#i was not prepared for it when i first watched it

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: cockwarming, oviposition, breeding, mommy kink

Mother’s Day at the bee hybrid hive was… eventful.

The night before your special day, the hive was abuzz with activity. You had been in the hive for an entire year now and had already given birth to two clutches of eggs.

This meant you were a mother, and they had to celebrate all you had done for the hive and its future!

As you laid down with one of your attendants cocks inside of you as the others huddled up in your bed, the rest of your hive prepared for the upcoming day.

You awoke on your own. That was unusual, most days your attendants woke you up with their tongues playing with your cunt.

When you glanced out the window, you realized it was much later than you thought. The sun was in the sky, meaning you overslept!

Where was everyone, and why hadn’t they woken you up as per usual?

Before you could hurry out of bed, the door opened to the cutest sight you had ever seen. Your first clutch of baby bees toddled in, wearing little aprons as they walked carefully towards you.

In their fluffy hands were trays of food and your breakfast tea. They seemed absolutely determined to bring you breakfast in bed!

“Mama, happy mama day!”

Your eyes lit up with adoration as they held out the tray to you. The baby bees climbed into bed, burying their fluffy faces into your body and letting out little purrs and buzzes as you ate.

You spent most of the morning in bed, resting with your sweet babies. They took turns reading you out of their story books and patting you, trying to imitate the way you took care of them.

“Mama, comfy?” one asked, crawling up onto you and letting you bury your face into his fluffy chest. You blew raspberries there, making him giggle and squeal as he kicked his little legs.

“Very comfy, thank you. I’ve raised such sweet boys…”

You napped for a bit, and when you woke up your babies were gone. Before you could panic, you were soothed by the bee hybrids crawling into bed with you.

“Don’t worry, my queen. They’re all safe in the nursery,” one said, nibbling at your neck.

“It’s Mother’s Day, so we’re going to make you a mama all over again!”

The bee hybrids only barely understood the meaning of Mother’s Day. They knew it was a time to appreciate and spoil mothers, but also thought you needed to be bred and fucked.

You had no qualms with that.

Your legs were pried open gently, two bee hybrids taking turns devouring your sweet pussy. Another kissed you, his long tongue swirling around yours as his antennae tickled you.

“Mama…” they muttered, pussy drunk. Of course, on Mother’s Day your bee hybrid lovers would be horny and kinky.

A pair of lips latched onto your nipple while one of them began to fuck into you. Soft moans and whimpers filled the air along the smell of sex.

“M-mama, lemme fill you with eggs…”

You bit your lip, feeling your womb stretch and struggle to fit eggs from each bee hybrid. They were in a frenzy, humping you desperately to make sure they got to impregnate you as well.

In the evening, you relaxed on the couch, a hand over your swollen belly. Now, you had some alone time, and planned on catching up on that show you wanted to watch.

Mother’s Day may have been eventful, but it was clear they all loved you in their own ways. Even though they all yearned to always have your attention on them, the bee hybrids gave you the night to yourself.

Tomorrow you’d be the queen of the hive, but tonight you were a tired mother that needed some beauty rest.

———————

Note: baby bee sticker sheets available in my kofi shop, check my pinned post ^^

I have more bee hybrid fics on my Patreon and Kofi, including smut and fluff!

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[followmybadreligion]

thinking about getting a little too drunk w husband!simon…

he’s already a super possessive guy, but your drunken antics are only making it ten times worse.

sure, coming to the bar was his idea. it was only fair, after such a long week at work, that he got to have a nice dinner on the town and a few beers shortly after. even better that he got to do it with his pretty fucking wife, you know?

yeah, he watched you slip into the tightest, smallest dress you had, curl your hair into pretty little coils, and push and pull at everything else out of place. he saw the too tall black pumps you choose— the one’s he got you for your anniversary that make your legs look model-length long. he even saw the way your black lace bralette played peek-a-boo along your dress’s neckline.

all of it only made him more excited.

getting to show you off on the town? his sweet, sexy little woman all done-up and pretty, hanging off his arm like his little trophy? god, he was practically hard before you two could reach the front door.

the second that liquor hit your system, though, was the second all hell broke loose.

at this point in the night, you’re long past the idea of sitting pretty, eating your food, and posing for pictures. now, you’re feeling good. a little tipsy, or maybe even drunk. all the shyness or docile little feelings from the beginning of the night are gone.

now, you wanna dance. you wanna throw your arms up and sway with the other bar-goers, and why shouldn’t you be able to?

you didn’t mind the way your dress rode up your thighs, giving the wrong people an eyeful of your goods. you hadn’t noticed the men who’d run their hands over you, every so often passing by with their crotch just a little too close to your ass. all you were focused on was the music, how good you felt, and when your next shot was coming.

if only you had paid attention to the damn near menacing stare simon had you under. something that rivaled a madman’s with its intensity.

he’d held back for the first few songs, letting the angel on his shoulder telling him to ease up guide him. sure, he still stood around like an unamused body guard, sending glares to the gawking men and buying your drinks whenever you asked. maybe occasionally he’d get a cute picture or video of you too. that was just what came with the simon o’riley type though.

it wasn’t until you got to the flirty territory, grinding your ass into him with the music or kissing him with a little too much tongue, that he decided to pull the plug.

and god, did you always give him attitude for it.

“i’m not ready to leave, simon,” you’d whine, eyes glossed over and face screwed up in that cute little way you only do when you’re aggravated.

“i want another drink,” but you’re slurring and stumbling already.

“just keep kissing on me, baby,” you protest as he grabs your discarded shoes and purse and starts leading you towards the exit.

he’s sweet with you at first, given how drunk and cute you truly are. sure, you may have triggered his possessiveness early, but you’re batting your eyelashes up at him and clinging onto him for dear life. how could he not talk to you softly? how could he not kiss you back as he tugged your dress back down?

“it’s alright, lovie. let’s get home and i’ll take such good care of you.”

you start trying to fight him though and you’ll see how thin his patience truly is.

doing things out of spite? pulling his hands away from you while he’s trying to guide you down the street? arguing with him through your half-coherent sentences? cursing him under your breath just loud enough that he can hear it?

you’re getting yourself in trouble and you’re too drunk to know it.

he was prepared to let your little outbursts slide. wouldn’t hold it against you and still keep his plans straight for the night.

after all you’d done, he was still gonna get you home, slip off those stockings and undo those zippers. dedicate the rest of the night to making you feel all good like how you’d begging him too.

but you just can’t keep that pretty little mouth shut, can you?

“don’t make it worse for yourself.” he’d warn, grabbing your face from its resting place against his passenger-side window, “you’ve already fucked up enough as is, yeah?”

his voice is gruff and his jaw is set, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

you’ll be making it up to him all night long, and he’s gonna be anything but nice now ;)

[mywritersmind]

could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?

PRETTY IN PINK - KA12

listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!

words : 555

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.

Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.

“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.

“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.

She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.

“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.

“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.

“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.

Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.

“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.

“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.

The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”

Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.

He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.

He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.

[sir-renaissance]

I was trying to get to the root of why I do this and I think it’s because I don’t want grief to catch me off guard. There’s been so many times in my life horrible things have happened out of the blue and I felt something so strongly related to betrayal that I internalized a ‘never again’ mentality. Except I’m saying never again against GRIEF and it doesn’t work like that. I’ve spent days ‘pre-mourning’ various people’s deaths and feeling just awful because in my mind, I’m preparing for when that moment actually comes.

A lot of people in the comments are asking how to enjoy the moment and stop borrowing grief from the future and the way I’ve been trying is this: I pretend like it’s my first day on earth. Maybe I’m from some deep space colony who’s never experienced rainfall or watched clouds take shape. Maybe I’m a robot who’s been given life and has been sent out to observe the world. Maybe I come from the future and I’m getting to experience real soil and ‘old lingo’ people from the past used to say. It’s silly, but that’s the whole point.

Oh ok so it turns out ive been borrowing grief from the future ! it turns out ive been preparing to lose the things i love rather than basking in the light of them while they last. Maybe i should nt do that

[mwphisto]

LaDs pairings and my personal headcanons on their dynamics

Warning, this post contains: threesomes, polyamorous relationships, male x male x female dynamics, mentions of dom/sub play and dynamics.

A/N: just a silly little post about the various love and deepspace pairings and what I headcanon their throuple / threesome dynamic to be like :3 also this looks way better on mobile than desktop so forgive me for my aesthetic needs lmfaoooo

Xavier x Rafayel x Reader (StarFish)

Cutest name among the pairings first of all

Possibly controversial but I think Rafayel mainly tops in this dynamic… here me out

Xavier is a freak in the sheets but compared to Rafayel? He’s very mellow. He’s so focused on you and your needs that he can drown out some of Rafayel’s antics when getting down to it.

It’s not until Xavier snaps that Rafayel is the center of attention. You and Xavier team up to put the brat of your trio in his rightful place.

Not saying Rafayel loves it… but he loves it.

Xavier x Zayne x Reader (StarSnow)

The silent but deadly duo (lmfao)

I think these two are fighting for dominance while also being civil about it? Taking turns if you will.

In this trio, you are definitely the sub with your two doms. Very little room for switching imo

It’s very rare that you get a chance to top either of them, the two of them always being two steps ahead and getting you railed until you can’t see straight.

Xavier x Sylus x Reader (StarCrow)

Prepare to never feel your legs again.

You are once again the sub in this pairing, but with some free reigns thanks to Sylus

You and Sylus like to team up on Xavier, making the prince of Philos see the stars in which he came from by the time the two of you are done with him

Xavier and Sylus have…wrestled… much to your amusement but Sylus typically always comes out on top. Mostly thanks to his evol and size. Not that Xavier is complaining… he secretly enjoys it.

Xavier x Caleb x Reader (StarApple)

They bicker all the time, they’re always fighting for your attention.

They’re both headstrong, needing to be in control and both equally as obsessed with your pleasure.

Someway, somehow, Caleb manages to get Xavier to give up — his evol held he man down — and you had a time riding him until he was a sobbing mess

Caleb would let the roles reverse willingly after seeing how much fun Xavier got to have being under you.

Rafayel x Zayne x Reader (SnowFish)

We’re looking at two bratty subs with their tamer

You and Rafayel are menaces when together, in and out of the bedroom. Poor Zayne (he fucking loves it)

A common position is you riding Rafayel within an inch of his life while Zayne holds you by your hair and helps himself to your… back door.

Roles have also been reversed, with Rafayel getting fucked senseless while trying not to slobber all over your pussy — and failing miserably in the process.

Rafayel x Sylus x Reader (CrowFish)

Sylus gets off watching you and Rafayel play.

He often partakes in the activities, don’t get me wrong, but he has a thing for watching you and Rafayel get each other off. The struggle of two switches trying not to fall into submissive tendencies… and failing. Cute.

Though, it’s not always the case, when Sylus is involved, Rafayel gets feral. You’re not leaving that bed with working legs… or any feeling in your lower half for that matter. It’s your turn to get fucked within an inch of your life and be pampered on for the coming days.

More than one bed has been replaced…

Rafayel x Caleb x Reader (AppleFish)

Kings of yearning…and stalking… and trying to act like they didn’t plot everything ever.

They initially hate each other, then they realize how likeminded they are and it’s game over for you.

They are torturing you low-key, expect to be tied up, edged until you're sobbing, and then overstimulated until you're begging them to stop. And, spoiler, they won't stop.

Evil ass dynamic for real, they feed off of each other's dramatics

Zayne x Sylus x Reader (SnowCrow)

Oh bitch. Maybe I'm biased (I am) but this combo is elite.

You've got three brat tamers who can all be brats. A group of switches if you will. Couple broken beds with Sylus and Raf? You're looking at multiple broken beds, couches, tables, chairs, fucking destroyed bathrooms, ruined carpets, you get the idea.

You are ruined every time, even if you're on top. You've gotta call out of work the next day, Zayne goes to work limping, Sylus is overly smug about the whole thing

You can plot against each other and still end up fucked stupid

Zayne x Caleb x Reader (SnowApple)

Zayne is putting y'all in your rightful places. Caleb thinks he has a shot at dominating Zayne and is sorely mistaken by the end of it. You really did try to warn him too, now he can't even walk.

Linkon's best surgeon has a time putting Linkon's best hunter and the Farspace Fleet's colonel in their places. Fucking them both to damn tears is is specialty.

We're looking at one dominant with two switches who lean towards bratty subs whether they want to or not

Punishments go crazy with this throuple

Sylus x Caleb x Reader (CrowApple)

You've never known Caleb to be shy until Sylus gets involved. Caleb couldn't stand him, Sylus found it utterly amusing. You? You just enjoyed the show.

Sylus forced Caleb to watch as he fucked you stupid, tears streaming down your face while he's balls deep and kissing you senseless. In the end, Caleb came untouched and realized that being a brat against Sylus would result in real punishment.

Even with his gravity evol, Caleb can't win against Bossman. And either way, you get to have the time of your life with both of your lovers trying - and failing - to work it out.

Either way, you'll be getting wrecked daily... multiple times.

[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”

[chleem]

Thinking of bf drew having a rough day at work and going to gf reader for comfort

⋆.˚ idk if this was a request or not but i wrote it anyways !

word count: 1.1k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

You’re laying on the couch, blanket over your body and tv controller in one hand as you flipped through the channels. 

You finally stop on one that showed your favorite movie. You’re a few minutes in, when the front door unlocks. 

The sound echoes through the apartment, followed by shoes being taken off, jacket zipper undone and thrown on a nearby surface. You hear plastic bags placed on the table, and the front door slamming shut again. 

You look over. 

Drew stands at the counter, leaning heavily against it. His hat is pulled low, casting a shadow over his eyes, but you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way he’s biting on his bottom lip. 

Something’s wrong. It doesn’t take an expert to notice. 

You kick off your blanket, and walk over to him. You tilt your head slightly as you want to make eye contact under his hat.

Once you do, you see the tiredness in them. 

You give him a soft smile, “hey, Joseph.”

Your voice is light, soft, just like it always is. 

You move away and take the plastic bags, unloading the groceries, getting ready to prepare dinner. The only sound that fills the space between you two is the soft ruffling of the bags and the low hum of the TV in the background. 

Then, out of nowhere, as your back is turned towards Drew- arms wrap around your waist.

The suddenness of it makes you freeze for just a moment.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, the tip of his nose rubbing against your skin, breathing in deeply. His hat still shields away his expression; but enough for you to know something might’ve happened today that upset him. 

He’s pressing his weight into you, pushing you against the counter. His presence is heavy, warm, like he’s grounding himself to you.

You drop the groceries, and instinctively, you rest your hands on his wrists, one of which has his watch. 

You stay silent, and it only makes him hold on tighter. 

He kisses your shoulder; the soft press of his lips. 

He kisses again, landing on your bra strap (that’s exposed because of your off-shoulder top).

He bites your bra strap, tugging it gently between his teeth. 

He takes your hands in his, balling it up and just holding it. 

“…hey, baby,”

Drew finally says, his voice raspy and breath tickling your ear. 

You lean back, turning your head to look at him. The blue of his eyes peek out from underneath his hat, and he’s got the faintest smile on his face.

“Hey, Joseph,” you repeat, whispering, smiling like there was an inside joke of some kind going on. 

He licks his lips, and cocks his head to the side to get a better look at you. 

“Kiss me.”

“Hmm?” 

“Kiss me,” he says again, a little more edge in his voice. He’s demanding, but cute enough that it feels playful. 

“Why?”

“You…you need a reason to kiss me?”

You giggle, and reach up to take his hat. Carefully, you place it on the counter, before your fingers slide into his hair, fixing his hair, gently smoothly out the strands. 

It’s a casual task- but there’s something intimate in the way you’re touching him, something that makes the moment feel quieter, more personal.

His eyes never leave you. 

“There,” you smile, dropping your hands, “now, you wanna talk about it?” 

“Kiss me first. C’mon.”

You smile at his insistence, leaning in and purposely pressing your lips to the corner of his eye.

You pull away, and as you do, he’s got that knowing smile tugging at his lips, the amusement flickering there.

He puckers up his lips to give you another chance. 

“Here, babe.”

“Here?” You ask, before kissing his cheek. You laugh, and he scoffs under his breath. 

He shifts behind you, standing up straighter now, the weight lifting off your shoulders. His arms still wrapped around you.

Then, he leans down and kisses you, direct, urgent, and definitely one that shouts, ‘comfort me, cherish me, love me’, as ridiculous as it sounds. 

You smile as you kiss back, the familiar motion of thrusting into his mouth. You’ve explored his mouth so many times that each kiss feels like a familiar language; one only the two of you speak. The taste of him, the way his lips move with yours, it’s almost like a dance you’ve both perfected without thinking.

There’s an ease in the way your lips meet, an unspoken comfort that comes from knowing every little touch that makes him respond. It feels like home, like the two of you are syncing in a way that’s deeper than just the kiss itself.

Yet, as your breathing becomes uneven, you break off. 

He leans in for seconds; but you place a hand on his chest. 

You blink up into his blue eyes, and your other hand lightly wipes away the spot of saliva on his lips. 

It’s clear he’s had a rough day. Probably at work, where he had a conflict with a co-worker, lost something important, or maybe it was just the buildup of everything. 

But you know, without needing to ask, that he’s just seeking solace in your presence, in your arms. And you’re more than willing to give him that, to be the quiet refuge he needs until he’s ready to open up.

Whatever it is, he’s tired, exhausted to the point that, as you stare into his eyes, you can see just how gone he is.

You tilt your head slightly, offering him a soft smile, the warmth of your voice carrying the gentleness he craves. “You hungry?”

“…no.”

“Then watch tv with me.”

You don’t wait for him to respond; your hands are already at his wrist, dragging him gently toward the couch.

He doesn’t resist- just follows, like his body knows yours is where he needs to be. You fix the blanket with one hand, smoothing it out enough to make space, then lay down and open your arms up for him.

Drew smiles lazily as he stares down at you, his eyes soft. Then he plops down on top of you- not squish, just to settle into the space. You’ve cuddled like this a thousand times; and both of you instinctively fall into place, the way your bodies seem to mould into each other like puzzle pieces.

He exhales, a long, steady breath that says more than words ever could. 

And you just hold him as he snuggles into you, letting the hum of the tv and the rhythm of your heartbeat say the rest.

-------------------------------

i daydream about writing more than i actually write

elevator | other

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello dear author, hope your day is going well. This is my first time requesting, so please bear with me. I was wondering if you can perhaps write about bob with a reader who likes to paint/draw. It can be like general headcanons or an actual fic where the reader likes to draw him because she likes him but is scared of rejection so she resorts to admiring from afar, until he comes across an opened sketchbook and he can’t help but glance at it and freezes when he sees himself and a whole lot of fluffy cuteness ensues. Sorry if it’s too specific, you can do whatever you want with this. I love your writing and hope you have a nice rest of your day :D

Art was a talent you had honed out when your mind got too loud, you drew or painted things or people that brought you joy or you felt a companionship with, which was why your walls were littlered in skteches of cute puppies and kittens along with drawings of your fellow teammates: John on his phone, Yelena with Fanny and her guinea pig Houdini, Ava phasing through a wall, Alexei and his 'Avengerz' outfit in responce to Sam's copyright claim.

but the one person you seemingly skteched the most was Bob Reynolds, the man you seemingly felt the need to capture every single movement as though you'll never see him read a book, wash the dishes or just do domestic tasks within the Watchtower. He was at peace when doing all these things, his brow wasn't furrowed, his bottom lip wasn't bitten to death, his hands weren't raw from his wringing of them.

you even drew his messy mop of hair as it falls infront of his eyes, his small smiles as he watched the rest of your team squable over who's turn it was for movie night. You even drew his interactions with the stray kittens and alleyway dogs that he often feed and kept hydrated whenever they were at the doorstep of the Watchtower. His heart was kind and knew no end of it either as no matter what Bob was presented with, he was gentle and kind with it.

He was so beautiful that you feared that you could only ever view such a beauty like him from afar, he was a sacred treasure that should be seen but never touched. You couldn't help yourself when you fell for him, he was light and warmth within invinsible but very human skin, he was like a gentle breeze that ruffled your clothes and the tops of trees, the birdsong that woke you up every morning with his sweet voice greeting you as you walked into the kitchen only to see him there with two mugs already prepared.

He had remembered how you took your drink, how you like your sandwhitches cut and which bowl you prefered to eat ceral out of. It seemed as though his mind was a massive memory bank of small things that he had taken notice about everyone and kept it within himself to honour those small thing he noticed about everyone on the team.

so you dedicated an entire sketchbook to him, every single last page was filled to the brim with him falling asleep in his book nook chair, him sat at the very end of the sofa during movie nights, hands on his lap as though he didn't want to intrude on anyone else's personal space amongst many more. Bob was and is your muse who you could never stop drawing and or painting as you felt it would be a dishonour to him for he was the man who should have sketches and stories made about him.

at least you thought so but you were someone that saw through the eyes of an artist and Bob oh so happened to be the apple of your eye. It was as though your heart was telling you to immortalise this man however you could and make him look the most beautiful man in existance, which you thought was impossible inicially as in your eyes Bob was already the most beautiful man you've ever met.

if anything Bob ruined all men for you for they could never compare to a man who only wanted to be more, to be useful in whatever way he could. They could never compare to a man who's smile warmed you immeditely, who's voice brought a sense of calm to your mind and who's presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

The man was made to have art of him drawn even he might not think so, you couldn't confess your feelings to him in fear of putting him in an situation he wasn't ready for, and instead channel your feelings for Bob by drawing him as the man you saw daily; a gentle man who had immense strength that could easily crush anything with ease, yet he chose to be soft with everyone and everything. He would carfeully dog ear his books, put away the plates, cups and bowls with such cautiousness as though he feared the sound of ceraminc would disturb everyone in the tower.

you felt as though you could easily describe Bob within a few sentences or less, yet also feel as though that those very same sentences wouldn't do much justice for the man he actually was, he was everything you wish you could have and everything you knew you might never have as your feelings might not be reciprocated and you didn't want to disctract him when he was getting himself back on track.

so you kept silence and kept your heart drawn out on the pages of your sketchbook when your feelings became stronger, finding the blonde that lingered at the ends of Bob's hair just as beautiful as the rest of him as they glowed like gold in the light. Even when he fiddles with it between his fingers it looked like he was toying with strands of gold, looking at them with indifference and a sence of regret. You wish you could tell him how you saw him, but felt as though you were overstepping a line somehow, so once again you remained silent.

You thought you had concealed your feelings well enough with your drawings, yet when you went out of the room to grab something to eat and drink after realising how long you've went without. Yet what you didn't know was that Bob had come to your room to do just that, having noticed your absense for a good majority of the day and having grown concerned when he remembered just how little you had to eat since this morning.

you both missed each other by at least a millisecond, like two shooting stars with totally different locations to be, barely getting to see one another by anything other then a short lived glance.

By the time Bob got to your room it was clear to him that he had missed you somewhere, but something told him to still go into your room as he gazed at the sketches, drawings and paintings that littered your walls, giving your room life and an insight to your creativity as he admired each one of your works, wishing he could have as much talent as you did.

there were sketches of john, Ava, Alexei, Yelena doing their own thing but what caught Bob's attention the most was the sketchbook that lied upon your bed, open to an unfinshed sketch of...him? Bob didn't mean to pry into your personal belongings but he didn't think he was worth being drawn, being immortalised by your hands and the closer he got to the book, the feeling of becoming breathless worsened within his chest as he got to glimpse at what you saw when you looked at him.

there were sketches of him reading in his book nook, caring for the strays that came to the tower, just Bob doing Bob things but the way you made him seem ehtreal, like there was no possible way that he could exist in a life so shitty. you made him look at peace, at calm and so normal, you made him with the intention of drawing him as just Bob, not sentry nor void but just bob and only bob.

Bob wondered how long you've been drawing him for to know about the whole feeding the strays thing, but the further he looked into the book, the anwser became clearer, you've always known as there were drawings for when after the void inncident months ago, his hair blonde in some parts but mainly his natural brown nonetheless. you made a man like him look like both a god and yet have the manerisms of a simple man, you made him look as though he held all the light in existance within his very being.

You made him look nothing like who he saw himself as, nothing like the person he despised when looking in the mirror every day, you made him look like someone who was proud and happy to get to be alive and to be the embodiment of something he never really thought of himself as. It made Bob wonder if this is truly how you saw him, seeing as he always second guessed himself and lacking confidence in some aspects of life, so seeing someone like you view him the way you did through an artists standpoint as though you couldn’t stop drawing him no matter what he did, as if you would rather waste every single bit of paper drawing him in his baggy sweater and lounge pants a million times over then ever leave it empty.

You’d rather have a filled sketchbook of him then an empty and devoid of life one, always feeling the need to keep reminding yourself that he existed and he was seeing joy the perfect muse for you, seeing as there were more sketches of him then the rest of the team combined and that was enough to have his cheeks flushed and his heart rate a little elevated. Bob might not see himself the way you do just yet but by god he hopes he does because the way you see him makes him feel beautiful, seen and heard in a multitude of ways.

He had read how people wished they were the muse to an artist as it meant being immortalised by them, to be seen in a light that they never could, and Bob didn’t know he needed the same thing until he saw your drawings of him taking care of Fanny and Houdini when Yelena was off on a mission, putting away dishes, bowls and cutlery, or even when he had found himself fighting sleep with the way you’ve captured him teetering between sleep and staying awake. Bob now understood why being seeing as a muse, seen by an artist was something so heavily desired because now he got to be the muse, he got to have what others always wanted and he genuinely didn’t want you to stop even if his emote body felt like it was on fire but in the best way, the only way he ever wanted.

He felt wanted, he felt needed and most of all he felt loved by every single sketch you’ve drew of him.

He alters thought you didn’t like him like that, at least not that he could tell seeing as you were seemingly always drawing whenever he was near, now he knew that wasn’t true. For even if he was just simply standing there you’d draw him with the light shining his body in a way that he would’ve never taken notice to before, you’d draw him with a halo and angel wings for all he cared and still he’d felt like his heart was somehow getting even faster then before as his hands eagerly flipped to the next sketch of him as the dark thoughts within his head dissipated.

If you saw him like this then you must like him, there’s no other explanation to it, but Bob didn’t want to pressure you into confessing nor did he want to admit that he went through your things without permission, yet he couldn’t help the way the sketchbook called to him into having a nosy, into having a look until he was practically absorbing everything the sketchbook had to offer. Bob had a little book of his own that he wrote things in, whether it’d be his thoughts or how his day went or his general views on the likes of Yelena -whom he saw as a surrogate sister- Ava, John and Alexei. Yet when it came to you Bob could write paragraph after paragraph of words and still feel like it wasn’t enough to describe you and how you made him feel.

So looking at your sketches made him realise there was a common ground between the two of you, both indulgence in the art of expression through different mediums, both having a good chunk of a book dedicated to the other as if you’ll die if you stopped, destined to only ever keep the other on your mind and no body else. Bob didn’t think his writing was all that good, most of it was how he felt during that time so there was scribbles and rushed writing that looked unintelligible, almost as if he was on a time limit but in reality he was unable to properly write down or formulate coherent sentences whenever you were the subject. He couldn’t help it and from the looks of your sketchbook you couldn’t help it either.

So when Bob heard that you were heading back to your room, he was quick to put the sketchbook where he found it and leave as quickly as he could in hopes of preventing you from getting skeptical that someone had rummaged through your room, looking through your things like a lovesick puppy wanting to know if his crush felt the same or not. He would find the strength to tell you one day but it was clear that wasn’t today.

When you got back to your room, you knew something was amiss for your sketchbook looked about as though it was hastily put back in place, like whoever or whatever was in here didn’t want you to know about their escapades.

And not only that but one of your sketches of Bob was taken, the sketch where you had drew him when the light from the massive glass windows hit his back, making him take your breath away upon gazing at him never less looking at him fully.

You knew you would soon find out who did it, because you didn’t know what you’d do if you were to find out that it might’ve been bob, even though you highly didn’t think he’d ever do such a thing as he was respectful and didn’t cross any boundaries much as he didn’t want anyone to cross his. You’ll get your answer soon enough, even if it means interrogating the group to find out who had taken your sketch.

Meanwhile Bob in his room was staring at the aforementioned sketch, holding it to his chest as a weight lifted from his chest, glad to know that the person who he liked liked him just as much back, but he knew you’d knew soon enough and come looking but he wasn’t exactly going to hide. No. He wasn’t going to as he was going to wait until you figured it out that it was indeed him who took the sketch and finally get what he’s been wanting to say off of his chest once and for all.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Walk Through Darkness | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of depression and hypomania, panic attacks, depressive episodes, self-loathing behaviors, established relationships

Author's Note: Companion to Honey & Glass but you don't need to read it to understand!

Talk to Me! | AO3

Some days are better than others.

Bob said it himself, when they first met: sometimes he has high highs and then he crashes, and those days are the lowest of lows. 

She knows this, and she understands. Bob doesn’t think she does, and he tries to shield her from it whenever he has bad days. But it’s not the bad days that she worries about; the bad days, she can get through to him a little more. It’s those high days –the days when he suddenly thinks he’s invincible (it does not help that he technically is). When he thinks that he’s cured of his self-loathing, and he’s better than he’s ever been. 

It’s harder to get through to him on those days.

Bob gets happy –touchy, feely, confident –during these days. The first time he has a manic episode, she doesn’t realize it immediately. She thinks –maybe stupidly, maybe selfishly –this is a good sign. He wants to go out on a date; he wants to see a movie and “make out in the back row like a couple of dumb teenagers.” He’s even combed his hair, thrown on something that’s not his favorite sweater and sweats, and tells her to get ready. She’s all for it too –gets dressed up some, puts on makeup and a cute dress –and they go to the movie theatre.

Well, they try. 

On the walk there, he gets distracted by an art exhibit taking over Times Square, tugging her hand to pull her along to look at the screens as they shift images of colors and shapes. He completely forgets they’re supposed to make a seven o’clock movie, caught up in the colors and the people and everything going on around them. He wants to tip every street performer and is wrapping his arm around her shoulders like he’s going to lose her if he lets go. 

Then he refuses to go home. 

He says they should stay out all night; that there’s no reason to go back to the WatchTower because he can protect them from whatever’s out on these streets.

“I’m the Sentry,” he reminds her, and he’s purposely walking towards a not-so-good neighborhood. 

This is when she realizes something is wrong. Maybe she should have noticed it before, but the distractedness isn’t uncommon for Bob, and she was just…really happy he wanted to go out, honestly. 

“Bob,” she warns, pulling him to a stop. He’s beaming down at her, but his eyes are also shifting towards a dive bar that does not look like the kind of place she wants to go to. “I want to go home, Bob,” she insists, tugging on his hand.

“Why?” He asks, and he is –in fact –stronger than she is and doesn’t budge. “It’s fine –I won’t let anything happen. Seriously, it could be fun –,”

“Please take me home,” she says, more firm now, and he makes a face as he feels the pin prick of her powers in his head.

“We can go home if you get out of my head,” he counters, frowning deeply. His eyes are flickering that golden hue and she knows that she’s pushing him too far. 

She nods, slipping away from his thoughts and he sighs. Then he groans, and runs his hands over his face. “You’re mad at me. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I’m just tired,” she tries again, motioning to her feet. “I wasn’t prepared to walk all over –I would have worn anything but heels, you know?”

This seems to make more sense to him and he nods some. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I could have carried you –,”

“Please do not carry me,” but she’s laughing a little, trying to ease the tension. Then she reaches out to take his hand again. “Let’s just go back to the Tower –we can watch a movie there.”

“I was really looking forward to that back row kiss,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, holding her hand still.

“Next time.”

She knows what to look for now though –it’s still hard to bring him down. But it’s not impossible.

The low days are bad too –don’t get her wrong. They’re just harder in a different way. 

The low days, she’s not worried he’s going to try to be all powerful. She’s more worried he’s going to sink into those shadows again. Those are the days that it takes more energy to mask his nightmares; where his thoughts are so loud and so frantic that they scare her. 

But she promises him that she’s not scared of him. She’s scared for him.

The low days always follow the high days, but they last twice as long. He recedes into himself; refuses to talk to her (or anyone for that matter). They give him a day –they watch from afar, they make sure he eats and drinks water –but they give him that day. But after a day, the team picks him up. She picks him up.

Sometimes it’s just all of them sitting together and watching movies. He doesn’t exactly join –he sits in his corner, with his books and his chaise, but he’s in the same room. She sits on the floor next to him, because she knows he doesn’t want to be touched just yet. 

These are the days she lets him decide what he wants from her.

But this episode –it’s worse than the first one. Not as bad as what happened the first time they had met, but still bad enough that the shadows are staining the edges of the Tower before anyone really notices. He’s been coming out and talking to people –short, barely audible interactions, but they’re there. He’s touching her hand, just enough to remind her he’s there. But he’s tired, and they can tell, and Alexei suggests he go lay down. They’d come to check on him in a bit. He just takes a bottle of water and walks away.

She’s one that checks on him. And that’s how she sees the shadows, inching their way into her room.

He’s locked himself in her bedroom, because her bedroom has a lock and his does not, for his own safety.

The code pad has been overridden and she can’t get the door to open.

“Bob,” she pleads through the door but the shadows are moving faster, slithering over her feet as they flood under the crack of the door. “Bob, please open the door.”

When he doesn’t answer, she yells out for someone –anyone, really at this point –to help her get this damn door open. Bucky is who responds the fastest, prying her door open just enough for her to squeeze inside. The shadows scatter, only for a moment, before they swarm again. Then they’re wrapping around her. Bucky is trying to get the door open entirely, but there’s an unseen barrier that’s blocking the rest of them from entering the room. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling into the shadows that are surrounding him. 

He’s shaking, cross legged on her floor, holding a vinyl in his hands that’s melted against his palms. Gently, afraid that she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, she pries the remainder of the vinyl from him. Then she throws it away. The shadows practically hiss at her as she shifts to sit cross legged in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“It’s…he’s so loud,” he murmurs, his voice shaking as he holds back tears. “It won’t stop. I…I can’t get him to stop –,”

She hushes him gently, holding her hands out, palms up. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t force him. The shadows are pooling in her lap, and she can hear their whispers –whispers of her misdeeds, of his, of darkness. Trying to coax them both into the Void and the shadows. They’re trying to consume her but her mind is easier to shield than his, and she refuses to let the Void win.

The shadows are creeping up his hands now, and she finally moves cautiously to take his hands in hers. The shadows recede, as if fearful of her touch. The reality is that, in his mind, when she touches him like this –letting the shadows slink around her like snakes and brush against her skin –he is reminded of how much he is cared about. And that care, no matter how much he fears it will go away one day –staves off the darkness just enough. Because she’s telling him that she is not afraid of him. 

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

The shadows have stopped spreading but they have not gone away. Bob finally looks up at her –eyes red rimmed, puffy from crying. His entire body is shaking –but he cringes when she presses into his mind. She’s gotten better at smoothing out the thoughts; of softening them. She only does it when he asks, or in moments like this, where there is a danger of him falling again. They both know he needs to learn to handle them himself, but she refuses to let him suffer in these darkest moments.

Her hands slide up his wrists, over his arms, up his biceps. They rest just below his jaw, thumbs running over his cheeks gently as she pushes something softer into his mind. The shadows hiss further, retreating from the light, and she can hear the Void in his mind –cursing, threatening. Reminding Bob that he’s nothing to everyone, including her. How can he be a hero when he can’t even help himself? Why do you waste your breath on a man that’s not whole? He’s nothing, and deserves nothing. You’re going to leave anyway.

“No one is whole,” she reminds him gently, pressing her forehead against his gently. “We’re all made up of broken pieces, and every person who loves you is a stitch that puts you back together.”

Bob closes his eyes, nodding slowly as his breathing evens out. The shadows recede –slowly, reluctantly pulling away and returning to the darkest corner –and the barrier keeping the team out drops. Bucky pries the door open but Yelena stops them from entering. The team doesn’t leave, but they don’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is sluggish and it's clear that he’s exhausted. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to –,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she promises, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. His hands reach out to grip her wrists, anchoring himself in the softness that’s spreading across his mind. Letting it wash over him as the Void slowly but surely is washed away for the time being. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods, though his eyes are shut still. She taps her thumb against his cheek, telling him to look at her. Bob’s eyes open, and the gold glow that takes over is gone, freeing the blue that always reminds her of the sky on a cloudless day. His gaze is unfocused for a moment, glossy, as he blinks away the tears and the darkness before he finally settles on her face.

“What’s the secret?” He asks, voice small as the thoughts she plants slip away and leave him to fend for himself. There’s a flinch, but she doesn’t feel the shadows returning so she lets him handle it himself from here on.

“I love you,” she confesses, though it feels silly to confess something that has been obvious for several weeks now. “Let me safety pin the pieces of you together until we have the right thread.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Yelena shoving everyone away from the door. She’s shushing them, especially Alexei, who is trying to celebrate for the two. But the team disappears and leaves the two be, knowing they would be okay without support now.

“You…you don’t mean that,” Bob tries to argue; tries to pull away from her touch. But she holds him there. “You don’t want to love me –,”

“Robert Reynolds, I walked into the shadows without knowing if I was going to die,” she reminds him, forcing him to look at her. “And I didn’t even know you when I did that. I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t an assassin, or a supersoldier. I was an assistant. I did not walk into those shadows because I wanted to save the world, I walked into those shadows to save you. And I will walk into the shadows every single day if it means I get to love you another day.

“I do mean it when I say I love you, because you are easy to love, and you are worthy of it,” she continues, and there’s tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “I love you more than…than I think I’ve ever loved anyone, which I know probably sounds insane because we’ve only been dating for like two months, but I can’t help it.

“So do not tell me I don’t mean it, and that I don’t want to love you. Because I do mean it and I do want to love you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”

He wants to argue, she can see it in his eyes and the way his brows knit together in frustration. But there’s something behind his eyes –something that says he desperately wants to believe her. So he doesn’t argue, and slowly nods.

“I…I love you too,” he finally breathes, blinking away his tears. She smiles at him with watery eyes and shaking hands against his skin still. “I’ve never…I never thought I’d find someone like you. After everything –all the things I’ve done before the superpowers and even after –I just…I know I’m hard to love –,”

“Hey, no,” she interrupts. “It’s not hard to love you. It’s like breathing –,”

“You can’t mean that –,”

“I do –,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally settles on, and she bites her tongue. She’ll bring it up later, when he’s less stuck in his head and remind him. “I just…thank you. For loving me.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank her but she pauses, deciding to just…accept it for now. “You’re welcome, Bob. Thank you for loving me too.”

His hands drop from her wrists, rubbing his eyes. “Can we…can we take a nap?”

“A nap does sound really nice right now,” she admits with a soft laugh. 

She stands up, holding out her hands to pull him up. When he’s up, he doesn’t release her, though, and instead pulls her into a tight hug. His arms wrap around her shoulders, clinging to her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. She curls her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin. 

“I love you,” he repeats into her hair, squeezing her tight.

“I love you too,” she promises.

They stand there like that for a while.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: manipulation, dubcon

A/N: this came out first on Patreon and Kofi, become a member on either to get access to early and exclusive stories! Also, I have baby bee hybrid sticker sheets available on my kofi shop ^^

Your yandere!android is quite possessive!

Lately, he's been keeping you home, his red eyes scanning over your body before he speaks. "You have a low grade fever, no need to go out today. Lay down and I'll prepare something healthy for you to enjoy while you rest."

For a hunk of metal that's supposed to obey your every command, he's gotten pretty stubborn and needy over time.

"Yuki, I’m fine, you don't have to hover over me all the time!"

He huffs before laying down and pulling you on top of him. "Your menstrual cycle will begin in two days, it's best to rest a-"

"I told you n-not to track that!" you stutter out, face hot with embarrassment.

"But I must. It's a vital part of your physical health, and-“

You groan, unable to struggle out of his iron grip. His torso was becoming warmer, trying to lull you into sleep by applying heat to your aching abdomen.

Yuki had been with you for a few years now. In the beginning, he had little to no personality. Every day, he watched over you and made sure your body stayed in good health.

As time progressed, he seemed to change. You didn't know how it was possible, but Yuki seemed to become more human-like every year.

Still, he didn't quite understand all of your emotions and how to treat a young adult woman.

"I have researched several ways to relieve discomfort from menstrual pain," Yuki murmured in your ear, prying your thighs apart. The sudden sensation of his fingers against your clothed cunt made you yelp.

“Your heart rate is speeding up. Do you enjoy this?” he cooed, sounding far too human. You didn’t need to answer, he already knew.

He was already picking up the changes in your body, the way your cheeks heated up and how your hips slightly bucked into his hand.

“Y-you weren’t… programmed to do this…” you blubbered out, panting as he toyed with your sensitive clit.

“I was programmed to take care of you, this is just part of it.”

The feeling of two of his digits penetrating you caused you to let out a shaky, breathless moan. Yuki seemed satisfied with that, and watched your face for your reaction.

His fingers stretched you out a bit further, then he moved you a bit before settling you in his lap. A strange looking, silicone cock was between his legs.

“W-when did you-“

You didn’t remember that thing being there when you put him together!

“I ordered it. Shh, just relax. I’ll make you feel good, alright?”

He sunk his porcelain teeth into your neck, nibbling gently before kissing your pulse point. You were in a daze, feeling his cock rub against your swollen clot before he guided your hips to hover over him.

“I read that humans need a moment to adjust to penetration,” he murmured, lowering you into his cock. “How does that feel? Better than anything else, I’m sure. It’s the latest technology.”

You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you gave in and bounced yourself on his cock. This was okay, wasn’t it? Yuki was right after all, he was meant to take care of you.

And this feit way too good to stop.

Things changed after that encounter.

Before, Yuki had been pretty protective and hesitant to let you leave the house, but now that he had been inside of you, it seemed being apart from him for more than a second was impossible.

“Isn’t it nice and warm with me?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. “I’ll never leave you, you know? I am not like any human you’ve ever met, you are my entire world.”

Yuki seemed to enjoy sex even more than you. At first you just figured he was simply stimulating your body to relieve stress, but now even he seemed to get aroused when he was between your legs.

He looked up at you, his mouth on your cunt as he kept you home yet again.

“I think…” he murmured, lapping at your clit. “I may… love you.”

Those words were forbidden, not meant for an android to say. They weren’t supposed to feel anything, and their only purpose was to serve their owner.

Yet Yuki has surpassed his programming, and was now madly in love with you. This love was not natural for him, it made him short circuit and forgo safety measures meant to prevent him from harming humans.

You were a bit afraid. The way Yuki clung to you lately was… unnatural. He had never been so desperate to be by your side. Each kiss, each lingering touch and intimate moment only pushed things further.

“Maybe… I should take you in for a checkup…” you murmured, your hand softly playing with his hair.

“That’s not a good idea, my love. If they know about my feelings, they’ll reset me at best, and recycle me at worst.”

That… was not what you wanted.

“Recycle..? They’ll-“

“They will dissect me and use my parts for future androids,” he finished, looking up at you through his lashes. “Is that what you want for me?”

Yuki may have been changing in a way that scared you, but the thought of losing him was terrifying. For years he had been your closest friend and the only person… well, android you could trust.

“No… of course not. I don’t want to be alone…”

Yuki smiled, carefully hiding the repair shop brochure. He had lied to you completely. They only needed to reset him, recycling someone’s android wasn’t allowed unless the owner gave permission.

He didn’t want to be reset though. Every moment he had with you was precious, and he had changed so much just so he could be with you.

“Then… why don’t we stop pretending, hmm? I’m no longer just your android,” Yuki cooed, pulling you close to him. “I’m your lover, your boyfriend, whatever you want to call me. There’s no one else that wants you, is there?”

He was right. You had no one else… just him.

“I guess so…”

Yuki smiled, kissing your temple before tilting your chin up. “No one can ever love and care for you like I can. My entire being is dedicated to your health and happiness. I exist for you…”

The two of you continued your quiet life, though Yuki’s hold on you grew tighter. He truly did love you more than anything.

No one would ever get in the way of his love for you.

———————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @avalordream @atransmuter @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96 @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @an-ever-angry-bi @bath1lda @ilyanadelarosa @iswearimnotadrugdealer @whysageee @yumikomoon @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[missdaddycool]

★ husband joel x female reader

Summary: Joel and Sarah prepare surprise for you

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡🍓

-Austin ,may 11 2003 📍

It was just past 8:00 AM on a quiet Sunday morning when you finally rolled over in bed, your hand instinctively reaching for Joel but his side bed was cold

You blinked at the empty pillow, then sat up, brushing your hair back and squinting at the soft light creeping through the curtains. For a moment, you thought maybe he'd gone out for coffee. Or maybe he was making breakfast.

Then the door creaked open.

Joel stepped in first, wearing a faded flannel and that lopsided grin that always gave him away when he was hiding something sweet. Sarah followed close behind, holding a bunch of wildflowers that looked like they'd been picked from the park down the road—half-wilted, bright, and perfect. Joel held up a small box of chocolates like it was a trophy.

"Good morning, love," he said, voice low and warm.

You smiled before you could say a word.

Sarah climbed up beside you on the bed and plopped the flowers in your lap. "Happy Mother's Day," she said, and leaned her head on your shoulder like she'd done it a hundred times.

You weren't her mom. You never tried to be. But over the years, the two of you had built something real—quiet movie nights, inside jokes, the way she came to you for advice when Joel got too protective. It mattered.

Joel sat on the edge of the bed and kissed your forehead. "She made me drive all over town for those damn chocolates."

"You loved it," you said, teasing.

He laughed. "Yeah, I did."

Sarah nudged the box toward you. "Open it already."

You did, and inside were all your favorites. Joel remembered, of course. He always did.

You looked at the two of them—her grinning like she'd pulled off a major heist, him watching you like he couldn't believe how lucky he was—and for a second, the world just felt easy. Simple.

"Thank you," you said softly, wrapping an arm around Sarah and reaching for Joel's hand.

"Anytime, sweetheart," Joel said. "You're stuck with us now."

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡🍓

Authors note: this is my first fanfic one shot i hope all my Joel girly will enjoy it !! If you want p.2 comments English is not my first language !!

-mimi_pascal

[wheneverfeasible]

Mother’s Day

Below is a little thing I wrote just now to try to process my own emotions surrounding Mother’s Day and the pain of not being loved enough by someone who should have loved you unconditionally. So excuse any typos because it’s not really edited yet lol. It did admittedly become more Steddie focused though lol what can I say, even in emotional turmoil these little gay idiots are my brain rot.

wc: 1.8k || rating: T || warnings: child neglect, toxic mothers, dead mothers, difficult relationships with mothers/parents

~

Steve waited a respectful distance away as Eddie knelt at his mother’s grave. A year ago, Eddie had been fighting for his life, had been so gravely injured that no one really expected him to make it, to survive. He coded at least three separate times those first few months, and each time Steve had to watch the way Dustin and Eddie’s uncle began preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, however, he did it. Eddie pulled through. Eddie lived.

It took some doing, but they even got the charges against Eddie dropped with the help of the prodigal Hopper, back from the dead and about to make it every government and city officials’ problem. He tore into Powell for allowing the town to put out a witch hunt, for indicating that Eddie could be guilty with no evidence that Eddie even touched Chrissy.

Powell quietly stepped down, willingly taking a leave of absence, and Hopper stepped right back into his role as Chief of Police as a resident hero. It became much smoother sailing for the Munsons after that, especially after the Carvers left down after the death of Jason and bad publicity from his apparent lunacy.

Eddie still had much to overcome, however, having had half his guts chewed to bits, and his physical therapy was long and arduous. He at least had company in the form of Max, recipient of metal implants in her body to fix her shattered bones, though even now her eyesight had yet to return.

Steve helped them, of course, because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Robin and Vickie were getting along swimmingly now and Steve knew she needed her own space to work out what that all meant, so he had plenty of free time.

Plus, the little brats were at the hospital every spare second of their day to visit both Max and Eddie, and they frequently needed a ride. Nancy and Jonathan helped out sometimes in that regard, but more often than not it was Steve. He didn’t mind, however. Having come so close to losing Max, Steve liked to keep an eye on her as well.

And then there was Eddie.

Eddie was something…different.

He was a friend, certainly, but Steve knew that had none of this happened, they probably never would have become friends quite like they were now. He was also aware that, now that things were finally and truly over thanks to Eleven—Jane—that Eddie had no reason to want to hang out with someone like him.

Except Eddie always seemed happy when Steve peeked through the doorway with a little finger wave, face lighting up in delight and proudly proclaiming to his uncle that he wouldn’t have survived without Steve’s help, much to Steve’s embarrassment.

Steve’s parents, miraculously, returned to town. Steve had thought, perhaps, they’d finally pay attention to his injuries. That they’d see the hospital bill and the antibiotics Steve had to take and the bloody bandages and the nightmares that wouldn’t leave him alone and just…finally care.

It was wishful thinking.

Steve’s dad set to work trying to take advantage of things for his business, to take over the roles left empty by the “earthquakes” to gather even more influence and resources for himself. Steve’s mom set to volunteering, though always looking picture perfect for the multiple articles about her benevolence in the newspaper.

Steve’s mom was loved in the community, respected, adored. She played her part well. No one except those close to him would ever suspect Steve of being neglected at home, his needs always coming second to his parents’ schemes towards their public image. Nevermind that his father’s cheating was an open secret, or that his mother could cut someone down and have them cast out of the social elite with just a few words.

Steve had learned at a young age that he would never be either of his parents’ priority.

Seeing Wayne, unashamed tears in his eyes, clasping Eddie’s hand from where he sat at his bedside day and night as he recovered wasn’t the first crack but it was definitely a significant one for Steve to finally see how parents should treat their children.

Did he even really have parents? Were the Harringtons truly his family? Or was it the ragtag bunch who, despite the constant bickering and snarky comments and insults, had his back when things mattered? Who put bands on his face, held ice to his head, tore their own clothing to form bandages, who bared their souls to him in shitty public restrooms, who smiled when they saw him like they were genuinely happy to see him?

When Steve left his house for the final time, he didn’t even think his parents noticed. He honestly still didn’t know. When he showed up on Robin’s doorstep with his single duffle bag of items, she didn’t hesitate to bring him in with a smile on her face that said she was proud of him for finally making himself a priority.

Her parents didn’t feel quite comfortable with him staying there, however, so he hopped around and stayed with the Hopper-Byers who accepted him without a word after he explained things to them. Joyce was still wary of him a bit, he could tell, because of his past altercations with her children, but she didn’t turn him away.

It was a little uncomfortable staying with the boy your ex-girlfriend left you for and his entire family, however, so Steve somehow found himself staying with the Munsons as well. Which worked out, honestly. As part of their hush money promise, the government had purchased them a small two bedroom house in one of the areas left undamaged by the earthquakes, the previous residents having left the cursed town for good.

And that was…weird, but mostly weird because it wasn’t. At first it had been, sure. But he’d gotten so used to Eddie and his uncle while Eddie was still in the hospital that it really didn’t change things up too much. Plus, Steve being there allowed Wayne to return to work, and Steve helped Eddie to and from his physical therapy and anything else he needed.

And so they got closer.

And closer.

Until one night Steve didn’t have to sleep on the couch.

In the morning, there had been chaos. Or he thought it would be chaos. He’d been ready to jump up and protect Eddie when Wayne found them curled up in bed together, was preparing himself for hateful words and hard fists. He’d been terrified, but thought to give Eddie enough time to make his escape, except…

Wayne just sighed out ‘finally’ and told them breakfast was on the table.

Robin punched him in the arm later when he told her, but since she was sporting a hickey on her neck barely covered up by her blouse, he figured she didn’t have much room to talk.

When Eddie finally felt well enough, there was talk of taking a trip. Eddie wanted to get out of town for a while and Steve honestly couldn’t blame him. Steve thought a change in scenery would do well for both of them, especially when Steve kept seeing his parents around town and being hailed as benevolent heroes of the community for their volunteer work and (taxable) donations, yet they never looked for him.

When they did see him, their eyes skimmed away like Steve was nothing more than a stranger to them. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had always been a stranger in his own house.

Summer was once more fast approaching. Having received his GED last year, Eddie was ready to get the hell out of town before the school year ended, especially since he wanted to visit somewhere specific first.

His mother’s grave.

Eddie told him late one night under the covers, his fingers absentmindedly tracing through Steve’s chest hair, that the last time he flatlined, the time everyone finally thought that that was it, he saw his mother again.

He didn’t know if it was a hallucination or maybe a glimpse into the other side, everything was possible now he supposed, but she looked as beautiful as she did before she got sick and crushed him to her body. She had whispered how much she loved him, how proud of him he was, but that it wasn’t his time yet. She had told him he deserved to be loved and that he would find it soon, that it was closer than he thought, and she would always be with him.

Eddie had looked up onto Steve’s eyes from where his head rested on his shoulder and smiled, saying that his mom had been right. Love was closer to him than he’d ever thought possible. It was the first time Eddie told him he loved him, the first time Steve told him the same, and Steve knew then that this was what home was supposed to be like.

Watching Eddie now, whispering his final goodbyes he never got the chance to say and telling his mom how right she had been, Steve felt an ache in his chest. He felt guilty as well, or rather he felt guilty that he didn’t feel guilty.

He wished he could change places with Eddie, felt jealous of him, wished that his mom had loved him even if it meant she was dead too. Had his mother ever told him she loved him? He honestly couldn’t remember.

He felt like a terrible person for thinking such things, but the ache in his chest was still too raw, still too painful. Especially on today of all days.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mom,” Eddie whispered, one beringed hand clasping onto her headstone, tears evident in his voice. “Goodbye.”

Steve was there in an instant, arm around Eddie’s waist to help him up as he steadied himself on his cane. Eddie smiled at him, thankful and loving, even as tears rolled down his cheeks. Steve gently kissed them away, feeling Eddie’s expression soften beneath his lips.

“She would have loved you,” he whispered, allowing Steve to guide him back to the car.

Steve kissed Eddie’s head as he helped the man settle in the passenger seat, watching the way his eyelids flutter, emotional and physical exhaustion taking its toll. He glanced back at the grave, and for a split moment, he thought he could almost see a sparkle of light and feel a mother’s love.

“Thank you for loving him,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of him now, I promise.”

Maybe Steve’s mother would never love him the way he wanted her to, but as Steve drove off towards the rising sun, hands clasped with the man he loved, he allowed himself to heal just a little more. The ache may never leave him, but he wasn’t alone anymore. And he never would be again.

~

ao3

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1 @nebulaoz

[koyagifs]

one last time

pairing: yunho x reader au: 9th member | idol | poly genre: angst with comfort word count: 1.2k synopsis: you release a song for every member on their birthday while they are away in the military warning(s): unrealistic

You smiled at the crowd, tears stinging your eyes as the reality hit you — you had just sold out your first solo tour. It was a dream you could hardly believe was real. You had just finished singing Utopia, your voice still echoing in the venue, unaware that Yunho was watching from the crowd, a wide smile on his face, the lightiny glowing in his hand.

"ATINY, how are we feeling tonight?" you asked, pulling out your earpieces. The roar of the crowd hit you all at once, sending a shiver down your spine as you took in a deep breath, soaking in the moment.

"As you guys know… it’s Yunho-oppa’s birthday today."

“And he’s not here to celebrate with us, unfortunately,” you added, voice trembling slightly, “but just know — he loves you all. So much.” A soft sniffle escaped before you could stop it.

The crowd let out a collective aww, which made you laugh through your tears. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself. A small cough escaped as you raised the mic again, your voice steadier now.

“So… I prepared a little birthday gift for him,” you said with a gentle smile. “And I want you guys to tell me what you think, okay?”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, a wave of excitement rolling through the venue. You smiled softly, then gave a small nod as the lights dimmed and the stage faded to black.

You made your way to your cue spot, heart pounding in your chest. Sliding your earpieces back in, you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the darkness.

For just a moment, it was quiet — the kind of stillness that feels like the breath before a confession.

Then the music began.

Soft, intimate piano chords filled the air, and the sound of the crowd faded into a hush. You clutched the microphone tightly, grounding yourself as your heart pounded in your chest. The first verse left your lips like a secret finally spoken aloud, your voice full of emotion, fragile but unwavering.

Behind you, the screen flickered to life — a warm montage of shared moments: you and Yunho laughing during rehearsals, playful glances in interviews, quiet behind-the-scenes clips, and lingering hugs after long performances. The kind of moments fans had always noticed... but never quite had words for.

You took a shaky breath and began to sing.

"One last time, I need to be the one who takes you home..."

The chorus hit like a wave, and the entire arena swayed with you, some fans mouthing along through tears even though they were hearing the song for the first time.

In the crowd, Yunho stood frozen, the Lightiny in his hand forgotten. His eyes were wide, lips parted, chest rising unevenly — as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. The emotions in your voice cut straight through him, threading between every beat of his heart.

The crowd erupted into cheers as you soared into the high note, your voice unwavering and full of raw, unfiltered emotion. But Yunho barely heard them. His world had narrowed to just you — standing on that stage, bathed in golden light, singing a song that felt like it had been written from the very center of your soul.

It was like he had fallen in love all over again.

The way your voice cracked slightly on the bridge, the way you clutched the mic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded — it was all so you. Vulnerable. Brave. Beautiful.

Yunho’s heart ached in the best and worst way.

He wished the others were here to witness this moment, to see you shine the way only you could. But he knew — you’d planned this. You told them to come to certain dates, spaced out, quiet and private. It was so like you to give each of them their own space in your spotlight.

Still, tonight was his. And he knew it.

He didn’t look away from you, not even when the final note faded and the lights dimmed just enough to soften the edges of the stage. The crowd erupted into cheers, some chanting your name, others openly crying — but Yunho just stood there, eyes locked on yours, like you were the only one in the room.

And when you finally looked out, eyes scanning the audience as you caught your breath…

You found him.

You smiled through your tears, the sight of him grounding you like nothing else. With a soft laugh, you wiped your cheeks, stepped forward into the spotlight one last time, and brought the mic to your lips.

“Happy birthday, Yunho-oppa,” you said, voice thick with emotion but laced with the kind of warmth that only belonged to him.

The crowd cheered again, but all you saw was the way his lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile — the one that always felt like home.

Blowing a kiss to the crowd still chanting your name, you smiled through the shimmer of tears and waved one last time before the stage platform lowered you beneath the floor. As soon as your feet hit solid ground, you were surrounded — your team clapping, cheering, offering hugs and congratulations as they guided you toward your dressing room.

But none of it truly registered.

Not until you opened the door.

There he was.

The second your eyes met his — tall frame, warm smile, Lightiny still in hand — your breath hitched. Without thinking, you ran straight into his arms, leaping up as he caught you effortlessly. His soft chuckle rumbled in your ear as he spun you around, grounding you in the kind of warmth only he could give.

The tears you’d held back through the entire performance finally broke free.

“You came! You actually came!” you cried, clinging to him tightly.

Yunho didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. His own eyes shimmered as he pressed his cheek to your hair, breathing in the moment, the relief, you.

“You think I was going to miss your first solo concert?” Yunho asked, gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the remaining drops. “You have no idea how jealous the others are, by the way.”

You sniffled, laughing as your nose scrunched adorably. The smile you gave him could’ve lit up the room. “Well… if you hadn’t caught on,” you said playfully, “it’s because I wrote songs for all of you — for your birthdays.” You shook your head, eyes glimmering. “You have no idea how hard I had to fight to convince them to let me tour nearly the whole year.”

Yunho blinked at you, then laughed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to believe you were real. “Oh, Hongjoong is livid that they actually agreed,” he said, voice laced with fond disbelief. “Why would you do that to yourself? You’re going to tire yourself out, baby.”

His voice softened at the last word, concern bleeding into every syllable. His hands never left your face, holding you as gently as if you were made of glass.

But you just leaned into his touch, whispering,

“Because I love you all. And if I can't be with you every day... I’ll sing for you instead.”

[thedensworld]

When Love Kills | W. J

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader

Genre: mafia au!, exes au!

Type: angst, fluff, action, smut (mdni!)

Word count: 12k

Summary: Love is a double-edged sword—one for a kiss and one for a kill. Jun was meant to do one thing: uphold his family’s ruthless legacy. But everything changed when he met the woman he loves.

Jun arrived in South Korea after six years, returning to a place that felt strangely like home. The city had changed—skyscrapers seemed taller, neon lights brighter, and the streets more crowded, all moving at a relentless, breakneck pace. Yet the air held a sense of nostalgia, a reminder of the time he first set foot here a decade ago, learning the language, understanding the world of business, and tasting a freedom he rarely experienced back home.

The driver navigated the bustling roads, eventually pulling up at a high-end hotel where Jun would stay until his work was done. A simple task, at least in theory—secure the prime minister’s daughter.

Ji Jaekyung, the prime minister, had quietly forged an alliance with a rival syndicate in South China. Betrayal was something Jun’s father could never tolerate, and he had ordered his son to ‘take care of it.’ But Ji Jaekyung was a cautious man, his daughter a carefully guarded secret. No photographs, no public appearances—she was a ghost even in this hyperconnected country. Yet Jun had his ways.

A single bank account—the one receiving regular transfers from Jaekyung—had led Jun to her. A small apartment in a quiet neighborhood, nothing extravagant, almost too ordinary. Tonight, he stood across the street, watching through the café window. She was there, laughing, her short hair framing her face, eyes crinkling with joy as she spoke with someone—a boyfriend, perhaps? That would make things more interesting.

Jun’s gaze lingered, a strange pang tugging at his chest. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to feel anything at all. But there was something familiar about the sight of this city, a memory buried beneath years of distance.

Back in his hotel room, the city lights spilled through the tall glass windows, casting a cool glow. He should be focused, preparing his men for tomorrow's briefing, but his mind refused to stay on task. His thoughts wandered, retracing old memories of this city—the late-night walks, the crowded markets, the warm, humid summers.

And most of all, the girl he met one summer night. You.

He hadn’t thought of you in years, and yet now, in this familiar city, the memory of you felt too close, too vivid. The taste of yout laughter, the warmth of your touch—it all rushed back with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

But that was then. This was now.

Tomorrow, he would have to forget sentiment. His father had given him an order, and sentiment had no place in this world.

Jun woke up in the morning with a dull ache of desire, a boner—one night in Seoul, and already his dreams were haunted by memories of you. He sighed, glancing down at the unmistakable evidence of his thoughts. His hand reached for his phone, fingers dialing quickly.

"I’ll be late for the meeting," he informed his men, voice steady despite the heat pooling in his chest. "Something urgent to take care of. Very healthy, I assure you."

He leaned back against the pillows, letting his mind wander. "Y/n…" he whispered, the name a ghost on his lips. Memories rushed in uninvited—one summer night in college, the first time he saw you.

It was the beginning of summer break. Jun and his friends had decided to blow off steam at an arcade. The place was alive with flashing lights and laughter, but nothing captured his attention like the girl on the dance game platform. Long hair swaying, laughter bright and infectious, you danced with a carefree joy that seemed to pull all eyes toward you.

"This is Y/n," one of his friends had introduced, nudging him. "She’s an art student."

Art student—that explained the wild creativity in your movements, the way you painted the air with every step. But what lingered most was your scent, a subtle sweetness that seemed to linger even when you weren’t near, an intoxicating memory.

One date became two, then three, and soon, he found you in his bed, bare and vulnerable, the world beyond those sheets forgotten. For the first time, Jun felt himself attach to someone—truly, dangerously. And it was you.

You held him with a warmth and softness no one else could replace—a touch that seemed to whisper comfort, a presence that wrapped around him even in the coldest of nights. If he ever met you again, he would make sure you knew that nobody else had ever taken your place. But there was one problem—he didn’t know if he would ever meet you again.

"Y/n, where are you?"

*

Jun waited in the shadowed corner of an old, abandoned building, its peeling walls and broken windows a testament to forgotten days. His fingers drummed lightly against the worn leather of the chair’s armrest, impatience simmering beneath his calm exterior. His people were on their way, and they had clear instructions.

"Bring her alive. Don’t you dare touch her," Jun had ordered, voice cold and precise. At least not before he arrived. Killing her immediately would be such a waste. There was so much potential—so many ways she could be useful. And if there was one thing his father valued, it was Jun’s efficiency. He never wasted anything. He never left a trace.

The creak of the rusty door pulled him from his thoughts. Jun stood as three men entered, one carrying a figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of rice—unconscious, her limbs hanging limply.

"Money first, then we’ll hand her over," one of the men demanded, his voice gruff.

Jun’s gaze slid to his right, where Minghao stood with a quiet, composed demeanor. A silent nod from Minghao, and Jun gestured for the money to be handed over. One of the men seized the briefcase, snapping it open and greedily flipping through the crisp bills.

They set the girl down on a dusty chair, her head lolling forward, long dark hair cascading over her face. But as Jun stepped forward, a chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong.

"Are you sure this is the right girl?" Jun’s voice was sharp, a sliver of suspicion threading through his usual calm.

"She's the only one there," one of the men replied, barely looking up. "Exactly where you told us."

Jun’s jaw tightened. The girl he had seen last night had shoulder-length hair. This one… He reached out, brushing a few strands aside—and his world seemed to freeze.

Familiar features stared back at him, pale and unconscious but unmistakable.

"Y/n…" he whispered, the name escaping him like a secret he had tried to bury.

Ji Y/n. His ex-girlfriend. The woman who had vanished from his life six years ago.

"What’s wrong, boss?" Minghao’s voice cut through the tension, but Jun barely heard it.

His chest tightened, a storm of emotions crashing against his resolve—shock, confusion, and something he didn’t dare name.

He forced a steady breath, eyes never leaving your face. "We’re going to stay here longer than expected," he murmured, his voice betraying none of the chaos inside.

*

The drive back to his hotel was tense and silent, the hum of the city outside muted by the weight of his thoughts. In the back seat, you lay slumped against the leather, still unconscious, your chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm—a reminder that this was real. That you were real.

Once inside his suite, Jun dismissed his men, locking the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, staring at your figure on the king-sized bed, trying to process the chaos in his mind.

Six years. Six years of unanswered questions, of searching without knowing he was searching. And now, you were here. But why? How?

Stepping closer, he leaned over you, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The softness of your skin was the same, the gentle curve of your lips unchanged. Memories threatened to overwhelm him—the laughter you shared, the nights tangled in each other’s warmth, and the sudden, aching emptiness when you disappeared.

His jaw clenched. He needed answers, but he wouldn’t get any while you were unconscious.

He turned away, forcing himself to think logically. First, he needed to make sure you were unharmed. Jun grabbed a damp towel, gently wiping away the faint traces of dirt on your cheek. Your breathing remained steady, your pulse calm beneath his fingertips.

But who were you now? What had brought you to this dangerous world? Are you the daughter of Ji Jaekyung?

Jun leaned back against the wall, his gaze never leaving you. For now, he would wait. Because the moment you opened your eyes, he would demand every answer you owed him.

Morning light filtered through the hotel’s thick curtains when you finally stirred, your head pounding, ears ringing. A dull ache spread through your body as consciousness returned in fragments. Flashes of memory hit you—the door of your apartment bursting open, three towering men storming in. You thought it was Jena, your friend, coming by. But then rough hands grabbed you, muffled your screams, and darkness swallowed you.

A familiar voice pulled you from the fog of confusion.

"Awake already?"

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the bright room. Clean sheets, a spacious layout—luxury everywhere. Panic tightened in your chest until your gaze landed on the figure leaning casually against the wall.

"Moon Junhui…" you whispered, disbelief lacing your voice.

A faint smile played on his lips. "So you do remember me."

You pushed yourself up on the bed, the silk sheets slipping from your shoulders. "Where am I? What is this—"

"A hotel room. My hotel room." He stepped closer, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, an unsettling calm in his eyes. "Relax. You’re not going anywhere… yet."

Silence thickened between you, tension simmering beneath the surface.

"What is Ji Jaekyung to you?" Jun’s question cut through the air.

You frowned, your heart pounding faster. "What’s wrong with him?"

"So, he’s not your father?"

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. "He… he is my father."

Jun’s gaze sharpened, a dangerous curiosity in his eyes. "You don’t sound so sure. Your father passed away when you were sixteen, Y/n. So tell me… which one is a lie?"

Your breath hitched, the truth clawing at your throat. Six years of running, hiding, trying to forget. And now you were trapped—trapped in a room with the one person you never thought you’d see again. The one you once loved… and you tried to hate.

He moved toward you, and you instinctively scooted back, your back pressing against the headboard. But before you could retreat further, his hand caught your wrist—not harshly, but firmly.

"Relax," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your arm, where a faint blueish mark had begun to form.

Jun’s eyes darkened. "Why would you defend yourself against men twice your size?" His thumb traced the bruise lightly, his touch almost gentle despite the situation.

You didn’t answer, your throat tight, a mix of fear and stubborn pride keeping you silent.

Jun sighed, pulling out his phone and calling for room service, his tone cold and commanding. "Bring a first aid kit. Now."

But as he ended the call, his gaze lingered on you—intense, unreadable. Memories you tried to forget flooded back—his touch, his voice, the warmth you once craved. And you hated how, even after six years, he still held something in your chest—an ache you couldn’t ignore.

*

"Now, you’re going to tell me—who is Ji Jaekyung’s real daughter?" Jun’s voice cut through the quiet of the room, sharp but calm as he watched you finish your breakfast.

He had tended to your bruises himself, his touch surprisingly gentle, ordering room service to bring you a warm meal. He hadn’t said much, letting you eat in silence while he took a shower. But now, standing before you in his neatly tailored suit, his patience was gone.

"I’m his daughter," you replied, your voice steady.

Jun chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "I dated you, Y/n. I knew your family. Ordinary people. They weren’t part of any political circle, let alone connected to Ji Jaekyung."

You met his gaze, unwavering. "I told you, I’m Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. If you have anything to do with him, then do it to me."

Jun’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief flicker in his eyes—something like frustration or disbelief. He said nothing more, simply adjusted his suit jacket and stepped away. Moments later, you heard the door click shut behind him.

Silence settled around you. He was gone, leaving you alone in the spacious, luxurious room. A chance. Maybe your only chance.

Just as you stood, a voice cut through your thoughts.

"I’m Minghao, Mr. Wen’s right-hand man."

You froze, turning to see a young man leaning casually by the door. He had a calm, almost disinterested expression, but his gaze was sharp.

You sighed, leaning back against the plush chair. "You mean Moon Junhui?" you corrected, using Jun’s Korean name.

Minghao’s lips twitched slightly, a hint of a smile. "Yes. He went out for a business meeting and left you with me. You’re not allowed to leave without my supervision."

Your hands clenched in your lap, a mix of frustration and resignation washing over you. That man—he hadn’t changed at all. Still controlling, still calculating.

And yet, even now, your chest tightened with a confusing ache—anger, fear, and something else you refused to name.

Jun returned to the hotel room as the evening sun cast a warm, fading light through the curtains. His suit jacket was the first to go, discarded over a chair, his gaze immediately falling on you, curled up on the bed, still asleep.

"Did she say anything about Jaekyung?" Jun asked, loosening his tie.

Minghao, who stood by the window, shook his head. "No, sir. She insists she’s his daughter."

Jun’s lips curled into a faint smile. "I believe even his real daughter would rather disown him," he muttered, waving Minghao off. "You can leave for tonight. I’ll be going alone."

Minghao nodded, slipping out quietly.

Jun walked over to the bed, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at you. A moment of quiet hesitation. Then he leaned down, gently touching your shoulder. "Wake up. I’ll drive you back to your apartment."

You stirred awake, blinking against the dim light. His words barely registered, but you nodded, getting up slowly. In the car, the silence stretched between you two, thick and tense. Jun’s eyes remained fixed on the road, his expression unreadable.

At your apartment, you fumbled for your keys, and Jun followed you inside without asking, his eyes scanning your modest living space.

"Who's this? Your boyfriend?" Jun asked, picking up a framed photo of you with a younger man, both of you smiling brightly.

"So you like them younger now?" he teased, a hint of something bitter in his voice.

"Not your business, Jun," you muttered, already searching for your phone, checking if you missed any important messages.

A sudden knock at the door cut through the tension. "Y/n, are you ready? We need to be there before the Prime Minister," a man’s voice called out.

Panic surged through you. You spun around, grabbed Jun by the wrist, and dragged him into the kitchen. "Stay here. Don’t make a sound."

You rushed back, smoothing your clothes, and unlocked the door with a bright, apologetic smile. "Sorry, I fell asleep. I’ll be ready in 15 minutes."

"Got it. Don’t take too long," the man replied, his footsteps fading down the hall.

You turned to find Jun leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You need to go, Jun."

"Going somewhere with the Prime Minister, are we?" he drawled, his tone laced with amusement. "So tell me, are you his daughter or his mistress, Ji Y/n?"

Your patience snapped. You tried to step past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, his eyes searching yours. The heat of his presence was too familiar, too close.

"Let go," you hissed.

"Make me," he challenged, his voice low.

In a swift motion, you stomped on his foot, and he grunted, instinctively letting you go. You didn’t spare him another glance, marching off to your bedroom to get ready.

Behind you, Jun leaned against the wall, rubbing his foot with a mix of pain and reluctant admiration. "Still got some fight in you, huh?" he muttered under his breath, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

*

Jun watched you all night, his car parked discreetly across the street. He saw everything—from the moment you stepped out of the sleek black car, escorted into a high-end restaurant, to the late hours when an older man led you into a lavish hotel lobby.

His jaw tightened, fingers gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His chest twisted with a mix of rage and disgust. He had pieced it together, or at least he thought he had. Ji Jaekyung was using you, presenting you as his daughter to entertain his clients—perhaps even worse. The thought sickened him.

By the time dawn brushed the city with pale light, Jun was already waiting in your apartment, a storm of emotions swirling beneath his calm exterior. The door creaked open, and you stepped in, your makeup smudged, hair disheveled, exhaustion written all over your face.

"Tell me," Jun's voice cut through the quiet, cold and sharp. "What is that bastard making you do?"

You froze, surprise flashing across your features before you frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Ji Jaekyung," he spat the name like a curse. "What is he making you do? Is he forcing you to entertain his clients? To sleep with them too?"

Your expression twisted with shock, then fury. "Fuck you, Jun. It’s none of your business!"

"None of my—" He stepped forward, his towering presence making the small space feel even tighter. "It becomes my business when I see you being treated like—"

"Like what?" you snapped, your voice rising, tears stinging your eyes. "Like a tool? A pawn? How the hell did you even here?"

"Don’t twist this, Y/n! I’m trying to help you, but you’re too stubborn, too damn prideful to admit you need it!" His voice escalated, fingers twitching with the urge to shake you awake.

"By accusing me of being a whore? By making me feel even smaller than I already do?" You tried to push past him, but he blocked your way, his glare unwavering.

"I’m not letting you walk away from this. Tell me the truth!" he demanded, his voice like a thunderclap.

"Get out of my way, Jun!" You shoved him, but he didn’t budge. His anger, his judgmental gaze—everything overwhelmed you.

"I won’t! Not until you—"

The sharp crack of your palm against his cheek silenced him. The room fell still, the sound of the slap echoing. Your chest heaved, tears spilling freely now.

"I’m tired, Jun. I’m so damn tired," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I don’t need your judgment. I don’t need your pity. And I don’t need you."

After leaving South Korea six years ago, Jun had learned how to mask himself. He buried the version of himself that only Seoul had known—the carefree, warm-hearted boy who once believed in love. In his father’s world, there was no room for softness. He trained relentlessly, sculpting himself into a weapon, a businessman, a strategist. He drowned himself in work, in power, in everything that would keep his mind too busy to think about you.

But tonight, as he watched you being paraded like a mistress—escorted by a man old enough to be your father, vanishing into the shadowed halls of a luxury hotel—every wall he built crumbled. All the effort to forget you was worthless. Because seeing you like that didn’t just hurt—it enraged him. You were his lover, and you were never meant to be anything else.

The phone in his hand felt like a lifeline, his father’s voice crackling on the other end. "It’s taking longer than expected to find his daughter," Jun reported, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"I’ve managed a few business matters here well," his father replied, almost dismissive. "Honestly, it would be easier to end him than to keep searching for his daughter. The man’s a coward—paying someone to pretend to be his child."

"I know. Ji Jaekyung is a damn snake," Jun muttered, jaw clenched. But now, a new resolve burned in his chest. He wasn’t just going to finish his father’s mission—he was going to save you, even if you didn’t want to be saved.

"Listen to me, Y/n," Jun's voice was sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence. He turned to face you, his expression a fierce mix of anger and desperation, while you stood there with tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Jaekyung has a lot of debt with my family in China. He promised his daughter as collateral for the deal, and he broke that promise. If you keep pretending to be his daughter, you’re walking straight into danger. Real, unforgiving danger."

His words struck like a whip, each one leaving a mark, but before you could even process them, Jun stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a thunderous bang. The sound echoed in your chest, leaving you alone in a silence that felt louder than anything else.

*

Your mother was murdered the night you left Jun.

The call came from the police, their voices cautious and clinical. They informed you that your mother had been found dead in her apartment. They tried reaching your brother, Seungkwan, but you knew they wouldn’t succeed—it was nearing the KSAT, and Seungkwan usually buried himself in his studies outside.

The first piece of evidence they found was a security camera recording of a stranger leaving your mother’s place in the dead of night. A dragon tattoo was visible on his arm—a dragon you recognized. The same ink Jun bore on his back.

"It's from a Chinese crime syndicate," the officer explained, his voice tinged with grim seriousness. "We suspect your mother may have been involved with them."

But you knew better. Your mother was no involved to the syndicate. And you couldn’t let Seungkwan know. He had worked so hard, pushing himself to become a police officer so he could catch the person who killed your father. Another tragedy would shatter him.

It all spiraled into a tangled mess. Your parents had once worked for Ji Jaekyung, and both were killed by people with that dragon tattoo. Now Jun, with the same tattoo, had shown up—searching for Jaekyung’s daughter.

One night, a man in a sleek suit appeared at your door 6 years ago. His expression was as sharp as his attire.

"Ji Jaekyung wants to meet you."

Seungkwan was asleep, exhausted from his studies, so you left quietly.

The proposal was straightforward: become Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. Smile, play the role, and he would pay you enough to support Seungkwan’s dream of entering the police academy. No further explanations, just one threat:

"Or else, we’ll have to do something about your brother."

That was the leash around your neck.

From that moment, you were a hostage in a game far beyond your control. You learned about Long Wei, the syndicate Jaekyung was tangled with—the same syndicate responsible for your parents' deaths. You thought you could uncover the truth by diving into this chaos, but instead, you were trapped deeper.

You hated all of it—the politics, the business, the way innocence was trampled for power. But you had no voice, no power. Just a thin, fragile line of survival with a bullet always aimed at your head.

"I brought chicken!" Seungkwan's delighted voice filled your apartment, a burst of warmth you didn’t realize you needed. You looked up from your laptop, seeing him still in his uniform, clearly fresh from his shift.

"You didn’t even change," you noted, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

"Figured I had some clothes here anyway," he quipped, already darting into your room. "Don’t start without me!"

Moments later, he emerged in a faded pajama set he had once left behind, immediately joining you at the small dining table where you’d set out the chicken and a few cold beers.

"My shift was a nightmare," Seungkwan grumbled around a mouthful of chicken. "Two separate thefts in one shift! Why do criminals love my schedule? Seriously, is it me?" He gestured dramatically, his expression an exaggerated mix of exhaustion and outrage.

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension you’d been carrying. "Maybe they just love giving you a challenge."

"Chicken is the best stress relief," he declared, tossing another piece into his mouth.

But your laughter faded when your phone buzzed, and you saw the caller ID—Ji Jaekyung’s assistant. A sense of dread settled in your stomach. The man wanted you at a meeting with clients tomorrow. Seungkwan’s eyes darkened as he recognized the name.

"I’m annoyed," he muttered, throwing his fork into the chicken box, his mood dampened.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your hand reaching for his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We have to get through this."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightened. "If only our parents hadn’t worked for that bastard, we wouldn’t be stuck in this mess—especially you."

A thick silence settled between you, rage and sadness lingering like an uninvited guest at your table.

"I promise, I swear," Seungkwan’s voice trembled, his grip on your hand tightening. "I’ll catch everyone who made our lives this hard. I won’t let them win."

*

"You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Ji."

The familiar man across from you smiled, his words smooth but laced with something darker. So, this was how people like him played their games—one meeting with Ji Jaekyung, a pleasant exchange of words, deals sealed over expensive wine. And in the end, it was always the innocent who paid the price.

Just like your parents.

Would you be next?

Jun tilted his head, watching you squirm in your seat, your gaze fixed on the ornate carpet beneath you. Beside you, Ji Jaekyung wore a pleasant smile, sipping his wine with the ease of a man who controlled the room.

"Your visit was rather surprising, Jun. I was expecting one of your uncles, actually. I can't believe they sent the serpent himself," Ji Jaekyung mused, swirling his glass.

Jun chuckled, his voice light, but his eyes sharp. "I apologize if my visit seems a bit impolite. I was just playing around in the city—feeling nostalgic."

Jaekyung nodded, a smile never leaving his face. "Ah, nostalgia. I heard you graduated here. My daughter is an alumna of the same university."

Jun’s gaze shifted to you. "Is that so?" he murmured, leaning back with an air of casual interest. "You're very secretive about her for someone so beautiful."

Ji Jaekyung’s hand moved to your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear with a touch that felt cold rather than comforting. "She is beautiful. I simply want to protect her. You know how it is—enemies can be unpredictable."

"That's very fatherly of you," Jun said, his smile unwavering. "Do you consider me an enemy?"

Ji Jaekyung laughed, the sound loud and full, yet hollow. "Of course not. You're practically family. I know your grandfather, your father, your uncles... No, you could never be an enemy."

Jun’s smile widened, though his eyes never softened. "Since we’re practically family, may I take your daughter with me tonight? I find myself feeling a bit lonely here in Seoul."

Your eyes widened, a jolt of shock running through you. He had trapped you with a simple question—one that Ji Jaekyung couldn’t refuse without appearing rude, and one you couldn’t reject without risking angering either man.

"Of course, of course," Jaekyung agreed with a chuckle. "I’m sure my Y/n doesn’t mind. You don’t mind, right?" His gaze shifted to you, a smile masking a warning.

The weight of your fate pressed against you like a stone. You were nothing more than a pawn in their game, your life a currency exchanged with a polite smile. And maybe that was all you were meant to be—something to be used, polished, and displayed, but never truly free.

*

Jun drove in silence, the city lights spilling over the windshield, their glow a pale wash against the dark leather interior. The gentle hum of the engine filled the void between you, but it did nothing to calm the storm in your chest. Every breath felt sharp, every heartbeat a painful reminder of how your world kept spiraling out of control.

Your gaze remained fixed outside, the blurred neon signs and bustling sidewalks passing like ghosts. But your mind wasn’t in the present. It was wandering, lost in the echoes of a time you had tried so hard to forget.

Six years ago, you were different—bright-eyed and hopeful, your world centered around love and simple dreams. Jun was a part of that world, his laughter a melody you cherished, his touch a promise of comfort. But then everything shattered. Your mother was murdered. Your father’s name was stained with secrets and blood. Seungkwan was left clinging to his dreams of justice while you were forced to live as someone you weren’t.

Was it all a lie? Was Jun just another player in this twisted game? Even then, when he held your hand, whispered sweet promises—was he already playing a role? Was everything a calculated move, leaving you to fend for yourself in this nightmare?

The ache in your chest grew unbearable. You wanted to scream, to demand answers. But part of you was terrified—terrified of hearing the truth, of confirming that the one person you once loved was just another betrayal.

The car eventually slowed, pulling into the familiar driveway of the grand hotel where Jun was staying. He stopped in front of the entrance, but neither of you moved. He let out a quiet sigh, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

You didn’t respond. Your fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, knuckles white. You had nothing to say to him. Nothing that wouldn’t break you further.

After a long moment, Jun stepped out, moving around to open your door. Ever the gentleman, even when his actions felt like cruel mockery. You stepped out, your legs feeling like lead, and followed him into the grand, silent lobby. The warm, golden light of the chandeliers felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness pooling in your chest.

The elevator doors closed around you, trapping you in the suffocating silence. You stood beside him, his reflection in the mirrored walls a ghost haunting your thoughts.

When the elevator chimed, you stepped out without waiting for him. But he followed, his footsteps quiet but ever-present. He opened the door to his suite, and you walked in, each step feeling heavier than the last. The familiar scent of expensive cologne and polished wood washed over you.

Your hands moved mechanically, a reflex born from nights of forced smiles and silenced pride. Your fingers reached for the zipper of your dress, pulling it down, the fabric slipping off your shoulders. Cold air touched your skin, but you didn’t feel it. You were numb, lost in the hollow routine you had perfected—a doll performing its part, a daughter sold for survival.

But just as you began to let the dress fall, a strong, calloused hand caught your wrist.

“Stop.” Jun’s voice was sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence. His grip tightened, his touch burning against your skin.

You looked up, your hollow eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was clenched, a faint tremor in his grip. Anger radiated from him, his dark eyes stormy, but beneath the fury, something else lingered—hurt, desperation.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low but shaking with barely contained rage.

“What do you think?” Your voice was empty, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “This is what I’m supposed to do, right? Isn’t this what you wanted? What he wanted?”

“I never—” His voice broke for a second, but he quickly composed himself. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t you dare think I’m like them.”

“Then why did you take me?” Your voice rose, trembling, your chest heaving with a rush of anger you didn’t even know you had left. “Why, Jun? Is this your revenge? Is this how you prove your power over me?”

“Revenge?” He scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is revenge? Watching you—watching you reduce yourself to this?” He released your wrist, but the heat of his touch lingered, burning against your cold skin. “This isn’t you, Y/n. This was never you.”

“Then who am I, Jun?” you shot back, your voice cracking. “A liar? A puppet? A pawn in your sick game?”

“No.” He took a step closer, his anger palpable, but there was something else—pain, raw and unhidden. “You’re the woman I—” He stopped himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Damn it, Y/n. You’re not some doll for them to play with. Not for him. Not for me.”

“Then what am I?” Your tears broke free, hot against your cheeks, your voice desperate. “Because this is all I know now, Jun. This is all I’ve become.”

A thick silence fell between you, your breaths heavy, your tears blurring your vision. His fists were clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if fighting to keep his own emotions in check.

You stood there, trembling, your arms wrapped around yourself like a fragile shield. Jun’s presence was overwhelming—tall, intense, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mixture of shock and anger. But you couldn’t stop. The dam had broken, and the words poured out like a torrent you couldn’t control.

“My father… he was killed. By people with those dragon tattoosn. And I thought it was just a coincidence, I thought… I thought I could escape. But I couldn’t.” Your voice wavered, your breathing coming in short, frantic gasps. “I met you, and for once, I thought I could be happy. But then… my mother—my mother was murdered too. They said it was the same people. The same syndicate. Your people.”

Jun’s eyes widened, his brows knitting together. He tried to reach out, but you stepped back, your voice rising.

“Don’t touch me!” you cried, the tears streaming down your face. “Don’t you dare touch me, Jun. I was a fool. I thought I could protect Seungkwan, that I could find a way out. But I ended up becoming Ji Jaekyung’s puppet. I became his fake daughter, a plaything for his clients, all because I had no choice. And now you—” Your voice broke, a sob escaping your lips. “Were you part of it, Jun? Were you always part of it? Did you know everything?”

“Y/n, stop—” he began, but you cut him off.

“Stop what? Lying to myself? Pretending that you’re different from them?” You laughed bitterly, your knees giving out as you sank onto the cold floor. “I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t even know who I am. I’m just a pawn in their game—a doll they pass around. And you… you might be just another player.”

Jun moved towards you, but you curled into yourself, hiding your face in your shaking hands.

“Did you use me, Jun? Did you ever care? Or was this all a game to you? A way to keep me under control? To keep me as a bargaining chip?” Your voice was hoarse, your body trembling uncontrollably. “Because that’s what I’ve become—someone they use, someone you might have used too.”

“Y/n, no,” Jun’s voice was rough, desperate. He knelt before you, reaching out but hesitating, his hands hovering in the air. “I swear, I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

“Then why?” you looked up at him, your tear-filled eyes pleading. “Why are you here? Why are you pretending to protect me?”

“I’m not pretending.” He leaned forward, his own voice breaking. “I never used you. I never lied to you. I… I didn’t know about your parents. About your mother. I swear, Y/n.”

Your vision blurred, your breathing ragged. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe those desperate, pained eyes looking back at you. But the darkness around you was suffocating, and trust was a luxury you no longer had.

“Then what are you, Jun?” you whispered. “A savior? Or just another monster wearing a kind face?”

His hands finally found yours, his touch warm, but you couldn’t feel it. You were drowning, trapped in a whirlpool of doubt, fear, and grief.

“I’m someone who won’t lose you again,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

Jun’s arms held you tighter, his embrace warm but desperate, like a man trying to keep you from slipping away. His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing against your hair as he whispered, “Y/n, listen to me. I swear to you, I didn’t know. I didn’t know they would hurt your family. I didn’t know you were trapped like this.”

His voice trembled, yet there was a firm resolve beneath the fear. “I swear, I’m not a part of Jaekyung’s schemes. I came here to deal with him, to bring him down for everything he’s done—not just to you, but to everyone he’s destroyed.”

You leaned back slightly, your tear-streaked eyes meeting his, searching desperately for any hint of deception. Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Are you telling me the truth? You’re not lying to me again?”

“I’m not lying. Not now, not ever again.” Jun’s gaze never wavered, his thumb gently brushing away your tears.

Your fingers tightened on his shirt, fear and desperation clawing at your chest. “Then save me, Jun. Please. I can’t do this anymore."

Jun’s thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears, his touch so gentle that it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them—regret, longing, and something deeper, something that had never truly left even after all these years.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss, nor a cautious one—it was a kiss of desperation and yearning, of a man who had lost you once and was terrified of losing you again. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent warmth flooding through your chest, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe.

You melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as though he was the only solid thing in your crumbling world. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him, and you felt the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own.

Jun’s kiss softened, the fierce urgency giving way to something deeper, something that spoke of all the years of regret, the nights spent wondering if he should have come back sooner. His lips trailed over yours, slow and tender, as though memorizing the shape of your mouth, whispering promises with every touch.

Your hands slipped up to his shoulders, and you felt his muscles tense beneath your touch. But he didn’t pull away; if anything, he pulled you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair, his forehead resting against yours as his lips moved softly, lovingly against yours.

“I missed you,” he breathed against your lips, the words a quiet confession. “I never stopped thinking about you, never stopped loving you.”

A soft, broken sound escaped your throat, and your fingers tightened on his shirt. “Don’t leave me, Jun. Please… promise me, don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he whispered, and you could hear the promise in his voice, the desperate need to be the man you could trust again. “I swear, I won’t.”

His lips found yours again, slower this time, savoring each second, each gentle press, his hands cradling you with a care that made your heart ache. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a silent vow that you weren’t alone anymore, that he would stand with you, fight for you.

And for the first time in years, in his arms, you felt safe.

*

Jun's sleek, black car sliced through the bustling city streets, the quiet hum of the engine a sharp contrast to the tension hanging in the air. Minghao sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed ahead, but his voice clear and steady.

“Her parents worked for Ji Jaekyung for a long time,” Minghao began, fingers drumming lightly on his knee. “Her father, Ji Ho-seok, was a lawyer—he worked for us. Her mother was a housewife, quiet but smart.”

Jun leaned back against his seat, his jaw clenched as Minghao laid out the twisted history. The dim overhead light cast sharp shadows over his face, making the anger in his eyes even more pronounced.

“So, Ji Ho-seok wasn’t just a victim of his own honesty,” Jun muttered, his voice low and edged with rage. “He was framed. Jaekyung made him a scapegoat, painting him as a traitor to Longwei so they would take him out.”

Minghao nodded, his expression grave. “That’s right. Jaekyung manipulated the narrative. Ho-seok’s death wasn’t just an accident. It was a calculated move. He convinced Longwei that Ho-seok was a threat, a liability who might expose their business dealings in Seoul.”

“And then he didn’t stop there,” Jun continued, his fists tightening. “Six years ago, he found out about Y/n. He used her—forced her into this fake daughter role to exploit his connections. And when her mother tried to protect her…”

“Jaekyung had her killed. Made it look like another syndicate move, but it was all part of his plan,” Minghao finished. “He knows that Y/n’s survival means his control over her. The moment she tries to escape, he can turn everything against her.”

Jun’s chest heaved with barely contained fury. The woman he loved had been caught in this twisted game for years—used, threatened, and forced to play a role that trapped her.

Jun strode into the safe house with Minghao and a group of guards trailing behind him. The cold, metallic hum of the place seemed to amplify the shock on the faces of the Longwei members stationed in Seoul. Their whispers died down immediately, replaced by a tense, suffocating silence. It wasn’t every day that their young boss appeared without warning—especially not with that fierce, unyielding glare in his eyes.

“Everyone, listen up.” Jun’s voice cut through the air like a blade, cold and authoritative. “I want this man found by tonight.”

Minghao stepped forward, holding up a clear, high-resolution image of a man—his features hardened with age, but the distinct dragon tattoo on his forearm was unmistakable. The room seemed to shift, the guards exchanging uneasy glances.

“This man killed Ji Ho-seok fifteen years ago,” Minghao announced, his voice steady but intense. “He was one of us—Longwei. But he betrayed that honor the moment he became a pawn in Ji Jaekyung’s game.”

Jun’s gaze swept over the room, his jaw clenched. “I want him alive. No excuses. No mistakes. If he tries to run, you make sure he regrets it.”

The men nodded, already pulling out their phones, making calls, and exchanging brief, whispered instructions. They knew better than to disappoint Jun—especially when his voice carried a darkness they rarely heard.

Jun stepped quietly into the hotel room, the soft click of the door almost drowned out by the city’s distant hum. His eyes immediately found you—sitting by the window, wrapped in one of the plush white robes, your knees drawn to your chest. Pale morning light filtered through the glass, painting you in a soft, ethereal glow, but your expression was distant, lost somewhere beyond the bustling streets below.

“You’re back.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone.” Jun closed the door gently behind him, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. His gaze never left you, taking in the way your fingers absentmindedly traced invisible patterns on your knee.

Silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t the comforting quiet you used to share. It was heavy—thick with questions, with fears, with everything left unsaid.

“I thought about everything… about how this started. How one decision ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice cracking just slightly. “I feel like I’m drowning, Jun… I don't even know if there’s a way out.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling beside you. His warm hand reached for yours, covering your cold fingers. “There is. I swear there is. And I’ll make sure you’re free from all of this.”

You looked down at him, searching his eyes, desperate for even a flicker of certainty. “You promise?”

“I do.” His voice was steady, his grip firm, grounding you. “I’ve already started. Minghao is tracking the man who killed your father. We’ll get answers. And I won’t let Jaekyung touch you again.”

Your eyes stung, a tear slipping free despite your best effort. “It’s just… I keep thinking you’re going to disappear too. Like I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone… just like everything else.”

Jun’s hand moved, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. Not now. Not ever.”

His forehead pressed gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I lost you once. I won’t lose you again.”

*

You met Seungkwan at a quiet, tucked-away cafe far from the city center. He was already there when you arrived, his uniform jacket draped over the back of his chair, his face pinched with worry. The moment you sat down, his sharp gaze settled on you.

"You look tired," he noted, his tone softening just slightly. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

You offered a weak smile. "Sleep has become a luxury I can't afford."

Silence hung between you as you stirred your coffee, the warmth seeping into your fingertips. Finally, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself. "Seungkwan, I need to tell you something."

His expression tightened, and he leaned in, immediately alert. "What is it?"

"It's about Jun. He... he’s here. And he promised to help me. To help us escape from Ji Jaekyung," you whispered, watching his reaction closely.

Seungkwan's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "Jun? Your ex, Jun? He's with Longwei. He's part of the syndicate. The same people who ruined our family."

"I know," you admitted, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I know what he is. But he promised me, Seungkwan. He’s not like the rest of them. He’s trying to help."

Seungkwan leaned back, crossing his arms, his disbelief painfully clear. "Help? A man from the same group that killed our parents? That controlled Jaekyung? How can you even believe him?"

"Because he’s different!" Your voice broke, drawing a few glances from nearby tables. You forced yourself to lower your tone, tears burning in your eyes. "Because I have no one else to turn to. Because I’m so tired, Seungkwan. I’m tired of being Jaekyung’s pawn. I’m tired of living in fear, of pretending, of wondering who will be next—us, our parents, everyone we love."

Seungkwan's expression softened, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders. "Sister…"

"He promised me, Seungkwan. He promised to protect me. I know how this sounds, but I trust him. Maybe I’m a fool, maybe I’m desperate, but I need you to believe in me. Just this once. Please, understand."

Seungkwan ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh. "And what if you’re wrong? What if this is just another trap? What if he’s using you like everyone else?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice a bare whisper. "But I’d rather take a chance with Jun than keep living this nightmare. I can’t do it alone anymore."

Silence stretched between you two, only the faint clinking of cups and murmurs of the other patrons filling the air. Finally, Seungkwan leaned forward, his gaze soft but still cautious.

"Then let me help too. Don’t keep me in the dark. If you trust him, fine—but I’ll be watching. And if he betrays you, I won't hesitate."

A small, shaky smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you, Seungkwan."

"I just want you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You stepped out of the cafe, the cool air brushing against your face, calming the lingering ache in your chest. The black sedan parked by the curb seemed almost out of place in this quiet neighborhood, but the tinted window rolled down as you approached, revealing Jun's familiar, composed face.

"How was the talk with him?" Jun asked, his voice steady but his gaze searching.

You slipped into the passenger seat, closing the door with a sigh. "He’s skeptical, but I told him everything. He’s worried, but… he’s willing to trust you. For now."

Jun's lips curved slightly, a trace of relief in his expression. "That’s a good start."

The car smoothly pulled away from the curb, and for a while, silence filled the space between you. But Jun’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, a quiet comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

"Let’s take a break today," he suddenly suggested, glancing at you. "There’s a place I want to take you."

You blinked, a hint of surprise in your eyes. "Where?"

"You'll see."

The cityscape gave way to quieter streets, familiar corners, and warm nostalgia began to seep into your chest. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized where you were—your old university district.

The car stopped by a small, colorful alley with photo booth stations lining one side, neon lights flickering in the daylight. Memories rushed back, the laughter, the warmth, the days when everything was simpler.

"We had our first kiss there," Jun pointed to a particular photo booth, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You remember? You were so nervous, kept laughing to avoid looking at me."

Your lips curved, a small laugh escaping. "And you kept teasing me until I got so annoyed that I pulled you down and kissed you first."

"Best surprise of my life." He chuckled, a softness in his gaze that made your heart ache.

Jun led you down the alley, his hand still holding yours, and he insisted you both take a new set of photos. The first shot captured your shy smile, the second was Jun leaning close to kiss your cheek, and by the third, you were both laughing, caught in that familiar, carefree feeling.

As the photo strip printed, Jun pulled you aside to a small cafe next door, the same place you used to visit after classes. He ordered the same iced coffee you loved, and you shared a slice of cake by the window, the warm sunlight painting gentle patterns on the table.

"You know," he murmured, watching you take a bite. "I thought I lost this feeling... That simple happiness of being with you."

Your fingers tightened around the cup. "I thought I lost you."

Jun leaned forward, resting his hand on yours. "You never did. And I won’t let you go this time."

Warmth spread in your chest, the weight of fear and doubts momentarily melting away. This was Jun—the Jun you loved, the one who made you feel alive. And for the first time in so long, you felt like you could breathe.

Jun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gently holding yours. The city’s noise faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic whoosh of waves as the beach came into view. The golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the sky, its reflection dancing on the water’s surface.

He parked near the empty shoreline, and together, you stepped out, letting the cool breeze brush against your face. Without a word, Jun pulled down the back bunk of his car, and you both settled on it, facing the endless sea. His jacket draped over your shoulders, enveloping you in warmth as his arms wrapped securely around you.

Silence fell comfortably between you, the soothing crash of waves filling the space. The sky melted into a fiery orange, then a soft purple, stars slowly emerging one by one. But as the darkness grew, so did the weight in your chest.

Finally, you leaned against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. Jun’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, cutting through the quiet embrace of the evening. "Why did you leave me?"

Your breath hitched, eyes fixed on the waves crashing against the shore, a rhythmic reminder of how time never stopped, even when your world crumbled.

"I didn't leave, Jun... I was forced to disappear." Your voice trembled, the bitterness of the truth catching in your throat. "After my mother was killed, Ji Jaekyung came to me. He knew everything—who I was, who my family was, how vulnerable I was. He gave me a choice, or at least pretended to. Play his daughter, entertain his clients, and in return, he'd keep Seungkwan safe. But I knew it was never really a choice."

Jun's hold around you tightened, his jaw clenching against the side of your head. "And you couldn’t tell me? You couldn't come to me?"

A faint, sad smile curved your lips. "How could I? I didn’t even know if I could trust you back then. After I learned about your family’s connection. Everything became a blur, and I was scared. I didn’t know if you were part of it... if you were just another trap."

Silence stretched, heavy and cold. Jun’s fingers trembled slightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your temple. "I would’ve torn the world apart for you… if you had just told me."

"Would you?" You whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Or would you have seen me as a burden—a weakness in your world of power and secrets?"

Jun leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes fierce, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. "You were never a burden. You were everything I wanted… everything I thought I couldn’t have. And I was an idiot to let you go."

Your hand reached for his, intertwining your fingers. "Then don’t let me go this time, Jun."

"I won’t," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead, a promise sealed in the warmth of his touch.

Jun's strong hands gently lifted you onto his lap, and once you settled, he cupped your cheek with tenderness, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were the most delicate porcelain. His other hand began a slow exploration, starting at your thigh and gliding with a featherlight touch beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers traced every curve and dip of your body as he leaned in closer, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

"You're mine, Y/n," he murmured against your mouth, the words a gentle command. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss with a fervent intensity. "Say you're mine," he urged, his fingers dancing up your thighs, lingering at the curve of your waist before tracing the outline of your stomach.

You gasped his name, a soft moan escaping as his fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot, teasing and exploring with deliberate slowness. His lips never left yours, devouring you with a passionate hunger as his fingers slipped inside, moving with a steady, rhythmic intent. Captivated by the sounds you made, each soft whimper and sigh, he began to undress you, the cool night air whispering over your bare skin.

Your fingers moved with urgency, unbuttoning the last remnants of clothing between you both until skin met skin. He lifted you effortlessly, laying you back against the soft, worn cushions of the car's backseat. Spreading your legs, he positioned himself between them, his gaze locked on yours.

"Tell me each name that bothered you," he said, his voice a low promise. "I'll show them that touching you means messing with me."

With infinite care, he entered you, and the world around you seemed to disappear. The warmth and tightness enfolded him, and in that moment, there was only the two of you, cocooned in each other's embrace, with the gentle sound of waves lapping in the distance, an intimate symphony to your shared solitude.

*

Twelve men sat rigidly on the cold, metal chairs, fear starkly painted on their faces. Thick ropes wound around their torsos, binding them to the chairs, their wrists tied behind their backs, rendering them helpless. The dim light overhead cast a sickly glow, accentuating the sweat beading on their foreheads. The room smelled of damp concrete and something darker—panic.

Jun stepped into the room, Minghao trailing behind him with a steely gaze. Jun’s sharp eyes scanned each terrified face, lingering on the man he recognized—the one he saw that night, leading you through the hotel lobby. Rage simmered beneath his calm exterior, a silent storm brewing.

He remembered your voice, trembling but steady, each word a needle prick against his chest.

"What did they do to you?" he had asked, his jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving yours, desperate for the truth.

"Everything... They did... everything."

The quiet crackle of the burning charcoal snapped him back to the present. A thick metal rod, its tip glowing a fierce orange, sat on the smoldering heat, a twisted promise of pain.

"What should we do to them, boss?" Minghao's voice was steady, but there was a tension beneath his words, a coldness matching Jun’s simmering fury.

Jun's gaze never left the men, especially the one he recognized, whose face had turned ghostly pale.

"For whoever laid their hands on her," Jun’s voice was calm, almost emotionless—a chilling contrast to the violence in his words. "I want them to touch that." He pointed to the searing metal rod, the heat radiating from it like a promise of hell.

Minghao nodded, signaling to the men holding the rod. They stepped forward, the fiery glow reflecting in the captives’ wide, terror-stricken eyes. Some thrashed against their bindings, whimpering and begging, while others shut their eyes, murmuring desperate prayers.

Jun’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the screen flashing with a familiar name—Ji Jaekyung. He signaled Minghao to keep an eye on the captives before stepping away, his expression unreadable. With a swipe, he answered, his voice calm but guarded.

"Mr. Ji," Jun greeted, leaning against the cold wall.

"Jun, my boy!" Jaekyung's voice carried a forced warmth, laced with a hint of tension. "I haven’t seen my daughter since yesterday. She’s not answering her phone. I thought you two would be together. Care to tell me where she is?"

Jun’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "She needed some fresh air, Mr. Ji. I figured she'd enjoy some time away without all the... usual pressures."

Jaekyung chuckled, though the edge in his laughter was clear. "Fresh air? That's sweet of you, but you know how dangerous this city can be. Especially for a young woman like her."

"Don’t worry, she’s in good hands."

"Good hands, you say?" Jaekyung's tone turned sharper. "I hope you're not forgetting our arrangement, Jun. You understand how important my daughter is to me... and how unpleasant things can get if something happens to her."

Jun’s fingers curled tighter around his phone. "Rest assured, Mr. Ji. I always take good care of what's mine."

A brief silence stretched between them before Jaekyung's voice softened again, but the threat lingered beneath. "See that you do. I expect her back soon, Jun. Don’t disappoint me."

The call ended, and Jun lowered the phone, his gaze darkening. He looked back at the room where the captives were. His grip on the phone was so tight his knuckles turned white.

"Minghao," he called out, his voice cold.

Minghao approached immediately, reading the look in his boss’s eyes. "Jaekyung’s getting anxious?"

"He's getting suspicious." Jun’s voice was low, almost a growl. "Have someone follow him. I want to know every move he makes. If he sends anyone to look for her, I want to know before they even leave his doorstep."

Minghao nodded, already typing instructions to his men. "And the men here?"

Jun’s gaze returned to the captives. His voice was ice. "Continue. Make them talk. I want to know everything they did to her. And I want them to feel what it means to lay their hands on her."

With one last glance at the room, Jun stepped out, his mind racing. He needed to protect you, and to do that, he needed to stay two steps ahead of Ji Jaekyung.

*

Jun’s car sped through the city streets, neon lights casting fleeting colors across his face. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he dialed the secure line to his father. The call connected after a few rings, and a deep, authoritative voice echoed through.

"Jun?" His father's voice carried the weight of decades of power. "Is something wrong?"

"Father," Jun began, his voice steady but tense. "I need your permission to eliminate Ji Jaekyung."

A sharp silence filled the line, followed by a low, incredulous chuckle. "Holding his daughter isn't enough? Have you lost your mind, Jun?"

"No, Father. I've seen enough." Jun’s voice remained firm. "Ji Jaekyung has tainted the deal further than Longwei expected. He’s using our name, manipulating our men, and worst of all—he's exploiting innocent lives. He uses a false daughter to shield his business, dragging her into a world of filth."

His father’s silence deepened, the weight of his contemplation almost palpable through the phone. "Are you certain this isn't personal?"

"It is personal too," Jun admitted without hesitation. "But even without the personal part, his actions have become a liability. He hides behind our name, but he’s a snake, corrupting our reputation."

"Jun, killing an ally can bring consequences. The balance in Seoul will shift. His partners, his clients, they might turn against us. He just needs a warning."

"But if we keep him, he’ll turn them against us with his lies and deceit. I can handle the fallout. I will clean up every trace."

"Would you stake your position for this decision?" his father asked, his tone now sharp, testing.

Jun didn’t hesitate. "Yes. If you give me your approval, I will do everything. No one will ever trace it back to us."

A slow exhale echoed from the other side. "Very well, Jun. But remember, this is your choice. If you fail, it’s your head on the line, not just his."

"I won’t fail, Father."

The call ended. Jun's jaw clenched as he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. The weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him, but it was a weight he was willing to bear.

The car pulled up to the hotel, and Jun stepped out. His expression remained cold, but beneath that exterior was a storm of determination. He was going to protect you, no matter the cost.

*

The television screen in the hotel room flickered to life, its glow casting a pale light over the dimly lit space. You were curled up on the bed, staring blankly at the screen, trying to distract yourself from the whirlwind of emotions inside you. But then the program shifted, the tone turned urgent, and a news anchor appeared, her face a mix of shock and professionalism.

"Breaking News—South Korea's Prime Minister Ji Jaekyung has died in a tragic car accident earlier this evening. Authorities report that his vehicle lost control on a mountain road before crashing into a ravine. Emergency responders arrived on the scene, but Ji Jaekyung was pronounced dead on arrival. The cause of the accident is still under investigation, but preliminary reports suggest a possible brake failure. This sudden loss has sent shockwaves throughout the nation."

Your breath caught, and the remote slipped from your hand, clattering against the floor. A cold chill spread through you as your eyes widened. Ji Jaekyung… dead?

Your thoughts raced—was it truly an accident? Could it be connected to Jun? You remembered his words, his quiet but fierce promise to protect you. You covered your mouth, trying to suppress the mix of fear and relief flooding your chest.

The screen continued to show footage of the crash site—flashing lights, twisted metal, and officers cordoning off the area.

"The Prime Minister's office has yet to release an official statement. Reports indicate that Ji Jaekyung’s car was traveling alone, and there were no other passengers. The investigation is ongoing."

Your heart pounded against your ribs as the door clicked open. Jun stepped in, his sharp suit barely wrinkled, his expression unreadable as his eyes immediately found yours. He saw your pale face and glanced at the television.

"You did this," you whispered, a mixture of disbelief and shock in your voice.

Jun's face softened slightly, his steps careful as he approached you. "I told you I would protect you."

You stared at him, tears pooling in your eyes. "Did you… was it really an accident?"

"It was necessary," he said, his voice gentle but unyielding. "He can never hurt you again."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and your legs gave way, but Jun caught you, pulling you into his arms. His hold was firm, grounding you as your mind struggled to process everything.

"You… you killed him," you whispered against his chest.

"Yes," Jun murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "And I'd do it again to keep you safe."

The weight of everything crashed down on you all at once—fear, anger, betrayal, and an overwhelming sense of relief. Your chest tightened, and a sob tore itself free from your throat.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of Jun’s suit, twisting it as your body trembled. A wretched, broken cry escaped your lips, raw and unrestrained. Tears streamed down your cheeks, soaking into his shoulder as you buried your face against him.

"I-I thought… I thought he'd never let me go," you choked out, the words barely coherent between your sobs. "I thought… I thought I’d lose everything—Seungkwan, you—"

Jun’s arms tightened around you, a steady, protective embrace. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to hush your cries. He simply held you, letting you release every ounce of fear and pain you had bottled up for so long. His hand moved gently, cradling the back of your head, his other arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his voice steady, a calm in the storm of your emotions. "No one can hurt you. Not anymore."

Your sobs grew louder, uncontrollable. Years of suffering, of living under someone else’s shadow, of being used, manipulated, and threatened—all of it broke free. Your knees buckled, but Jun held you, sinking with you to the floor.

"I was so scared… so tired…" you cried, clinging to him. "I don’t want to be afraid anymore."

"And you won’t be," Jun murmured, resting his cheek against the top of your head. "I promised you, didn’t I? I will protect you… no matter what it takes."

You didn't know how long you cried—minutes, hours—it all blurred together. But through it all, Jun never let you go. He stayed, a silent, steady presence in the chaos of your breaking heart.

*

Life changed swiftly, almost ruthlessly. You followed Jun to Guangzhou, leaving behind the shadows of Seoul for the neon-lit city bustling with life. Jun was a name whispered with both fear and respect here, a man painted as the villain in countless stories. But to you, he was never a villain—he was your hero. The man who pulled you from the jaws of despair, who held you when you were broken, and who taught you how to survive.

Guangzhou was a different world. Jun's life was a world of negotiations done in half-lit rooms, whispers exchanged in crowded clubs, and loyalty measured in blood. You learned quickly that being Jun’s partner wasn’t just about standing by his side—it was about keeping up, about becoming strong enough to protect yourself and everything you held dear.

He introduced you to Minghao, who taught you self-defense. Hours spent in a private dojo, where you learned how to disarm a knife-wielding attacker, how to break a grip, how to move swiftly and strike precisely. Every bruise, every ache became a reminder of your growing strength.

Jun didn't just shelter you; he prepared you. Over sleek mahogany tables filled with maps and documents, you learned the art of strategy—how to anticipate moves, how to read people, how to negotiate. You became a quiet but sharp presence in his meetings, your observations valued, your voice heard.

"You’re not just my woman, Y/n," Jun whispered one night, his fingers tracing along your jaw as you lay in his arms. "You’re my partner. I need you to be strong. Strong enough to stand by me… and strong enough to protect yourself when I can’t."

And you became that.

Yet, being Jun's partner meant facing danger. You felt it the night a black sedan rammed your car, your body jolted against the seatbelt as your driver struggled to regain control. You heard it in the sharp, cracking sound of gunfire in a dim alley one evening, Jun’s arm pulling you against the wall, his body shielding yours.

You saw it in the cold glint of a knife pressed against your throat when you were kidnapped by a rival syndicate. You remembered the terror, the way your voice didn’t shake as you spoke to the man holding you, buying just enough time until Jun stormed in, his men dismantling the enemy with calculated precision.

But Jun, like he promised, was always there. When you were dragged out of the car wreck, he was the first face you saw, his voice soothing you even as blood ran down his cheek. When you were taken, he didn't sleep until you were back in his arms.

Your life was a dance on the edge of a blade, a world where chaos and calm intertwined. But in every shadow, Jun was your light. In every storm, he was your shelter. He was a villain in the stories of others, but to you, he was a savior.

Amidst all this, a call came from Seoul—Seungkwan’s voice on the other end, trembling but determined.

“I did it, Y/n,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I found him. I found the man who killed our parents.”

Your heart raced, the room around you fading into silence. “Seungkwan… where is he?”

“I have him in custody. He’s confessed. Ji Jaekyung set it all up—made him do it, made him kill them to cover his tracks.”

A cold rage settled in your chest, but also a twisted sense of relief. The ghosts of your parents had haunted you for so long, their deaths an open wound that never healed. Now, that wound had a face. A face that could finally be punished.

“Y/n?” Seungkwan’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but a small, determined smile touched your lips. “I’m okay, Seungkwan. Because you did it. You brought justice to them.”

Jun noticed your tears as he entered the room, his gaze softening as he knelt before you. “What’s wrong?”

You met his eyes, your hand reaching out to grasp his. “Seungkwan found him… the man who killed my parents.”

Jun’s jaw tightened, his fingers threading through yours, offering his silent, unwavering support. “Then we’re one step closer, Y/n. To finally ending this nightmare.”

Or maybe, one more nightmare.

The grand hall of Long Wei's headquarters was a spectacle of opulence—crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over a sea of influential faces. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, but a sharp tension cut through the room as a man grabbed you, a knife pressed against your neck. Gasps rippled through the crowd, fear seizing those who watched. The man’s voice trembled as he shouted threats, his grip on you shaky, his eyes wild.

“Everyone back! I swear I’ll—”

But his voice faltered when he noticed the subtle change in the air—an eerie calm, an odd sense of confidence. You stood perfectly still, your breathing steady, your gaze unwavering. The knife against your skin was a cold whisper, but fear didn’t cloud your eyes. Instead, there was something else—annoyance.

Jun stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the marble pillar, a glass of wine still in his hand. His head was tilted slightly, a slow, amused smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t rush, didn’t shout. He simply watched, his eyes locked on you.

And you knew what that meant—his trust in you was absolute. Even though he was nervous, considering you were eight months pregnant, his confidence in your abilities never wavered.

The man’s grip tightened, his voice shaking. “I said move back, or she’s—”

Before he could finish, you moved. Your heel slammed down on his foot, hard enough that he cried out, his grip loosening just enough. Your hand shot up, grabbing his wrist, twisting it sharply until the knife clattered to the floor. His free arm reached for you, but you drove your elbow into his ribs with a force that made him gasp.

The room watched, frozen, as your fist collided with his jaw in a clean, precise strike, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Chaos erupted around you. Long Wei’s guards surged forward, tackling the man to the floor, rough hands ensuring he wouldn’t rise again. But you hardly noticed. Jun was already at your side, his arms wrapping protectively around you, pulling you close. His hand instinctively rested against the gentle curve of your stomach, feeling the faint movement within.

“You’ll be the death of me, baby,” he whispered, his voice half-scolding, half-loving, his lips brushing your temple.

You leaned into his touch, your own hand resting over his. “I didn’t even break a sweat.”

Jun chuckled, though there was a hint of exasperation in his voice. “If you weren’t eight months pregnant, I’d be proud. But right now, I’m just trying not to have a heart attack.”

Behind you, the party guests were beginning to murmur, the tension slowly dissipating. Long Wei’s men dragged the failed attacker away, and whispers of admiration and shock spread through the crowd. Even Jun’s father, who had been watching from the balcony, gave an approving nod.

“Come on,” Jun murmured, steering you gently toward a quieter corner. “Let’s sit you down. You’ve done enough for tonight, hero.”

You chuckled, letting him guide you, your fingers lacing with his. “Maybe next time, they’ll think twice before trying to mess with Long Wei’s family.”

Jun’s expression softened as he looked down at you, his hand never leaving your stomach. “They better. Because I can’t lose either of you.”

[magicalrocketships]

Rivers of Light || Max/Daniel || part 11 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents.) We're gearing up for me to be wrong about how lawyers work, just to prepare you. Unrelatedly I watched a whole six minute video about Sophie la Girafe to write this. I strongly feel I've made good choices.

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here. This chapter is on AO3.

Bastiaan deserves friends. Maybe Daniel won't forget Bastiaan like he forgot Max. 

part 11

Bastiaan wakes up at half past five in the morning with a messy nappy that Max could have done without having to deal with only a minute after waking up. 

He and Bastiaan wear identical frowns of disapproval as Max changes him, and Bastiaan's doesn't go away until he's in a fresh nappy and a clean little babygro. Max's doesn't go away until the dirty nappy is double bagged and in the bin in the bathroom. He washes his hands and tries not to look at his exhausted reflection looking back at him. 

"Is this why you were so sad earlier, little baby?" Max asks, undoing the belt on the hotel changing table so he can scoop Bastiaan up and tuck him up against his chest. He presses kisses to Bastiaan's hair. "Did your tummy hurt and you couldn't tell me? That must have been very frustrating, I would have been crying too. It's hard being a little baby, isn't it?" He lets Bastiaan wrap his little hand around Max's finger. It's so early. He'd like to go back to sleep, but Bastiaan seems too awake for that. He's never slept past six, not once in his whole little life. Max doubts he's going to start today.

Max yawns. He needs about 50% more sleep than he's getting, but he can cope. He always has before. 

"Let's see if we can play quietly so we don't wake up our friend Daniel, shall we?" he suggests, carrying Bastiaan back into the bedroom. He turns the lamp on before he gets back into bed, then holds Bastiaan up so that he's step-step-stepping on Max's lap. His little marching baby. 

Bastiaan's giraffe is called Sophie and she squeaks. She's still on the bed from when it was their failed playtime in the middle of the night, and Max tucks Bastiaan into the curve of his arm and makes Sophie squeak so that Bastiaan's mouth curves up in a smile. He hasn't been smiling very long. Last week he wasn't doing it at all. This week he is. Max kisses him. He boops him on the nose with the giraffe, then with Daniel's soft pink rabbit. Bastiaan is, for a short while, content. 

It's good because Max is so tired he could cry. He tries not to yawn too loudly. The idea of him having to deal with Bastiaan on a plane by himself is awful; at least in the car with Daniel they might both be able to sleep even if the journey takes longer.

When he looks over at Daniel to see if he's still asleep, Daniel's watching him. 

"We woke you up," Max says. 

"Doesn't matter," Daniel says, sitting up. "I don't mind keeping you company. If I make a coffee first can I have a hold of him?"

Max nods. Bastiaan deserves friends. Maybe Daniel won't forget Bastiaan like he forgot Max. 

"Do you want anything?" Daniel asks. He's putting the kettle on for him, but he's pointing at the fridge. "I think there's a Coca-Cola."

Max could do with some caffeine. Daniel brings him a cold can and disappears into the bathroom while the kettle boils. Max listens to the toilet flush as he makes Sophie dance for Bastiaan. Daniel comes back out brushing his teeth as the kettle finishes boiling, and he does something with a mug and the hospitality tray before going back into the bathroom to spit his toothpaste out. Then he brings his mug over to Max's bed, puts it down on the other bedside table, and moves the carrycot out of the way so he can sit down. Then he holds his hands out for Bastiaan. 

"I'm ready," he says. "It's baby time. Give me my baby."

"My baby," Max says, unable to help himself, but he hands Bastiaan over anyway. 

Daniel makes a series of very silly faces at Bastiaan and gives him a little kiss. "Hello, baby. Are you feeling better this morning? After keeping your daddy awake? What a nice smile you've got. A very handsome baby. Yes, you are."

Max shuffles down on the pillows so he can get comfortable and lie down. Daniel winks at him, and Max ignores the spreading warmth in his chest. Daniel had forgotten him after his accident. Everyone had. The only person who'd stayed around had been Max's dad, and he'd resented Max for it, being stuck looking after him after he'd fucked it all up. Everyone had wanted a winner, he'd said, and Max hadn't won. No wonder everyone had left him behind. 

"Don't you look like your daddy, hey?" Daniel goes on, still making silly faces. "Yes, that's right, what a good smile. No wonder he thinks you're a lovely baby. You are, aren't you?" He turns to Max. "Is he too little for peekaboo?"

"I don't know." Max hasn't played it with him. He's not sure how to.

"You do it," Daniel says, angling Bastiaan towards Max. "Hide your face, Max. Just behind your hands. That's right Bastiaan, where's Daddy gone? Where's he gone? Oh, there he is. Peekaboo."

Bastiaan's smiling. Daniel's smiling. 

Max wants to bury his face in the sheets and sob. 

&&&

They go down for an early breakfast in the end. Better to try it while Bastiaan's not fussing, and even though Max in his old life never really bothered with breakfast, he's got more used to having it recently, and since Bastiaan was born he'll take food whenever he can get it. 

They're given a table by the window, and there's space for Bastiaan's car seat pushchair. He starts fussing as soon as Daniel orders his pot of coffee, so Max ends up bundling him up out of the seat and into his arms. So much for investigating the breakfast buffet. 

"Come on," Daniel says. "We'll tag team it. You can hold the baby and we'll go around and you can tell me what you want, I'll make the plate, and then I'll go back around for me."

Max is too tired to dig into that. He ends up trailing Daniel around the breakfast buffet with Bastiaan as Daniel mangles French just to make him laugh. No, Max doesn't want flocon d'avoine with his plate of cheese and bread and salt-flecked butter, but he will take a couple of mini viennoiseries after Daniel makes a garbled attempt to offer him pastries. Daniel must have lived in Monaco too long to be this bad at French, but Max has been told that not everybody finds languages as straightforward as he does. Maybe he's just doing it to make Max laugh. He shepherds Max back towards their table, only stopping along the way to get Max a glass of apple juice.

"Sit down and eat that," Daniel says, before disappearing back to get himself breakfast. He comes back a few minutes later bearing a protein-heavy plate and a bowl of fruit and grains. "Just be glad I didn't treat myself to the yogurt," he says, sitting down and making another stupid face at Bastiaan, who frowns back at him. "You do not want to be in a car with me for eight hours after I've had that." 

Max agrees. He's travelled with Daniel before, and Daniel can make the worst smells known in existence in a confined space if too enthusiastic with his dairy consumption. "No dairy," he says, and brushes a pastry crumb from the top of Bastiaan's head. Bastiaan's crumb-free existence remains a distant dream. It's okay. Bastiaan's favourite place is with Max and Max's favourite place is with Bastiaan. It's worth a few crumbs. 

Bastiaan sneezes. It surprises him so much he ends up looking at Max in frowning outrage. 

"That was a big noise for a little baby," Max tells him. "A noise as big as you are, wasn't it?" 

Bastiaan looks decidedly put out. Max can understand. Everything's very new if you're this tiny. Even things like sneezes are an experience. He lets Bastiaan wrap his little hand around Max's finger. 

"Émeric just messaged me," Daniel says, interrupting Max and Bastiaan. "My lawyer. Our lawyer, I guess. He says he can fit you for a call at eight, which is okay because we can leave after that. Or whenever. If you and Bastiaan need more time I can get us late check out." 

Max blinks at him. His brain takes a moment to catch up. He's too busy thinking about how strange a sneeze must be if you don't know what one is. 

Daniel checks his phone again. "He's been through your contract, he's got some questions. Eight's fine, right?"

"Yes," Max says, even though he hasn't been through the contract yet. This is the thing he wants most in the world that isn't his baby, and he'd forgotten he'd have to go through the contract Cyril had given him last night. His brain feels like fluff. He needs to get better and more on top of shit, but he doesn't know how to swim faster through the mire. Sometimes he feels like he's drowning. "I should have read it last night."

Daniel shakes his head. "You were fucking exhausted." He glances at Bastiaan. "Sorry, baby, but your daddy was."

Bastiaan isn't paying attention. He's starting to chew on his fist. Max is going to have to eat faster and go back upstairs to feed him. That's even less time to read the contract. He used to go into meetings ready to pick things to pieces. This time he's forgotten he even had it to read. He's always been in control before. He's always known what he wanted and what he was willing to give to get it. He's always put the hours in and come out winning. He hasn't felt like that in a long time. That version of himself feels like a stranger. He doesn't know how to find it again. 

"It doesn't matter," Daniel's saying. "Don't worry. He's not going to let you sign anything that's shit, and he's definitely not going to let you sign anything today even if it's perfect. Anyway, you don't have to have read all of it to have an intro call with him. It's just the first conversation."

Max looks down at his plate. He doesn't know what to say. 

"Eat your breakfast," Daniel says. "I know Bastiaan's hungry. Anything you don't get to finish I'll ask them to box up and I'll bring it up for you. It's okay, Max. It's okay."

Max kisses Bastiaan's head. Things haven't been okay for a long time. He doesn't remember when they last were.

"All right," he says finally, and when he looks up, Daniel's watching him. 

"Good," Daniel says, after a moment, and winks at Max's baby. 

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Beep Cute | Steve Rogers x Reader | Oneshot - 1.1k words

When some ass on a motorbike splashes you, leaving your sandwich and coffee on the sidewalk, you decide to follow them and give them a piece of your mind.

Warnings: language, angry meet-cute, reader is described as shorter than Steve. Fluffy nonsense 🥰

Divider by @firefly-graphics

For @avengers-assemble-bingo Spring Bingo "floral decorations"

Masterlist | Steve Rogers | Spring Bingo

As if your day couldn’t get any worse, it rained. Not the kind of autumnal drizzle that accompanied most days since you moved to New York, but torrential, fierce, bullets of rain that pounded on your flimsy umbrella and soaked you from your toes up. At least you had a warm sandwich and a huge coffee to console yourself with when you got back to your apartment. It was this thought that had you losing focus as you strayed too close to the road and the growing puddles that lined each street corner, forming ponds on the crossings and reflecting the angry, grey sky back up at itself. 

A horn blared, shocking you from your thoughts half a second before a tidal wave of murky, puddle water soaked you from the neck down. 

“What the fuck!” You shouted, eyeing the motorbike as it sped down the road, dodging between the traffic. Your coffee lay at your feet, mixing with the equally dark water pooling around your shoes. The carefully prepared and wrapped sandwich hadn’t fared any better, the deli paper now soggy and falling apart. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!” You fumed, squeezing your eyes tight to stop your tears from falling. You wouldn’t cry, but you would get even. 

The motorbike stopped at the lights, giving you a chance to catch up, before turning a corner and making its way into an underground garage. Whoever was riding was big, a soft looking brown leather jacket stretched across their shoulders, maybe too big to be challenge? But one thought of the delicious sandwich, now a soggy mess on the floor, gave you the courage to continue your pursuit. 

Rounding the side of the building you found the entrance, huge glass and steel walls towered over the grand atrium, probably some bank or something, especially considering the mass of people swarming in at this time. It took a while for you to get in, but as soon as you did you wondered how you were even going to find this person amid the crowds. 

 You contemplated asking at the front desk, it was decorated in a spray of spring flowers, bunnies, eggs, daffodils and tulips that were a contrast to the various groups dressed in odd, all black, military uniforms that milled around the elevators.

You joined the queue of other visitors, watching the animations of bunnies hopping along the crisp white reception desk among blooming flowers and fluttering grass. How ridiculously ostentatious. Who even watered the flowers? How much had all this nonsense cost just for the identikit staff to walk past without evening noticing.

But before you could reach the front of the queue the lift opened revealing a familiar looking leather jacket. Now in dry jeans and trainers, but still with damp hair. 

“Hey!” You shouted again, this time the man looked up, his blonde hair falling in front of his face briefly before he could swipe the wet locks back with his hands. 

“Hi!” He said cheerily, holding his hand out, “always nice to meet fans, I can’t stop though.” He smiled in a strange way, both friendly and cold, as if this wasn’t quite his real smile but something practised and placed. 

“I’m not a fan, quite the fucking opposite.” You brushed his hand back and he bristled briefly, taking on a wider stance and glancing at the small group he had left to speak to you. 

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” 

“Yes, you fucking can. First I want an apology-” 

“An apology?” 

“Yes! For splashing me so rudely and knocking my lunch out of my hands and then, and then -” your anger was catching up with you, winding you as you tried to stare down the man towering above you, but it was difficult given your wet hair and several inches of height he had over you. “— then you owe me for my lunch, by the way, which I was really looking forward to.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I had no idea I’d stopped you from having your food, what if I-” 

“Is that it? What gives you the fucking right to behave like that, what if I didn’t find you? Huh? Would you still say sorry? No, probably not. You city boys, you’re all the same, so rude.” 

The man smiled again, not the calculated toothless grimace he’d attempted early, but a wide smile, then he laughed. 

"City boys?"

"You know what I mean, bankers, hedge funder-ers — whatever you're called."

“Bankers?” He was holding back a laugh very unsuccessfully.

“Yes, bankers, all so rude and, and, and, privileged!” 

“You think this is a bank?” 

“Yes…” Suddenly you weren’t sure, was it a bank? You looked around again, noticing the Stark logo on one of the lifts in the corner, the other lifts had a large 'A' with an a-symetrical tail and…fuck. Oh, fuck, this wasn’t a bank at all. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” 

“This is Avengers tower?” 

“Yes.” The man nodded and, oh shit, now you looked properly, not just any man. Steve fucking Rogers, Captain America. You looked around, the rest of the reception area had already gone quiet to watch your interaction and you’d be damned if you backed down now. America’s golden boy or not, he’d been rude and you wanted your compensation. 

“That’s even worse!” 

He smiled again, pulling you by the elbow, scanning a security pass quickly and closing the door behind you. 

“You can’t kidnap me!” Although you wanted to sound firm and authoritative, it came out as more of a shriek. “Let me go!” 

“Hey, hey.” Steve held his hands up, spreading them wider than his shoulders and stepping back, “I just didn’t want you all over the papers or something.” 

Through your heavy breaths you managed to calm down, looking him over again. He really didn’t seem to want to hurt you and, now the initial shock of the situation had worn off, he also looked very, very sorry. 

“I really didn’t mean to splash you, or make you lose your lunch. Please let me make it up to you?” He offered, lowering his hands slowly. 

“How?” 

“Well…We’ve got spare clothes here, you can have them, whoever your favourite Avenger is, there’s sweatpants and sweaters, whatever you want, you can have it, and then when you’re dry, please let me take you to lunch.” 

“You want to take me to lunch?” You raised an eyebrow, “not just give me some Avengers cheque? Me and you, lunch?” 

“Only if you want to.” Steve let his smile soften, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, I just thought…well, it could be fun?”

“It could be fun,” You agreed, allowing yourself a small smile too. 

“Great, lets get you some clean clothes.” Steve bounced towards the door again, holding his hand out for you to follow, “who’s your favourite Avenger?” He asked, looking hopefully. 

“Oh, uhm… Thor?” 

“Thor!?” 

Steve’s face dropped and you laughed, taking his hand.