his hair

Is it spiky? Is it soft? Does he use product in it?

You often find yourself just staring at him as he runs a hand through his hair

It seems to glide through without any issues so you assume it must be soft and product free, otherwise he wouldn’t be messing with it

All you want is to run your fingers through it yourself and know for certain

You’re usually just staring at him at his volleyball practice, twirling your own hair between your fingers 

Sometimes you forget that he can also see you so when he makes eye contact with you it is slightly mortifying

He can definitely tell that you’ve been staring at him but he has no idea why

Either way, you’re extremely embarrassed and cannot bring yourself to even look in his direction again

Little do you know that Iwa is equally sheepish that someone like you found him attractive or at the very least interesting

Your staring is actually what encourages him to go talk to you instead of just acknowledging your presence like he usually does

He finally approaches you after his practice, ruffling up his hair a bit and you can’t help but stare at him as he does so

This time, now that he’s only a few feet away, he finally realizes what you’ve been staring at and before he can even greet you he acknowledges his dark locks

“It’s naturally like this, so it’s not crunchy or hard or anything...” He trails off, rubbing his neck while avoiding eye contact 

“Oh! I’ve just been wondering what it felt like, sorry for staring so much”

He smiles ever so slightly and shakes his head “Nah, I’m sure you get plenty of people who ask about your hair too”

You both chuckle and laugh with each other for a bit while you properly introduce yourselves 

It was the first time you’d seen him genuinely smile and you decided you liked it a lot

You were going to see him smile more

Ushijima

A king of not really caring about physical appearances in general

But to be completely honest, he sees you and he is immediately wondering about you

Like he thinks you look so interesting and he has so many questions swirling in his head about you

But on the outside he is completely straight faced, not showing what he’s thinking at all

He only ever glances at you every now and again so you honestly don’t think too much about it

But of course you know who he is since he’s basically a celebrity in your school and he seems nice enough

Every time you’ve ever talked to him he’s always been kind and one of the only people who didn’t ogle you for your hair

Although to be fair, if you knew he was thinking about how much he wanted to touch your hair you probably wouldn’t be thinking that

One day he took you completely by surprise, simply walking up to you and asking you about your hair

“Your hair is very interesting, is it naturally like that?” He stood over you with his usual intimidating aura but he seemed genuinely curious

Most people would just whisper about your hair and stare in awe

Some especially rude people would try to touch it without your permission 

Ushijima was the first person to simply walk up to you and start up a conversation 

So you smiled and told him it was just naturally like that 

He took your sweet response as an invitation to sit next to you and continue the conversation

It turned out that the very intimidating volleyball player was actually a very sweet guy

And he’s an incredible listener, he listened to all your struggles and anxieties being at a new foreign school and even reassured you that you’d do fine

He truly felt like the first kind and respectful person you’d met in a long time

From then on you suddenly became the biggest fan of volleyball seemingly overnight

But Ushijima was not complaining and neither were you

Atsumu

The least subtle of them all

He immediately took notice of you and all your quirks

He nudged Osamu and pointed you out to him, commenting on how cool your hair looked 

It definitely made his hair look less cool in comparison and he just had to know your secrets

He approached you day one, asking how you got your hair to be so big and curly and how you had the time to do it in the morning

You were definitely taken aback because he hadn’t even introduced himself to you before asking all the questions

Before you could answer, Osamu was yelling at him from across the room, telling him to at least introduce himself first 

Atsumu actually got a bit red and fumbled around a bit with his introduction while also pointing out his twin brother on the other end of the room who gave a small wave to you

It was actually kind of cute of him so you couldn’t help it when you chuckled and introduced yourself in return

“And to answer your question, my hair is just naturally like this and I don’t use much product”

His jaw actually dropped when you said that, he just couldn’t believe you didn’t even have to try to have such an amazing hairstyle

While he had to dye his just to be different from Osamu

“No way! Can I touch it? Is it soft?” 

You smiled some more at his surprisingly cute antics and nodded your head

He gently placed a hand into your curls and marveled at how they kept their shape no matter how much he played with them

Before he realized it he was playing with your hair for a solid five minutes 

But you seemed rather content so he didn’t particularly feel like stopping

“Huh...it’s so bouncy” He mumbled to himself even though you could hear every word 

It was an odd first encounter but since that day the two of you took turns playing with each other’s hair 

You even curled his once to be like yours and he was laughing the whole time at how ridiculous it looked

“Awww no fair, it looks gorgeous on yer head” 

He was definitely going to be the death of you

[chloebeale]

Super fluffy Prompt:

Beca gets caught by Chloe dancing at the Bella house with headphones in when she thinks she alone. But dancing like Elliot Page from Umbrella Academy in this scene: https://youtu.be/TVxBmXz5QGs

After years of pining, Chloe takes this dorky adorable moment she catches Beca in to finally tell her how she feels and kiss her.

i think we’re alone now

rating: T

word count: 1.3k

read below or on ao3!

*

As much as Chloe absolutely adores Barden University—and even more so the comfortable home she shares with her fellow Bellas—she will normally take any chance she gets to go back to Portland. She loves her Barden family beyond measure, of course she does, but spending time with her actual family is incredibly important to her, too.

So, the very last minute decision Chloe had made to stay in Georgia over break feels entirely uncharacteristic to her and, frankly, maybe even a little bit weird, but financially it had just made the most sense—her parents are funding her extra school years already, accepting money for constant travel always feels like too much; she wants to give them a break.

Besides, it is not like she is going to be spending the entire two weeks here alone; Beca rarely leaves for breaks. She will simply show her face at her father’s place every now and then, and that will be enough.

Not that that had any impact on Chloe’s decision to stay whatsoever, of course…

Fortunately, despite the fact that she cannot actually be there with her parents in person, she has the magic of FaceTime to see her through, and Chloe has shut herself away for the afternoon to spend virtual time with her family, while Beca does whatever it is she may be doing in her attic bedroom.

That had been the plan anyway. Barely five minutes into the video call, however, and the connection had begun to lag before finally cutting out altogether, and Chloe is left to stare, hands cradling her chin, at the blank screen of her laptop with an entirely perplexed look pulling onto her pale features.

“Again?” Chloe murmurs under her breath, a quick glance to her phone screen telling her that the WiFi icon is not displayed there anymore, either.

Technology is not really Chloe’s area of expertise, but fortunately for her, there is someone else in the house who has a way better grasp on that particular area, so following another failed attempt at reconnecting, Chloe pushes herself back from her small desk with a soft huff, then floats lazily from the room in pursuit of a little help.

The Bellas’ house is not exactly huge, but rather than simply call out to Beca, Chloe swiftly makes her way toward the attic, focus preoccupied for now with her failed attempt to fix the WiFi setting on her phone.

“Bec, is the internet working for you?” Chloe mumbles distractedly, only glancing upward from her screen when she doesn’t receive an immediate response. She trails off slowly at the scene before her, however.

Her brows lift as she takes in the from-the-back view of a very much in the zone Beca Mitchell, wireless Beats headphones positioned over her ears, and body moving in a way that Chloe thinks might be...dancing? It is a very loose depiction of the term dance, of course; Beca’s limbs move somewhat sluggishly, and Chloe thinks that she should probably back away, leave Beca to have her moment alone, but it is impossible for Chloe to tear her widened stare from Beca’s movements, especially as the energy of whatever song she may be listening to seems to pick up, with her loosely moving body effectively doing the same.

And no, Beca really is not the reason Chloe had stayed here during break—not the whole reason, anyway—but God, she is so glad she did… Because this is the person Chloe has been quietly pining over for years now, the person who causes Chloe’s heart rate to quicken and a host of lively butterflies to begin flapping in her stomach as she watches her simply being her normal, dorky, adorable self. She cannot help the way she stares now, the way she drinks in this very moment and allows it to consume her in a way that the music seems to be consuming Beca, too.

She means to leave before Beca sees her, to keep this particular instance to herself in the interest of not completely embarrassing Beca, but she turns before Chloe gets the chance to even attempt to move, and while Beca pauses instantly, pale cheeks flushing a deep crimson shade as her widened eyes lock with Chloe’s, all Chloe can do is suck in her bottom lip in a meager attempt to bite back her adoring grin.

“Chlo, uh,” Beca tries, hands grasping at the cups of her headphones to quickly tug them away from her ears and to instead settle the band loosely around her neck. “I was just, uh—”

“You’re so adorable, Bec,” Chloe says in a much softer, much more affectionate tone than she really means to.

“What? No, I…” Beca’s voice is a little panicked at first, though she cuts herself off with a petulant whine, hands lifting to quickly cover her face. Her words come out muffled by the barrier. “Dude, can we just pretend you didn’t see that?”

It is really not unusual for Chloe to dish out physical affection, so although Beca stiffens slightly as long fingers wrap loosely around her wrists to gently pull her hands away from her face, she doesn’t actually stop her. She just stares at her with flushed cheeks and pleading eyes, before repeating, “Can we just—”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish, though. It is without proper thought nor even much warning, save for a drop of her eyes toward Beca’s mouth, that Chloe leans forward to brush a small, slow peck to Beca’s lips.

While Beca freezes at first, it is only for the briefest second, before Chloe feels the way soft lips push back against her own in a way that causes her entire body to melt. It is like years of tension, of fruitless pining and unspoken desires pour out into that one small touch, and Chloe pulls back to take in Beca’s surprised expression with her teeth resting delicately over her bottom lip.

“Um…” Beca begins quietly, arms relaxing in Chloe’s gentle grasp. “Wow, okay,” she chuckles somewhat bashfully, wide gaze darting away from Chloe’s, though it seems she struggles to keep it from drifting right back. “What was that?”

Chloe responds with an uncharacteristically bashful look, though the corners of her lips are curved into a soft smile all the same. “I’m sorry, I probably should’ve given you a little more warning,” she admits, nose scrunching apologetically. “You’re just...really cute, Bec. And I’ve kind of been wanting to do that for a really long time, so when I came in here and saw you doing whatever you were just doing, I just couldn’t resist.”

Although Beca still looks mildly surprised, Chloe is almost positive she sees the threat of a smile dancing on her lips now, too.

“Is...that okay?” Chloe questions almost cautiously, softened eyes studying Beca’s face in an effort to find any clues of her wanting to run.

In response, Beca seems a little shaky, but she proceeds to shortly nod her head, and Chloe’s heartbeat picks up in that distinct way only Beca Mitchell can ever truly cause. “Yeah, it’s okay,” Beca promises, tongue flickering out to lick over her dry lips. Her darkened cheeks redden further. “Uh, I might’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while, too.”

“Really?” Chloe’s brows raise at that, though it is definitely in pleasant surprise.

“Mhm,” Beca nods, lips pulling inward as her gaze drops briefly to Chloe’s mouth. She pauses then, stare narrowing in as it lifts upward once more. “Wait, what do you mean whatever I was doing? I was dancing.”

Chloe cannot help her amused chuckle in response. “Mm, yeah, I saw that…” she nods, fingers finally unwrapping from around Beca’s wrists to exaggeratedly flail her arms in a contrived mimic of Beca’s movements.

“Dude, shut up,” Beca whines, though there is amusement lacing her tone despite the fact that her head tips back in embarrassment.

Honestly, if the dancing is the only thing Beca has to complain about in regards to these last few moments, Chloe will absolutely consider that a success.