#it's his fault like what was he thinking with this

[tbaluver]

hihi !! ^-^ I hope you’re doing great! I want to see your take on how the lads men would react when they’re lovemaking and you fall asleep and they realize the condom broke what do you think ?? take your time !! ❤️

The Condom Broke- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader genre: smut, suggestive a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope you're doing well too! apologies for posting late hopefully ill post more this week! i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

tags: mentioning of backshots

you were both utterly tired. just minutes ago, the room had been filled with ragged breaths and tangled limbs, your bodies moving with desperate need for each other. now, the adrenaline has faded.

he watched how your breathing grew slower, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. your eyes fluttered shut a while ago and he could tell by the way your chest rose and fell that you’d surrender into sleep.

xavier’s eyes were heavy, his body aching to rest, but he knew he couldn’t sleep just yet—not without cleaning you up first. as he moved carefully to not wake you, something caught his eye. a small tear on the rubber material.

a quiet frustrated sigh leaves his lips. of course. what did he expect when your arousal stains the length of his cock. his cock hits deeper and deeper with each stroke and your cunt grips on his cock so tightly like it wants to keep him inside forever. the way your arms are shaking like jelly and how your words are muffled against the pillow only spur him on more. he can’t get enough of you and your sweet little cunt. 

his heart sank a little. a quiet sigh slipped out, more tired than frustrated. he should’ve noticed earlier.

he says nothing, simply tending to you first with slow and gentle hands, wiping you clean as you sleep soundly. he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder then to your lips. he makes a silent promise as he watches you sleep. tomorrow, he’ll be up before you. first thing in the morning, he’ll be out the door, making sure he gets the pill before you even have to worry or wake up. it’s his responsibility and he’s not going to let you face it alone.

Zayne:

tags: mentioning of p in v

zayne sighs, his eyes closed shut for a moment in annoyance when he catches the tear in the rubber material as he pulls out. perhaps he did go a little overboard tonight.

it’s been too long—days turning into nights, and both of you pulled in opposite directions because of conflicting schedules. so when you finally came back to each other’s arms, it was desperate and intense.

he kisses you hungirly, open-mouthed. you gasp, taking in his tongue as it dances with yours. your eyes roll in the back of your head as he thrusts into you deeply and impatiently. the bed starts to creak at his strokes, desperate to feel more of you.

luckily, zayne had prepared for moments like this. he quickly disposes of the used rubber before heading to the bathroom to grab the birth control pill he keeps on hand- just in case times like this happens. after pouring a glass of water he returns to the bedroom, kneeling beside the bed.

“my love,” he whispers, cradling your cheek, “can you wake up for just a moment?”

you stir, your lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze-warm and apologetic. “i may have..gone a little overboard tonight,” he murmurs awardly, holding out the pill and glass of water. “i’m sorry. are you alright?”

you take the hint and give a sleepy nod, taking the pill before downing the water. he stays close, wiping you down. “i didn’t expect to miss you this much,” he murmurs, quietly.

Rafayel:

tags: mentioning of p in v

he holds the broken rubber in the palm of his hands, a look of horror on his face. what did he do? the question haunts him in his head. a mix of ‘she’s going to kill me’ and ‘it’s my fault’ follow his mind as well.

his mind was so foggy as you slowly sank further down on his cock. you were so warm, so soft. your weeping cunt wrapped around him so heavenly that he thinks he might just see his lemurian ancestors early.

rafayel continues to babble incoherent words as your walls clench around his pretty cock, the tip of his cock rubbing deliciously at your sweet spot. you both know that you were so close once he saw your hips falter in keeping pace. his pretty hands grab your ass, helping you move up and down his length as both your breathless babbling echo off the walls.

“cutie..” he whispers, gently patting you, trying to coax you awake. “cutie—i..uhm..”his voice falters as you blink at him sleepily. he glances down at the torn rubber in his hand, then back at you with wide, apologetic eyes. 

“i’m so sorry. what can i do?” the words tumble out of his lips quickly. “i can run to the pharmacy, okay? just tell me what you need. you can stay here—i’ll be quick. i promise imsososososorry.” despite how fast he speaks, you understand him. the guilt is written all over his face.

when he returns, he brings you a glass of water and carefully hands you the pill. there’s still guilt etched on his face but you reach for him, gently reassuring him that you’re okay. he nods even though he’s not sure he deserves the comfort. that night, when you curl into his chest, he holds you just a little tighter.

Sylus:

tags: mentioning of p in v

ah. sylus won’t lie—he definitely saw this coming. a part of him always knew it might happen eventually. even a high end, top-rated brand can only handle so much. he knew his size can push the limits. 

but the way you pleaded breathlessly, begging him to go harder, deeper—how could he possibly deny you?

you were gasping for air from how his ruthless cock pistoned in and out of your pussy. waves of pleasure flow over your entire body as you find yourself stretched in a way you didn’t think was possible. your fingers or any toy could possibly match up to his.

the tip of his cock repeatedly prods at your sweet spot while you wrap your legs around his waist. you feel so impossibly full from his entire length that your nails rake down his forearms that will for sure leave marks the morning after.

still, he wished he had caught it sooner—while you were still awake. he checked the time on his phone. it’s late. the shops are well closed by now but luckily sleep doesn’t come easily to him during the night. carefully, he shifts to clean you up— his hands gently wiping you clean.

once you were settled, his arms find their way back around you, pulling you in until your head rest over his heart. he stays like this for a while, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep. he doesn’t move, not yet. he waits, counting down the minutes until the pharmacy opens. when the time comes, he plans to ease himself out from under your sleeping form, careful not to wake you. by the time your eyes flutter open, he’ll already be back as if he never left at all.

Caleb:

tags: mentioning of p in v

caleb sighs as his eyes fall on the tear in the rubber, a quiet curse falls under his breath. he glances back at you, fast asleep—so beautiful. a small smile tugs at his lips, but it fades quickly.

he knows this is on him. he’d let himself get carried away tonight—too caught up in the way you were squeezing him so well that made him forget everything else but wanting more of you.

the sound of both your breathless babbling bounces off the walls. his fingertips dig into your thighs as he ruts into your tight cunt in desperation. both of you barely catch any of your words, both your minds turning into static every time his cock hits against your sweet spot. a guttural groan escapes him when your velvety walls flutter and- no.

he shakes his head, he can’t get hard again. he has to get the morning after pill quickly.

he slips on his clothes quickly but before he leaves, he returns to your side. his hand gently rests on your head as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. carefully, he tucks you in, making sure you are warm and content. then, he heads out the door, carrying a promise that he’ll be back soon before you even know it.

ʚɞ cr. for the dividers @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you to my lovely beta reader @ilovemitsuya MWAH (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others:

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[navybrat817]

Late Night Recap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tells Steve and Sam about his encounter with you.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Mention of drunk reader, humor, attraction, Sam and Steve are good friends, a bit of grumpy!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay? And he has a crush).

A/N: Based on an anon ask and a continuation of Late Night Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Steve and Sam sat across from Bucky on the couch, blankly staring at him once he finished his story. He stared back with a scowl and was pretty sure Alpine was scowling at them, too, daring them to tell him that he was making the whole thing up about what happened earlier. That he didn’t encounter a beautiful drunk stranger snuggling with his cat. That you didn’t seem at all intimidated by his presence. That he couldn’t get your smile or voice out of his head.

Wait, he didn’t tell them that last part and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.”

Was that creepy? It wasn’t like he was trying to get feed to watch you or to see your beautiful face again. It was to prove to Sam that he wasn’t lying about what happened, nothing more. Not that he had anything to prove. He was telling the truth. It wasn’t his fault if Sam didn’t believe him.

“You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sam said. 

Steve held a hand up when Bucky’s fists curled. “What he means is we’re surprised because, besides you, Alpine doesn’t usually cuddle with people right away. She likes us, but it took her time to do that.”

“Yeah, well, she’s obviously different,” the brunette mumbled, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “Alpine really liked her.”

Alpine purred in agreement, bringing a small smile out of the former assassin. Though part of him still wondered if you put some sort of spell over his cat to get her to warm up so quickly, he knew that wasn’t it. She was a good judge of character, so she had to take a liking to you since you were a friendly person. It was either that or she decided that you needed her to look out for you. And by extension that meant he had to look out for you, too. Someone had to.

Fuck, now he did feel like a creep with that train of thought.

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?”

If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.” 

Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

“You’re not going to meet her or ask her anything,” Bucky said, looking up at the ceiling. “Because I probably won’t see her again.”

It didn’t make sense why his heart ached so much at the thought of not crossing your path again. He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Fairy tales and meet cutes or whatever they were called didn’t exist in his world, not for people like him.

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, his friends would latch on that he was possibly interested in someone. He hadn’t dated anyone since Leah, and his relationship with her hadn’t lasted long. Was the universe giving him a chance by putting you in his path, or was he reading too deeply into it? It had to be the latter. 

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

Bucky almost laughed because he could see the feline trying to sneak out to find you. “I didn’t get her number.”

“Wait, you didn’t ask for her number or give her yours?” Steve asked.

Bucky finally lifted his head and fought the urge to say that he wasn’t the suave guy he used to be. “She was drunk, Steve. I didn’t ask since there’s a good chance that she might not even remember me,” he answered, which somehow felt worse than the thought of not seeing you again. Call him crazy or selfish, but he wanted you to remember him. It was only fair since you were affecting him so much.

“Well, you know where her apartment building is,” the blonde smiled. “That’s a start.”

“But not her apartment number,” he sighed. 

You were alert enough not to give away that piece of information, which he appreciated. Though you joked that it was how “true crimes” began, did you have any idea how many laws he had broken over the years? No, how could you? If you knew, there was a chance you wouldn’t run straight inside.

Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done over the years, it didn’t change that he didn’t get your phone number or your apartment number before you parted ways.

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?”

Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.”

Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

Bucky sat up, his cheek twitching. You had given him your name. “But wouldn’t that be weird to add her as a friend?” he asked.

Because, again, there was a chance you wouldn’t remember who he was. It would give him a chance to see photos of you if you shared them. Maybe get a feel for some of your likes and dislikes. Where you hung out. If your relationship status said “single” like he hoped.

…Was he venturing into creepy territory again?

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

“And that’s the end of this conversation,” Bucky said, shooting both of them a glare to drop it.

“You’ll see her again,” Steve smiled, quickly adding, “Now that’s the end of the conversation.”

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. It would not be the end of that conversation, not now that Steve and Sam knew he was interested in someone. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and said that he found Alpine all by her lonesome, but he didn’t want to keep you a secret. 

He wondered how you were doing. Did you have your water and aspirin like he suggested? Would you feel okay in the morning? Did you hope to see him again? He just had to find a way to see you, if only so you could see “Queen Alpine” while you were sober.

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

I swear, he will see his girl again. Because, yes, you are his girl. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ama3003]

In the Middle

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: Being caught in the middle is always hard.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like mid to late 20s.

Also double whammy with these fics. Also thank you those who requested some fics. I'm getting on them right now. Keep em coming!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“I cannot believe this dude,” Sam says, pacing the living room like it personally offended him. His hands are moving almost as fast as his mouth. “I tell him Ross wants me to rebuild the Avengers, right? I open up—I mean really open up. I tell him I’m not sure I’m the guy for it. That maybe Steve made a mistake giving me the shield.”

He stops mid-step and points dramatically in the air, like he's building up his case.

“And you know what Bucky says? ‘No, he didn’t.’ That’s it. No discussion. Just—‘No, he didn’t.’ Point. Blank. Period. And I'm not gonna lie, that's all I needed to hear."

You open your mouth to say something, but Sam’s already spinning toward you.

“And I believed him! I believed him because I thought he was my best friend.”

"Hey!" you cut in, brows raised.

Sam waves you off. “Nah, nah—don’t ‘hey’ me. You know you’re like my sister. Ultimate mega best friend status and all that, but not the point right now. Lemme vent about your ugly boyfriend real quick.”

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Sam claps once, then starts pacing again. “Then I find out there’s already a ‘New Avengers’—capital N, capital A—already up and running. And guess who’s right in the middle of it? Bucky! Like I wasn’t gonna find out!”

He stops again, staring at you like it’s your fault. “You know what I call that? Betrayal.” He jabs the air for emphasis. “Straight-up betrayal.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, letting him work through it. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Bucky had called not ten minutes ago to talk about—of all things—the copyright on the Avengers name.

Now Sam wants to sue them.

“Fourteen months,” Sam says, voice rising, “of back-and-forth with this man and his ‘new family.’ You remember what we went through? What he went through? Guess what? We were his family first. And now he’s calling me like I’m the one stepping on toes? Like I’m in the wrong for trying to do what Ross asked me to do?”

“He told you to back off?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Sam gives you a long-suffering look. “He wants me to give him the rights of the name."

"So it didn't end well..." You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Y/N… if I’m venting like this, how do you think the call went?”

You try to offer something. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Combine the teams? Be the MegaVengers or something? Steve literally said ‘Avengers, assemble’ and there were like a thousand people who showed up. We all kind of worked together then.”

Sam looks horrified. “No. No combining. It’s not about numbers—it’s about principle. That man knew what this meant to me. And now he’s trying to sidestep it like it’s nothing.”

He crosses his arms and looks at you with purpose. “You need to talk to him. Get him to step back.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

You meant it. You’ve known Sam for years—he was your ride-or-die, your day-one, the brother you got to choose. But through Sam, you met Bucky. And he became your favorite person. You were in between your best friend and the love of your life.

You learned about the ‘New Avengers’ team at the same time Sam did. The two of you had stared at the screen in disbelief.

But after hours of yelling at Bucky—tears, arguments, explanations—you got it. You understood that he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. That Valentina made moves he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t betrayed you… not intentionally.

Still, the line between intention and impact? That’s where Sam lived.

He stares at you for a moment, then reaches into his jacket and hands you a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” you ask, skimming it. Then you stop. Your eyes widen.

“I want you to join my team,” he says simply. “The new Avengers.”

Your jaw drops. “Sam…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly. “You really think I’d build a team without you? Come on. We’ve never not been on a team together.”

“Sam, I… I can’t sign this,” you say, handing the paper back. “You know I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can. You should. Y/N, I’ve already started recruiting. I’ve got a plan, but I need my right hand. I need you.”

You stand, walking toward him. “And I can’t go against Bucky.”

He exhales sharply, then softens. “Just… think about it, okay? I don’t need a yes right now. Just don’t say no yet.”

“Sam…”

“Think about it,” he says again, looking at his watch. “Ugh—venting session’s over. Gotta go pitch Ross on the plan. Wish me luck.”

He leans in, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, "Please think about it," and walks out the door.

You sit back down, staring at the paper. Then you run a hand through your hair, heart pounding.

A few quiet moments pass.

Then you grab your bag and head straight for the other tower.

*****

“James Buchanan Barnes—you are in so much trouble.”

Your voice echoed through the tower as you dropped your bag with a thud. The team—scattered around the lounge doing everything from eating chips to watching TV—immediately snapped to attention.

A chorus of "Ooooooh!" broke out like a middle school lunchroom.

Bucky stood up fast, hands already in the air like he was facing down a SWAT team. “Okay, doll, don’t be mad.”

You marched forward, hands on your hips. “Don’t be mad? You asked Sam to drop the Avengers name.”

“He’s suing us!” Bucky shot back, already defensive. “We had the name first! Val got the jump on it—we just made it official.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn teenager. Behind him, his teammates exchanged exasperated looks, a few shaking their heads like, here we go again.

“Are you both five?” you snapped. “You need to talk. Face to face. Not through lawyers. Not through phones. Like actual adults.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Bucky muttered. “And honestly, I don’t want to see him either.”

He tried to hold his glare, but it faltered when he looked at you. He could see it written all over your face: this was tearing you up. And he hated that he’d played a part in it.

“I saw Sam today,” you said quietly. “He asked me to join his team.”

The room fell completely silent. Even Yelena put down her snack.

Bucky blinked. “And… what’d you say?”

“I told him no. For now. But he asked me to think about it.”

Bucky scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Think about it? What’s there to think about? You’re not joining them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Every single person in the room physically cringed. Even Red Guardian mouthed oh no.

“You’re not serious right now,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

“I’m saying Sam’s being irrational,” Bucky argued, digging his own grave. “He’s suing us, Y/N. You can’t join them. That’s not how this works.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your eyes. “He’s not being irrational. He’s hurt, Bucky. He thinks you betrayed him. And the truth? Even if it wasn’t on purpose—you kind of did.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I get it,” you added, softer now. “He shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit. It’s messy. But this—this whole thing—is a disaster. And you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”

Bucky slowly reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of this. I just... I won’t give up on this team.”

You let him hold you, but your heart was heavy. “I know,” you whispered, then gave him a small kiss. “But I can’t keep being the bridge between you two.”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Then don’t be. Move in with me. You said you were thinking about it. And hell, you could just join us too. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stepped back, blinking. “Are you seriously asking me to join your team right after I told you Sam asked me the same thing? Are you kidding me, Bucky?”

“Not cool,” Yelena muttered, earning a death glare from Bucky.

Then your phone rang—loud and dramatic. Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. You groaned and answered.

“What, Sam?”

“Figured you were over there,” he said. “So I’ll keep it short. Ross and I have a few new recruits saying yes already. We might fast-track things. So I need an answer. ASAP.”

“You gave me thirty minutes—”

“Thirty minutes for what?” Bucky leaned in, practically pressing his ear to your phone.

“Would you stop?” you muttered, pushing him back.

“Is that Barnes?” Sam asked over the line. “Yo, Barnes—fuck you.”

Bucky blinked. “What did he just say?”

You sighed. “He said—”

“I said fuck you,” Sam shouted, louder this time.

You snapped.

“That’s it!” you barked, stepping between the two of them. “Both of you, shut up.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I am so done being in the middle of your pissing contest,” you said, voice shaking now. “You used to be a family. We used to be a family. And you two are tearing it apart like a couple of overgrown toddlers.”

Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. Sam was silent on the other end.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you added. “You both say you love me, you both trust me—but you’re trying to make me pick between you. And I won’t. I won’t.”

Everyone was still, barely breathing.

Then Sam, faint over the phone: “Wait… Did Barnes ask you to join the FAKEngers?”

“We’re the real Avengers, for the record,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh my god,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m done. Until you both grow up and get your shit together, I’m out. I’m not picking sides.”

You turned, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

“Wait—what do you mean?” Bucky called, chasing after you.

You turned back, pointing between him and your phone. “I love you, Bucky. And Sam—you’re my brother. But if you two can’t stop acting like enemies, then you don’t get to have me caught in the crossfire.”

And with that, you hung up the call and walked out.

Back in the room, Walker slowly picked up the paper. “Ouch,” he said, wincing. “Don’t you just hate when they walk away?”

Yelena smacked him in the head. “You’re not helping.”

***********

It had been a few days since everything exploded—and both Sam and Bucky were unraveling in their own ways.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it: the quiet ache where you used to be. The texts left on read. The silence that said more than any shouting match ever could.

Eventually, they both found themselves doing the same thing—sitting alone, staring at their phones, thumbs hovering over each other's names.

Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and hit the contact.

Sam’s phone lit up. He stared at the screen for a long second before finally answering.

“Barnes,” Sam said flatly.

“Wilson,” Bucky replied, just as dry.

A beat.

Then Bucky exhaled. “I miss her.”

Sam’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another pause.

“We gotta fix this,” Bucky said. “This whole thing… it’s not worth losing her over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed. “We should talk. In person. Try to settle this."

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Alright.”

“Cool.”

“…Fine.”

“…Fine.”

They hung up.

No apologies yet. Not out loud.

But it was a start.

Maybe this whole MegaVengers idea wasn’t so bad after all.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Abs! Abs! Abs! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions II

anaxa and his lightcome came home so imma drop this and scurry away i know some people are gonna come at me like sunday and anaxa don't got abs theyre lean yeah well stomach, abs whatever man lol

When you ask them for an ab pic.

: Aventurine. Sunday. Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa.

cw: suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness. half naked men. art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

❥ Aventurine can feel his smirk growing as he reads your text. You're way too predictable. He's heard about this fad trending nowadays on social media along with a bicep pic? He's not surprised you jumped on the trend too. The blonde is a definite tease so he'll have his fun teasing you by saying maybe or asking you for a picture back. You were on the verge of giving up until he suddenly sent the picture.

Aventurine is very casual about the whole thing. He knows he has a good magnificent body and he knows how to take a good picture. He takes some pictures, checking them for a moment to find the right one before pressing send. What he's looking forward to now is seeing how you'd react to it. Oh, he can't wait to tease you more.

The picture he sends is of him sitting on some lavish sofa. His signature turquoise dress shirt unbuttoned all the way showcasing his abs. A wine glass in one hand while the other angles his phone down so that his abs are fully captured on screen. 

"Mhmm I don't know, what do I get in return for sending you such a picture?"

❥ Sunday tilts his head in confusion. Ab pic? A picture of his abdominal muscles? The request came out of nowhere and it surprises and confuses him. What could you use such a picture for? He sighs, shaking his head. There's no use mulling over its purpose. A small smile graces his face. He could never deny you, no matter how strange your requests may be.

Sunday spends quite a while a few hours on taking the perfect picture. It's not his fault he keeps finding faults in every single picture he has taken. He needs it to be perfect for you! Until he realizes how long you've been waiting for the picture. After what seemed to be forever, he finally settles on a picture he's satisfied with. He hesitates on sending it until he wills himself to just do it. His feathers could fall off with how nervous he is for your reply.

It's a picture of him reluctantly/shyly holding his dress shirt up. His eyes looking away while his wings cover half of his face in embarrassment. If you look closely his cheeks are dusted pink. 

"Abs pic? I'm not sure what that is but if it will delight you...I'll do my best to fulfill your wish, my love."

❥ Phainon smiles in glee at your request. His invisible tail is wagging as he reads your text multiple times. With each read his invisible tail wagging harder. Ask and you shall receive, of course!

Phainon doesn't waste any time, he's already pulling out his phone to open his camera app. Then quickly discards his shirt - carelessly tossing it aside. He doesn't think much about the pose or what angle the picture should be taken. He claims he just knows how the picture should be taken - it's all in the feeling. He aims the camera so that his abs are in frame and spams the capture button. After a while, he does change poses. Despite how carefree he looks he's actually taking this very seriously. He needs to send the most perfect picture to you.

He doesn't just send one but he sends all the pictures he has taken. The more the better or so he claims. Your phone is ringing non stop from notifications because he sent around 24 pictures. They're all in different poses, angles and expressions. One is zoomed in on his abs while the other shows his entire very toned body. Wait, is that a rose in between his lips?

"Are you sure you're happy with just these? I can send you thirty more...!"

❥ Mydei raises his eyebrow in confusion but it is quickly replaced with a smirk on his face. So, you want a picture of his abs. Very well, he supposes he can make that happen. Only you would dare ask such a thing from the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. He finds your boldness both amusing and attractive at the same time.

Mydei doesn't waste any time. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before immediately sending it back to you. The golden lion knows he doesn't need to worry if the picture is good or not. He knows it's good no matter what angle it's taken from. You'll definitely be pleased, he knows it. Though, a mere image made up of pixels would never be able to beat the real thing. He thinks about asking you to come over or maybe he can go to you. The picture is great don't get him wrong but he wants you to see how much better it is in person.

He only sends one picture but it gets the message across. His abs are magnificent as if the gods themselves had sculpted them. He doesn't wear a shirt so he doesn't need to teasingly lift it up. No, he shows it in all its glory. He sits on a throne-like chair, his chin resting in his hand while the other holds the phone.

"Why want a picture when you can come see the real thing."

❥ Anaxa has to resist the urge to scoff when he sees your text pop up. Another one of these nonsensical trends he assumes. He quickly dismisses the thought, deeming it a waste of his time and effort to do - setting his phone aside in favor of grading test papers.

After a while, he finds himself thinking back to your text. He's supposed to be finished grading these test papers by now but all he can think about is your disappointed expression. He nearly slams his pen down on the table before letting out a defeated sigh. Dammit, the things you make him do for you.

Anaxa finds himself irritated at having to do such a thing. He tries taking different pictures but none of them are satisfactory enough for him. He's not very good at this. He knows he shouldn't be wasting so much time and effort for a simple picture but the thought of your lackluster reaction makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He takes a few more before finally settling on a picture. Angle? Good. Lighting? Good. Overall, not bad. He clicks the send button. Now he has distracted himself enough to not think about your response.

The picture is relatively simple. It's a picture of Anaxa sitting in his office but it's angled so that you can only see his lower half. His gloved hand lifting up his shirt revealing his abs. Might as well frame it because he might not do this for you again. He will.

"By the law of equivalent exchange, it's only fair that you send me one back too."

[hanasnx]

Mark Grayson cums quickly, but his cock springs back up again just as quickly.

EARLY EJACULATION — m.grayson

“ i want to love you all night / tell me what you love and, baby, say what you like ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | invincible. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established reader ノ sexual content ノ smut ノ m cumming early ノ teasing n dirty talk ノ m stimulation ノ mentions of unprotected sex ノ creampie.

“Ah—wait, wait!” MARK GRAYSON’s grip tightens on your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and off his cock. The shaft already softening flops onto his taut abdomen, rising and falling with his rapid breath. He throws his head back into the pillow with a loud groan, and you roll your lip between your teeth at the sight of him. Chest flexed and wet with his sweat, glistening in the light while his adam’s apple relaxes low in his throat. With a plop, he sets you down onto his thighs, his cream leaking out of you in heavy drips.

You brush your hair back while you lean forward, keeping that lip pinned in your bite to conceal your stretching smile. “Mark,” you coo, crawling towards him to hover over him. His eyes remain closed, and you landscape your body over his, skin on skin, damp and hot. “I don’t mind,” you soothe, your claws coming to stroke through his sweaty hair. “really. I think it’s flattering.” you assure, propping your elbow on his pec to fix your chin on your palm, puppy-dog-eyeing him knowing your full weight on him feels like nothing. Fucking Invincible has its perks.

His hands come to clutch at your upper arms, and he peers up at you in a faux-frustration. “You’re just too good, baby. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” you flirt, your grin worsening as you twirl a lock of his hair around your index. “I told you I wanted to go slow.”

“Yeah, at first. Then you were riding me like—“ That pink in his cheeks deepen, and he averts his gaze disobediently. His hand lets go of you to gesture vaguely in the air. “like- like that!” he struggles to find the words to describe how you were riding his hips like a bucking stallion.

“Aw, baby…” you purr, surging forward to rub your naked bodies together when you plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. “Thought you could handle it, you were makin’ me feel so good.” your honeyed voice drips all over him, and his breath picks up. “Felt you so deep… right- here.” Your hips circle, massaging him between you two. His grip on you tightens, and you tense. That familiar phallic shape fills out, carving a space for itself while sandwiched between you. You press your lips together and palm your mouth in an attempt to hide your giggle. “Already?”

He meets your eyes again with a frown on his brows. “Shut up.”

“C’mon, Invincible. Ready for round two?”

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 02: 1990’s

Day 01 • Day 03

⟢ Didn’t really know where to go with this prompt—so I just let the thoughts wander and followed wherever they decided to take me. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: Emotional & Parental Neglect — Identity Erasure — Emotional Distress — Dissociation • A prequel moment to Scarred For Half A Life (phic) • AU — OOC

It was just a moment.

A Polaroid. A flash. A second where the little boy looked up, frozen in the hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet whir of lab machines, smiled like he thought that would be enough.

Danny was seven. Sitting on the cold floor of the basement lab that always smelled like burning wires and failed experiments. He held his favorite toy—a rocket ship—close to his chest. The paint was already chipped, plastic cracked—but still whole. Still something that belonged to him. It had been his favorite for ages.

He’d been waiting. Watching his mother work from a distance, tracking her movement like a planet waiting to be seen. She hadn’t looked his way all day. Not until that second.

His mother had been working, muttering to herself in scientific shorthand, lost in wires and tools and the blueprint of something she swore would change the world. He didn’t dare to interrupt. Not again. He’d learned that lesson last week—burn marks still faint on his sleeve from an accident that wasn’t his fault, but got him blamed anyway.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed still.

She must’ve found it endearing—her little boy, quiet for once, not underfoot, not causing any trouble. Just playing. Being good. She picked up the Polaroid camera and snapped the photo without a word. That flash caught him off guard, and he looked up with wide eyes and a smile—too small to be real. Like he thought—maybe, if he looked sweet enough, she’d come sit beside him. Maybe she’d play, just once.

She didn’t.

But the picture was taken, the flash faded, and she went back to her scientific work.

── .✦

Years passed. The rocket disappeared. So did the smile. But the photo remained.

The photo, that moment resurfaced, faded at the edges, stained with smeared ectoplasm, lost in a forgotten drawer. It didn’t matter anymore.

That boy in the picture isn’t him.

Not after what they did.

Not after what she did.

He wonders if Maddie ever looked at it again. If she realized the quiet in that photo wasn’t peace—it was neglect. If she ever saw the sadness in those ocean blue eyes, so wide, so full of… hope.

Danny traced a finger over the image, smudging the edge.

He can’t feel the warmth of that moment, he doesn’t even think it had any.

Just a child. Forgotten.

Clutching a toy.

Begging to be seen.

He never stopped waiting. Waiting for that one impossible moment—the moment she’d finally look at him and see it.

See him. Not a ghost. Not a mistake.

Not a threat. Just… her son.

But she never did. And maybe she never will.

⟢ If you’ve ever felt unseen or forgotten, please know your pain is real and know you’re not alone. I wrote this from a place of hurt, and if you’re carrying something heavy too… you’re allowed to feel it. Please take care of yourself!

[torlibram]

Let me tell you something. You know, while I have your attention, what with the chains and everything. And before you start planning your escape: yes, I have a tendency to monologue, and yes, I am still very much alive and well, and yes, those are the desiccated bones of the previous set of heroes to try what you did. So hush a minute and listen.

Have you ever thought about why I set myself up like this? About what my eventual goal is? I'm not Evil with a capital E, I'm just painted that way by those with a vested interest in the status quo. Seriously. The big wigs at the Ministry want me gone because I am a challenge to their rigid thinking and blinkered mindset.

It was all my parents fault, really. They had it in their heads that I was going to be the greatest wizard ever, head of the Ministry by the age of twenty-five, all that nonsense. So they had me reading runes before I could read ordinary Westling. I could conjure air spirits at the age of five, if you can believe it. Oh, mock all you like, I could do it.

They tucked bits and pieces of regular education in around the magic stuff wherever I had a spare minute. Nine, sometimes ten hours a day, six days a week from the moment I was old enough to hold a wand.

I never knew any different, of course. I never had time to go out and meet kids my age. I never knew what it was like to be normal. It was memorising spells and learning techniques and practicing gestures and fifteen uses for newt livers in everything from poisons to phantasmal conjurations. It got to me, I won't lie. All I ever wanted back then was to make them proud.

It ended when they wanted to do the grand unveiling. Revealing their protégé to the unsuspecting world. Sending me off to the Invisible College to wow the staff there and start my ascent to greatness.

It all backfired when I met my fellow students. They were just starting out. They couldn't have summoned a wet fart after a big curry. I didn't believe it at first. How could they have gotten a place at IC without the merest cantrip to their name?

Some time in the library showed me what my parents had done to me. To my life. The rage that gripped me when I realised that everything had just been for their benefit: so they could be the gracious, smiling, loving parents who had helped their darling boy achieve the greatness for which he was so clearly destined.

I stuck it out for one semester. Used that time to get everything I could from the library, every advanced technique and spell that the undergrads aren't supposed to know even exists. I picked the brains of my tutors, too. Oh, don't look at me like that, I don't mean literally. I asked some leading questions and learned where to focus my research is all.

Then I left. My parents got all upset about their son disappearing and there were searches by the King's men, but I was well away to the north.

I got my start with a troll. One of the old fashioned lads from up in the mountains. He jumped out from under his bridge and demanded a toll. I offered him a few castings of a sculpting spell I knew, help repair the bridge a bit, and before I knew it, I had an actual friend. First one in my life and it was a troll! Talking to old Belag, I saw the rough deal that he and his people got and I thought "I could really stick it to dear old mum and dad if I start championing the little guys, the underdogs."

So that's what I did. After Belag and his bridge, there was an orc tribe going through a constitutional crisis that I happened across at the right time to get myself installed as the new chief's adviser. From there it was straightforward to nudge the tribe into better trade relations with neighbouring tribes, better treatment for the slaves that did the agriculture (which meant better crop yields and less lashing-to-deaths) and so on.

King Knob-Cheese, excuse me, King Nhobesh, the orcish turn of phrase does tend to rub off on you, was against all this, of course and so sent out adventurers to end the "orcish threat". My magic saw them off before they had their swords out. The next lot managed to get half a sentence of self-righteous declamation in before the acid storm took them, but I saw the way things were going. I advised the chief to pack up and move north of the mountains to make it harder for the King's men to find us. Took a lot of arguing, but I got him to agree in the end. He finally admitted he didn't want to end up with his head on a pike and rallied the tribe to move out.

Setting up this side of the mountains was tricky. The local tribes didn't fancy a bunch of southerners moving in, so I had to crack a few heads by levitating damn great boulders over them before their deputies saw sense.

After that, it was plain sailing. The northern tribes got the hang of things quite quickly and evolved into socialist communes inside a decade. Belag had a word with his cousins, who talked to their friends the stone giants and we had this place blocking the major pass to the north practically before the King knew there was anything going on. I was kind of specific in the design of this fortress. Yes, we want to keep the men of the south out, I said, but we should keep the option to open the way wide to them if they ever grow up. And so grew the tower of Broad Door.

Look, is all this history boring you? Because we can go back to the injecting molten lead into the marrow of your bones if you like? That's more the Ministry's sort of speed, isn't it? No? Ok, tell you what: you seem to have a halfway sensible head on your shoulders, unlike some of your erstwhile comrades. The northern collectives can always use a sensible head with a good sword arm. I'll turn you over to our recruiting department and they can show how much better life is this side of the mountains, what do you say?

Why? Because there is no better revenge, nothing, than knowing that my dearest mummsy and daddikins have to disavow all knowledge of their son, that my every act will shame them in the eyes of their peers, that I have subverted so many alleged heroes to my cause by just common sense and social justice. When I think of the ulcers I must be causing them because they can't bring themselves to admit the Dark Lord of the North is their fault, why it warms my heart on the coldest of nights.

Learning magic is an arduous journey, requiring sacrifice and dedication. Your parents made you give up your childhood to study magic—only after completing your studies do you learn that most other mages actually choose to start in adulthood.

[itsnesss]

hiii :)

could i pretty please request Kimi Antonelli x fem reader where they're dating and get into a silly fight over something small and reader gets just slightly petty and does stuff like breaking spaghetti in front of him, ordering pizzas for dinner but they all have pineapple on them, basically everything italians consider sacrilege and Kimi just sits in silent italian rage cause he knows a reaction is exactly what reader wants

just a silly couples argument that somehow breaks out into an all-out war

thank you xx

𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you and kimi have a playful fight over food. he stays calm, but you know he’s secretly fuming

warnings | playful arguments, food-related humor, light teasing and petty behavior, silly and lighthearted tone

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

It all starts over something silly. Something so small that it’s not even worth arguing about. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself… right before you argue about it anyway.

“You said if I cooked, you’d wash the dishes,” Kimi reminds you from the kitchen, with that tone somewhere between irritated and condescending that ignites you more than the oven.

“And I washed the breakfast dishes. It’s not my fault you cook like you’re feeding the entire paddock,” you respond from the couch, not even bothering to turn to look at him. Your voice is sweet, but with venom.

“Non è lo stesso. It was three plates. Now there are twenty. This isn’t a restaurant, tesoro.”

Your eyebrow arches. You glance at him over the back of the couch, pretending to be innocent. He gives you a look that clearly means “I’m not playing.” You just smile. Because of course you’re not playing… but you’re definitely winning.

The silence that follows is tense, but almost fun. Kimi returns to his tomato sauce as if he’s a scientist in his lab. Meanwhile, you start plotting your next move.

And then you see it: the package of spaghetti in the pantry. It almost calls your name. A completely malicious idea forms in your mind. And you can’t resist.

You get up calmly, as if you have no evil intentions. You walk over to the pantry and pull out the package, holding it in front of you. Kimi watches you with suspicion. You don’t say anything. You just look at him… and then…

CRACK!

You break the spaghetti in half.

Kimi freezes. The spoon he had in his hand falls into the bowl with a soft clink. His eyes fixate on the broken pasta as if he just witnessed a murder.

“You didn’t…” he whispers.

“What? It cooks faster this way,” you respond with a small smile, throwing the broken pieces into the boiling water like nothing’s happening.

He says nothing. He just slowly turns around, with the expression of someone praying internally not to explode.

And you know it hurts him. Of course, you know.

But it doesn’t end there.

The next day, you decide cooking is too much effort. Better order pizza. When Kimi asks what kind you ordered, you smile sweetly.

“Surprise.”

When they arrive, you open the first box and set it on the table. Then the second. Then the third. And all of them, absolutely all of them, have a generous layer of pineapple.

Kimi sits in front of the boxes, staring at them in silence, and doesn’t say anything. Not a sigh, not an insult. Just that gesture of his that you know so well: clenched jaw, slightly furrowed brows, eyes fixed on nothingness.

The Italian silence is deafening.

And you, on the verge of laughing, take a dramatic bite of a slice and say, “Mmm… pineapple with cheese is delicious, don’t you think?”

You know he’s about to lose his composure. You know that deep down, an ancient voice inside him is screaming “traditrice!” and that he’s doing everything he can not to get up from the table and scream at the universe.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows that’s exactly what you want.

The next morning is suspiciously calm.

Too calm.

Kimi doesn’t say anything when he wakes up. He doesn’t frown. He doesn’t mention the sacrilegious pizzas or the pasta broken like it’s glass. He just gets up, kisses your cheek, and murmurs a soft “bongiorno” as if everything is fine.

And honestly, that scares you.

Because an angry Kimi talks. An offended Kimi protests. But this Kimi… this elegant silence with a mysterious smile and suspicious calm… that’s the Kimi planning his revenge.

You decide to ignore it.

But by noon, the first signs begin.

You walk into the kitchen and see that he’s already made lunch.

“You cooked?” you ask with a mix of distrust and tenderness.

“Certo. I thought you deserved a… special meal,” he says with an angelic smile.

You sit at the table, a little wary. It smells good. Too good. You take a bite.

It tastes… bad.

Something’s off. Salt? Sugar? Both?

You look at him. He just takes his glass of water and drinks it slowly, provocatively.

“What did you put in this?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Love. And a pinch of divine justice,” he answers with total calm.

You put your fork down.

“Are you seriously getting back at me with pasta?”

“I’m just balancing the universe, amore. Karma exists. And so do horrible sauces.

You don’t know if you’re more indignant or impressed.

Later, when you take a shower, you hear noises in the kitchen. When you come out, the air smells like… cheese? Herbs?

And there he is.

Kimi stands in front of the oven, taking a steaming tray out. The dish looks incredible. Pasta al forno, made with a delicacy that melts your soul.

“And this?”

“It’s for me.”

“And for me?”

He gives you a cold look… theatrically cold.

“You have pineapple.”

He opens the fridge and shows you a perfectly intact box of Hawaiian pizza, with a label that reads “For culinary traitors.”

You suppress a laugh. He walks over, without losing his dignified air, and whispers in your ear:

“Never underestimate the Italian pride. Especially in the kitchen.

But then, just when you’re about to give in, when you’re about to say “okay, enough,” he leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Although… I have to admit, seeing you bite that pizza with pineapple and pretend you didn’t expect my reaction was adorable,” he murmurs, softly, as if it slipped out.

You turn, pretending to be offended, but he grabs you by the waist and lifts you easily, making his laugh resonate against your neck while you scream in laughter:

“Put me down, Antonelli!!”

“Admit that parmesan is better than pineapple and I’ll do it!”

“Never!”

“Traditrice!” he says dramatically.

[jaylaxies]

JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON ME!

PAIRING: yang jungwon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of calling someone mid sex, mentions of nicknames, mentions of jay.

WORD COUNT: 4349 words.

SYNOPSIS: It was supposed to be just friends with benefits—no strings attached, no feelings, no late-night jealousy, but all it took was one party, one touch from someone else, and it sent Jungwon unraveling into something darker, and deeper. Now, he’s not asking who you belong to—he’s showing you, and the world.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, angels! i finally wrote a jungwon fic aaa this was supposed to be 1k words long but here we are <3 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

“You always look the prettiest when you’re about to walk away from me, huh?” 

You paused mid-way applying your lip gloss, jaw clenching at the sudden intrusion which you didn’t appreciate one bit. You could see him through the mirrors clearly as he leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed as he stared at you with dark eyes. 

His voice was calm—almost sounding lazy to you, yet it slithered into your spine like a warning. 

He looked good—too good for your liking, clad in his casual blue jeans and a black button up, sleeves rolled up casually as his dark permed hair covered his forehead, jaw tight as he waited for your reply. 

You weren’t sure why he was here, but then again, you were the one who gave him the passkey to your apartment, hence, you’ll be facing the consequences. 

“What?” You asked, keeping your voice in check, not bothering to turn around. 

His expression was unreadable, eyes stuck on your figure, raking you up and down, especially paying attention to your little black dress that hugged your body a little too well for his liking, “you’re going to the party dressed like that?” 

You twisted the cap of the gloss shut, taking your time with it as you replied, “hm, why wouldn’t I?” 

“Jay will be there.”

That’s it, that’s the reason why he’s here. The reason behind your tension that’s been eating you both throughout the day, enough for you to turn around and face Jungwon now, heart pounding despite your efforts to appear confident. 

“So?” You challenged him. 

He scoffed, pushing himself off of the doorframe, taking slow steps towards you, “so—he’s been all over you lately.” 

“Is that jealousy, Jungwon?” You scoffed as he stood close to you, a little too close for your liking as he towered over your figure, “because the last time I checked, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s not yours either.”

The silence after that is thick as you glare at him with anger bubbling up inside of you, “so what exactly are you implying here?”

He swiped his tongue on his bottom lip, hesitating slightly—the first crack in his masked, nonchalant persona. 

“Y’know, I just think it’s funny. You say that we’re just fucking, but the second someone else even looks your way—I fucking lose it, I can’t breathe.” Jungwon seethes out. 

You blink, almost stunned at his sudden confession.

He shook his head though, replacing the melancholic look on his face with a devilish smirk, “but, hey! Jay might just be a better match for you, right? He’d probably remember to text you back, and maybe he won’t leave the second you fall asleep, right?” He taunted you, leaning down enough for his nose to brush faintly against yours. 

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you harder than you expected. 

“Fuck you,” you whisper, full of rage. 

“You already do, kitten,” he chuckled. 

You move back, throwing your lip gloss on him on your way out the room, which he catches with ease, a bitter laugh escaping his throat, “yeah, go ahead! Run to him. At least then we won’t be pretending that this thing between us doesn’t mean something.”

You hate him for saying it like that. For turning it into your fault when he’s the one who built the walls first. He’s the one who laid out the rules.

“You made the rules, Jungwon,” you snapped, “don’t you dare get mad at me for playing the game you clearly started.” 

His face almost twitched into an angry snarl, but he held himself back—his words? Emotions? He wasn’t sure either. 

“See yourself out once you’re done,” you muttered, leaving him standing alone in your room. 

And just like that, you’re gone. Like Jungwon said, you looked pretty—pretty to the point that he couldn’t leave you at the party alone. So, he did what he had to—follow you. 

Maybe being at a party wasn’t the brightest of the ideas for your distraction. The lights were glowing far too much for your liking, heat too high, broken laughter and the smell of perfumes all melting into one beneath the pulsating lights. The steady bass seemed to be in tune with everyone’s heartbeat and you were already out of sync. 

You stood at the end corner of the room, watching the chaos unfold, your face showing slight interest as to not seem out of place. However, your eyes keep wandering around in search of something—in search of him. 

It was a promise you made as you left, that you wouldn’t look for him, that you came here to forget the fight and to prove to yourself that you were unaffected—that nothing you shared with Jungwon meant anything. 

It was as if your body was wired to his presence, you could feel it before you even spotted him in the crowd. He was here. Jungwon. 

Leaning against the farthest wall to you, one arm lazily draped over the edge of the counter, head tilted in a way which made him look maddeningly attractive, still clad in his black shirt, a few top buttons undone, enough to show his clavicle where a gold chain rested perfectly. 

He hadn’t seen you yet. 

Or maybe he had, and just chose not to react, which was more hurtful, stinging you harder than it should. 

“Damn,” a voice interrupted your massive train of thoughts, “didn’t expect you to show up looking like this,” Jay said, his usual warm smirk plastered onto his face, coming close to stand next to you. 

You managed to put a lazy smile on your face, turning to look his way, your laugh light but automatic, “hm? And what does this look like?”

Jay chuckles, far too attractive for his own good, “like you’re here to ruin people.”

“Maybe I am,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, something sugary, cold, numbing. 

Jay’s hand brushes against your lower back, simply testing how far you’ll allow him to go. So you don’t stop him, you let him be. 

You’re aware of his body heat, the way his eyes look you up and down. You’re also aware that across the room, Jungwon has finally decided to pay you attention. Now, he’s watching, his gaze locked on the way Jay is leaning into you, how your hand casually rested on Jay’s chest as he said something in your ear to make you laugh. 

What makes him mad is how you keep your eyes solely on Jungwon, well knowing he’s watching your every move, his stare burning into you like a brand. 

His expression was unreadable at first, almost calm before he found himself gripping the glass a little too hard around the rim, a tic visible in his jaw, a slow swipe of his tongue on his bottom lip as if he was preparing himself for a mission. He looked as if he’d break something. 

The second you smile and lean into Jay, Jungwon starts walking towards you, not rushed, but with burning anger as if he tried to contain himself, only for him to explode instead. His presence hits you first—hot, almost electric. 

“Y/N.” He takes your name, voice full of spite and authority. 

“Hey, man—” 

“Not talking to you,” Jungwon cuts in, not letting Jay say a word to him, eyes fixated on your face. His tone is eerily calm, the kind that comes before the storm that shatters everything. 

You stiffen, “what are you doing here?”

He chuckles darkly, “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, staring at your waist, where Jay’s hand rested so naturally, “but I already know,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head before looking up again. 

“You don’t get to do this,” you seethe out, “you don’t get to show up and act like—”

“Like what?” He challenges, brows raised, stepping further into your space, “like I care?” 

You go still, his words hitting you harder than ever, a low blow indeed, which only makes him lean in closer, “you wanted me to see you? I did. Wanted me to watch while he put his hands on you like he’ll ever have you the way I do?” 

Jay shifts besides you, tension rising as if the room had turned ten degrees hotter all of a sudden. 

“Is he bothering you?” Jay asked, Jungwon’s eyes flicking to him, jaw tightening. 

“You should leave,” he said. 

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out why she never makes those sounds for you, yeah?” Jungwon felt like a madman, challenging Jay as if he was nothing. 

“Fucking stop it, Jungwon!” You shout. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother blinking, eyes locked onto yours. 

“I don’t know what your problem is dude—”

“My problem,” Jungwon says slowly, turning to Jay, “is that you’re touching something that belongs to me.”

Your face is on fire by now, heartbeat erratic at his words. It shouldn’t feel this way, you should hate him, “I’m not a fucking thing.” 

“You’re mine.” He said in a beat, words soft and final, hitting you harder than they should. 

Jay’s jaw clenches, “don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh she lets me do it alright. Don’t talk like you know what we are.”

You stop breathing. We. That’s the first time he’s said it. 

“Is it true?” Jay asks you. 

You open your mouth to speak, only for no words to come out of them, because in all honesty—you didn’t even know anything anymore. 

Then Jungwon scoffs, leaning into you again. 

“Tell me,” he practically growls, “do his hands feel better than mine?”

Your throat tightens, heat creeping up your neck as you try your best to look unbothered, “you don’t get to ask me that.”

“Oh fucking hell I don’t,” he snaps, “you show up here with him, dressed like that, smiling as if you’ve never known better, huh? I do get to ask, kitten.”

That cursed nickname again, it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, but you cross your arms instead, nails digging into your own skin. 

“You’re the one who leaves, did you forget?”

“You pushed.”

“Because I was the only one feeling anything, Jungwon. You were fine as long as I stayed quiet, stayed casual. But the second I wanted more—”

“I never fucking said I didn’t want more.”

“No, of course! You just made sure I never expected it.” The air between you is thick, suffocating.

He steps closer. You don’t bother moving.

“You let him touch you,” he says tightly, “you let him look at you like he could ever fucking have you.”

“Maybe I wanted him to.” Your voice is quieter now, but it hits harder.

He stares at you, his expression twisting, “don’t.”

“Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like,” you continue, forcing the words past the knot in your chest. “To be wanted without being hidden. To be chosen.”

He looks like you just punched the air out of him.

You hate how good that makes you feel.

You hate how much it hurts.

“Maybe I wanted him to kiss me.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Say it again.”

You swallow, “Maybe I still want him to.”

That does it.

He grabs your wrist—not to hurt, not to pull—just to feel that you’re real. That you’re still here.

“Say it looking at me, go on.”

You do, and for the first time all night, neither of you blink. 

“I want him to kiss me.”

The lie hangs there. Heavy. Bitter. You’re shaking, he sees it, “then why are you still here?” he asks.

A moment. A pause in the noise. A second where the floor feels like it might crack open. You stare up at him, heart thudding, then you smile up at him with a smirk.

“Solid question.”

And you turn, you walk away. You feel the silence snap behind you like a whip. You don’t get far. You’re five steps out when he comes after you, his fingers wrap around your wrist and yank you back, your back hits the wall around the corner—shadowed, dark, loud music muffled—and his body cages yours in.

Eyes wild, darker than ever. You had never seen him this mad—this desperate.

“You really thought I’d let you walk away?”

“You always do.”

“Not this time.” He’s breathing like he ran through fire to get to you, “you wanted a reaction?” he breathes out, “fuck—congratulations because you got one.”

You say nothing.

His hands rest against the wall on either side of your face. He leans in, his mouth a breath from yours.

“You think he could make you feel what I do? You think he’d know how to touch you without you teaching him from scratch?”

You close your eyes, throat burning as you mumble out, “God—fuck you.”

“You’ve tried,” he whispers, “and you keep coming back.”

You open your eyes.

“So what? Are you going to drag me out of here now?” You mean it as a challenge.

But Jungwon’s eyes—they flick down to your lips, and something in him just breaks. You see it happen, no hesitation, no warning.

Just movement.

He grabs your wrist, the same one Jay touched, and pulls—hard. You stumble, breath catching, but his grip only tightens. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t look at anyone, not even you—It’s like he can’t.

Like if he meets your eyes, he’ll lose the thin thread of control keeping him from tearing your clothes off right here. He weaves through the crowd like a storm parting the sea. You hear someone call after you—Jay’s voice, confused, concerned. Jungwon doesn’t even blink.

The front door bursts open with how angry he is. Cold air caresses your skin harshly, and he still doesn’t bother stopping, hauling you down the steps, across the sidewalk, to his car like a man possessed.

You open your mouth to speak, only to be cut off, “Jungwon—”

“Don’t,” he mutters. 

“Wait—”

“Don’t talk to me right now,” his voice is low, rough, almost shaking with the jealousy burning him alive. “If you say one more word, I swear I’ll fuck you in the backseat just to shut you up.”

Your stomach flips, your legs barely keep up as he unlocks the door, yanks it open, and practically shoves you inside. Not violently—but with purpose. Like if he doesn’t touch you, own you, now, he might lose what’s left of himself.

He gets in. Slams the door, followed by utter and complete silence, to the point you were scared of breathing too loud, your thighs rubbing against one another with anticipation? Anxiety? You didn’t know anymore. 

You glance at him—his jaw tight, nostrils flared, fingers white knuckled around the steering wheel.

“Jungwon,” you whisper.

He turns his head slowly, looking at you like he’s seeing nothing but red, “I don’t care if you hate me after this,” he mutters. “I don’t care if you scream and fight and curse my name.”

A pause, a deep breath, a statement that left no room for argument, “but you’re coming home with me.”

That’s when you realize that right now—there’s no reasoning with him. He’s not hearing anything anymore, not your protests, not your pain, not your fear or want or anger.

He’s hearing everything you didn’t say.

All the begging between the words, all the need in the silence, all confessions you never dared speak.

The engine roars to life, tires screeching as he drives—fast, so determined, his hand gripping the wheel as the other one curled into a fist, holding himself back. 

You don’t speak again.

Because, now, you want Jungwon’s actions to speak louder than his words. 

The moment the door slams shut behind you, silence drops, you barely got time to take a breath before Jungwon’s hands were on you—pushing you, grabbing you, dragging you back by the wrist before you can take a single step deeper into the apartment.

“You want to piss me off?” he seethes, lips near your ear, “you want to talk about Jay?”

He spins you, slams your back against the wall.

You gasp—but you’re not afraid of him. You’re afraid of what’s to come, lit from the inside, burning with everything you didn’t get to say, everything you couldn’t scream back at him at the party.

His breath fans across your cheek, hot and shaking from anger, from the need of wanting you, “you knew what you were doing,” he growls, eyes locked on yours, “wearing that dress—laughing with him. Letting him put his hand on your waist.”

“So what?” you snap. “You didn’t want me there anyway, right?” You shove at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“You said you didn’t care. You said it was just sex. So why do you care now?”

His jaw flexes. His silence is deafening.

“Answer me,” you spit.

“Because I’ve been going fucking insane,” he explodes.

His fist slams into the wall beside your head—not too close, but enough that you feel the vibration in your ribs.

“Because every time I close my eyes, I see you with him.” He leans in—nose brushing yours, lips barely an inch away, “and I want to kill him for touching what’s mine.”

The word echoes between you. Heavy. Final.

You let out a shaky breath.

“You don’t own me,” you whisper.

“No?” he breathes, hand sliding up your throat to cup your jaw. “Then why are you here?”

You glare at him.

“Because you dragged me—”

“Oh no, baby. You could’ve walked away.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, “but you didn’t.”

He kisses you. It’s not sweet. Not soft. It’s brutal. A crash of mouths and breath and bruised desperation. You kiss him back harder, messy enough for you two to gasp for air. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, his teeth scrape your bottom lip, agitating you enough for you to bite him, he groans into your mouth like it hurts, bleeding slightly, letting you taste himself at its worst. 

“You said you wanted Jay to kiss you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Say it again.”

You hesitate.

“Go on.”

You look him dead in the eye as you say, “I did,” pushing for a second to let him react to this information. 

His pupils blow wide, only darkness in them and a reflection of your lying self. 

“Wrong fucking answer, princess.” He throws your phone on the bed, “you want to mess with me?”

He grabs your waist, lifts you, throws you onto the mattress as you let out a yelp, trying your best to adjust into the new position but Jungwon was faster. 

“Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s already on you, hands hot and heavy on your thighs, forcing them apart, his gaze trails down your body like he’s starving.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” he growls. “Not after everything we’ve done. Not after everything I’ve given you.”

Your breath catches as his fingers dig into your hips.

“You belong to me,” he says, voice low and lethal. “And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

“Jungwon—”

“No. Shut the fuck up, kitten.”

He grabs your face—softly, but firm enough to make you feel it, to make you feel every bit of emotion that coursed through his body. 

“You talk too much when you’re scared.”

You blink up at him, heart hammering.

“I’m not scared.”

“Good.”

He leans in—lips brushing your ear.

“Then remember this,” he whispers. “Every moan. Every scream. Every time I fuck you so deep you forget your own name—”

His hand slides under your dress.

“You remember who did it to you, yeah?”

You shudder beneath him, and in that moment, there’s nothing left to say, his words are final, and you’re at his mercy. 

Just the sound of your breathing. The tension in his hands. The ache that’s been building for months and is finally—finally—about to break.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and ragged. “Say you liked him touching you.”

You opened your mouth—hesitated, yet you wanted to test his limits, your mouth working faster than your mind when you finally said it, “maybe I did.”

His whole body went still, you stared up at him, chest heaving, watching him lose the last bit of sanity that was holding him together, the snap of the thread breaking wasn’t real, but you heard it anyway. 

“You wanna play games?” he sneered, “fine, kitten.” He reached for your phone on the bedside table, where you had thrown your bag, he unlocked it with a flick, knowing your passcode, and tapped a contact.

“What are you—”

“Let’s call him.”

You froze, he couldn’t be serious about it, could he?

“Jungwon—”

“No, let’s fucking call him and show him exactly who you fucking belong to.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, your mouth opening to say something, to stop him, but you didn’t. 

Because deep inside, you knew you wanted this, you needed this—to see how far he would go to prove himself this time. 

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” Jay’s smooth voice answered your call, as if he was waiting to hear from you. 

Jungwon locked eyes with you, his hips grinding between your legs, his hands working faster than ever to free his cock from the restraints of his pants, the thickness making you gasp as he covered himself with your sweet juices, rubbing his cock on your cunt. 

“Moan,” he said, mouth against your ear. “Let him hear you.”

You whimpered, your body arching into his as he finally lost control, fucking his dick into your ever so inviting, tight little cunt. 

“Jungwon—”

“Louder.” He ordered as he thrusted into you, and the sound that tore from your throat was filthy, helpless, humiliating.

Jay said something on the other end—confused, almost startled.

“She’s busy,” Jungwon said darkly into the phone, “busy moaning my name.”

You gasped again as he pistoned harder, thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles. 

“Wanna know why?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “Because you’ll never touch her like this, never fuck her like this, never ever fucking own her the way I do.”

Your fingers dug into his back as he pushed deeper, his eyes locked on yours.

“You think she wanted your hands on her?” he asked out loud, “you think she wanted your mouth?” This particular thrust was harder, making you cry out louder, toes curling with the need to have him closer to you, impossibly so.  

“Then why is she cumming on my cock right now?” He chuckled, almost evilly. 

You broke, shattered completely with the overwhelming need to cum, to prove Jungwon right, to prove that nothing else truly mattered but him, humiliation thrown aside as you let Jay hear you without any ounce of self control holding you back. 

Jungwon watched you unravel under him, then calmly ended the call and tossed the phone to the floor, but making sure to tell Jay before he cut the call, “hope you enjoyed hearing her pretty fucking voices, because it’s the first and the very fucking last time you’ll get to hear her.”

“No one touches you but me,” he practically growled into your skin, panting against your neck. “No one gets to see you like this.”

“Jungwon—” you whimpered, crying and shaking, but Jungwon was far from done.

He pulled out, only to flip you over and drag you back by the hips.

“You want to tease me, huh?” he rasped, breathing hot against your shoulder, “want to pretend I’m nothing to you?”

You whimpered as he pushed back inside, deeper this time, agonizingly slow, full of something else now. It wasn’t just fury—it was his emotions, too much of it. 

“You’re everything,” he whispered, the words choking out of him. “You’re fucking everything.”

You turned your head, trying to see him, but he buried his face in your neck, “I love you.” He mumbled, voice broken. 

You froze.

His hands trembled on your hips.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter. “I didn’t want to—I didn’t mean to, but lord I fucking do.”

You turned beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your mind fuzzy, heart erratic, a confusing mix of hurt and warmth spreading through your body. 

He looked down at you—eyes red, lips parted, body still tense with unshed rage and desperation.

“Then say it again,” you whispered, not knowing what else to say. You wanted confirmation, you wanted to hear it, you needed to hear it. 

He pushed into you, slower now, reverent, “I love you.”

Again.

“I love you.”

And again, with each thrust, he poured his love into you, “I’ve loved you every fucking night you stayed over. Every time you made morning coffee wearing my shirt. Every time I heard your laugh and thought, ‘God, I can’t lose this.’”

Your heart cracked wide open at his brutally honest confession. 

Jungwon was in love with you—you meant something to him, and that was enough for you to cry out, his lips catching every stray tear that cascaded down your face, every bit of tears that came from the hurt he caused you. 

“You’re mine,” he said again, kissing your cheeks, your mouth, your collarbones. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “Fuck—I’ve always been yours.”

His hips moved again—slow, deep, building you both up together now. Not punishment. Not anger. Just raw, terrifying honesty.

You cried out again, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the weight of everything he was finally giving you.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you came again, shaking and sobbing into his skin, you knew this was it.

Not friends with benefits.

Not casual, not pretend, not anything else. 

Just you and him.

Molten into one—into each other.

His body stilled inside you one last time, and he collapsed over you, arms locked around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stayed there.

Tangled.

Breathing.

His confession still rings in your ears.

“I love you.”

And you believed him, for real this time. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[woantohae]

In my arms || (Bob Reynolds x reader)

Summary: The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers.

Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

content warnings: angst, he fell first and he fell harder, "avengers" tower, fluff, thunderbolts being a family, violence, curse words, SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*, Yelena and Bob being like brother and sister, "touch her and you die" trope.

Author's note: I WATCHED THUNDERBOLTS*!!!! And let me tell you, it was better than i imagined. Honestly, it became one of my favorites and it can easily be in my top 3 of Marvel movies. I just can't describe the experience with enough words, but the waiting was totally worth it ✨️ AND THE POST CREDIT SCENE 👀 MARVEL ATE WITH THAT ONE.

With that being said, i'm excited to tell you that i'm gonna write more of Bob Reynolds 👉🏻👈🏻 So here you go, a one shot with him, wich contains a few spoilers of the movie. At this point our reader will be polaris lol.

Hope you like it and comment what do you think of this one 💌

Bob was getting used to the place.

What had once been Avengers Tower had now become his new "home." He had an incredible view of New York City, several rooms to hang out in, thousands of dishes and meals he'd never been able to prepare in his life, and the pleasant company he shared every day.

The team had made him feel comfortable and part of something worthwhile, despite what they'd gone through to get to this moment.

Bob still felt guilty about what happened when Void took control of him and darkened everything in its path, even when Yelena reminded him it wasn't his fault and that he wasn't alone. The blonde had become a trusted person for him and was always there when he needed her. He told her his secrets and how he felt, and the Russian always gave him advice or a word of encouragement. Even with the trust he had in her, he confided in her something he never thought would happen to him. Or rather, something he thought was impossible to happen in such a short time.

He was attracted to Y/N.

The girl whom his other self had caused to see horrible things from her past, the one who could move metal objects with a simple flick of her fingers, and the one who made his heart race and his cheeks blush. It was a feeling that consumed him every time he was near her or even thought about her.

And Yelena, being the good spy she was and good at reading people, knew how Bob felt about Y/N. She always encouraged him to get closer and talk to her more, but Bob simply couldn't do it. It was not that easy.

"It sounds easy," John says, after hearing the plan for carrying out the mission.

Bob shakes his head to return to reality and ignore such thoughts.

"Wait until we get there and they welcome us with open arms," ​​Bucky says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"We still made it last time, and look at us here," Y/N replies, shrugging her shoulders.

Ava laughs and shakes her head.

"We'd better get moving," she says.

Bob looks at the group with hope in his eyes, but feels unsure about what he's gonna say.

"Can I come with you, guys?" he asks.

All heads turn to look at him with a mixture of surprise and sympathy for his question. They know he wants to help however he can, but after Void was under control and hadn't appeared for quite some time, they weren't so sure it was a good idea to expose him like that again.

"Bob..." Yelena begins to say.

Bob hurries to explain himself.

"I know what you're gonna say. But I think I'm ready, I know I can control it" Bob says with determination in his voice "I've been practicing and trying to talk to him, so maybe I can do it, today"

"We know, Bobby," says John, "But we must complete the mission without any mistakes or problems along the way."

The brunette looks down and clears his throat, nodding. He raises his gaze to smile and meet Y/N's gaze, who smiles back.

"No, no, I understand," he says dejectedly. "When the time is right, I can come with you."

Bucky pats his shoulder and Alexei gives him a thumbs-up. Despite their attempt to lift his spirits, he can't help but feel useless and without any reason to be in the group, other than washing dishes, tidying the place, or reading books he finds lying around.

He hates the feeling.

But it is what it is, right now. And he has to face it.

After the meeting to organize the plan, the group dispersed to look for the weapons and prepare the car in which they would go to the location. Bob watched from afar as the rest of them prepared, while playing with his fingers. He shifted his gaze to the large window overlooking the city and didn't feel Y/N's presence approaching him.

"Hey," she said in a soft tone.

Bob turned his head to look at her and smiled delightedly.

"Hey," she asked.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nods and laughs softly, pretending to be okay and swallowing the feeling that bothered him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine"

The girl mimics his smile and stares at him, while Bob feels the heat spread to his cheeks.

"Hey, how about we watch a movie when I get back?" she offers, patting his arm to get his attention.

Bob smiles.

"I was actually thinking it could be a movie night with just us. If you like that idea," Y/N says, crossing her arms and shrugging her shoulders with a smile on her face.

"A movie would be nice. I think it would be fun to have a movie night with the rest of the team," he says awkwardly "We haven't had one of those in a while, so..."

She lets out a soft laugh, thinking how cute he looks all flustered.

"Oh..." he remains silent to calm his nerves until he speaks again so as not to make a fool of himself. "Oh! Yeah, just the two of us. Of course. It could be fun. Count me in!"

Y/N smiles and laughs softly, wich sounds angelical to Bob's ears.

"Great. It's a date" she says.

Bucky calls her to let her know they're about to leave, so she starts walking away from Bob.

"See you, Bob."

"See you. Good luck," Bob says with a dazed smile on his face, remembering the girl's words.

It's a date.

Bob walks to his room with an excited smile, feeling happiness in his chest, but when he remembers the last thing Y/N said, his eyes widen.

"Oh shit! It is a date!"

He needs to prepare for it.

----------

Bob listened and watched from the communications room to see how the team was doing on the mission.

It wasn't going so easy as they planed back in the tower a few hours ago, as they had run into a group of mercenaries who weren't going to give up so easily. The brunette just hoped everyone was okay and managed to complete the mission—and he really hoped Y/N was okay and didn't get hurt.

A feeling of anguish and anxiety was causing Bob's chest to tighten. His leg kept moving as he played with the Rubik's Cube in his hands, unable to complete a color.

The sound of bullets filled his ears, and his jaw clenched as he heard and saw Yelena or Bucky being hit. Alexei grumbled as he tried to pull a man off John to help him, and Ava took care of a few. Y/N tried to stop the bullets as best she could, but there were some hidden snipers she couldn't sense with her powers so easily.

"There's to many of them!" John complains through the earpiece in Bob's ear.

"Fuck! If we don't stop the ones from the roof we cannot go back to the car!" Ava exclaims in an almost exhaustive voice.

"Shit. C'mon guys" Bob whispers while frowning his eyebrows at the scene.

"Bob, can you see how many are on the roof?" Yelena asks from the communicator in her ear.

"Uh, yeah, yeah" he says inmediatly "There's five on the roof. Three of them has guns and two of them are programming something on the computer. Seems like.... oh no"

"What Bob?" Bucky asks.

"It's a bomb! You need to get out of there" Bob says quickly.

"Shit," Yelena curses.

"I can try to stop them. But I need you to cover my back," Y/N says in a confident, hurried tone.

Bob watches as the girl begins to head toward the other side to attack the group of men with guns at the entrance. The others try to stop anyone from attacking her, and she moves stealthily between the bodies to reach the entrance. Bob focuses his attention on the cameras in the building that shows Y/N, his heart aching at what's happening in the footage. Or what could happen.

"Please, be careful," Bob whispers.

Y/N stops the guards' bullets at the entrance with precision in her movements and attacks some who plan to hit her. Bob's eyes glance at the rest of the team as they manage to escape thanks to the distraction caused by the girl with green sparkles flashing from her fingers. However, he doesn't stop for more than five seconds just to check on the girl again. He wants to make sure she's okay, even if it's from behind the computer. Far away from the place where she is right now —just the thought of it makes his inner self freak out.

Something it's beginning to awake inside of him. Something he thought he had buried for his own good.

Or rather someone.

"Y/N, all done. Let's head to the car. I'll try to get to you right away," Bucky orders.

"No. It's okay, I got this," she chimes in stubbornly.

Bob shakes his head.

But before she can do so, a stray bullet hits her shoulder, destabilizing the girl.

"Fuck!" she complains, touching her shoulder.

"Y/N?" Bucky asks worriedly.

"Y/N!" Bob yells, watching as one of the guards hits her with her gun on the back of her head, causing the girl to fall unconscious to the ground.

That's it.

Bob rushes out of the tower's communications room and runs to the balcony, where he takes to the air with determination. He doesn't stop for a second, because time is precious, especially after seeing Y/N getting attacked. The only thing that keeps repeating in his mind is the visual image of the girl being injured, so he moves quickly through the air until he reaches the others. He had seen the coordinates and the area where they were, so it was easy for him to arrive in time.

Bob tries to find the place that the camera allowed him to watched the area in wich the girl was back at the tower, and when he finds it, he is surprised to find that one of the men responsible of attacking Y/N is carrying her unconscious body in his arms. Fury courses through his veins at the sight, and he rushes to stop the bastard. It's as if he's being consumed by darkness, a sensation he knows all too well.

As soon as he's in front of the guy, he stops him and without a second thought, tries to attack him, careful not to hit Y/N. The man looks at him in horror and carefully places the girl's body on the ground, then raises his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know..." he stumbles, but all Bob sees is red.

He growls and begins to mercilessly beat the man's body, making him bleed, and doesn't stop until he's unconscious. Blow after blow, unleashing all the anger he felt at seeing how the bastard hurt the girl. He can still see her grimace of pain and how her body fell unconscious to the ground, helpless, and who knows what they might have done to her if he hadn't arrived in time.

"Please...." the man begs almost unconscious.

Bob doesn't hear him. He doesn't want to.

And Void doesn't want to too.

The rest of the team arrives at Y/N's location, only to see her lying on the ground with a scarlet stain forming on the shoulder of her suit, while Bob kills the man. Ava approaches the girl's body and makes sure she has a steady pulse, while John makes sure that no one appears and attacks them by surprise.

"Bob," Yelena warns and tries to approach him to make him see reason.

"No! He hurt her. No one can touch her, or hurt her!" he exclaims in a mixture of anger and darkness. "No one! You heard me? Fucking no one!"

The others stare at the scene and notice how Y/N wakes up and observes the state Bob is in. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she rushes over to him and wraps her arms around him from behind, resting her face on his.

"Bob, hey. It's okay," she murmurs in his ear, feeling the man begin to slow down the blows, so she tightens her grip on his body. "I'm okay. Everything will be okay."

Bob calms down and brings his now covered in blood hands to Y/N's arms, then turns his body and hugs her with all his strength, trying to cover her body to protect her just in case, and also feel her in his arms and make sure nothing happens to her anymore.

"You are hurt" he whispers in her ear.

"It's just a scratch. I'll be fine" Y/N says with a small smile on her lips.

"He hurt you. I couln't allow him to do it" he says in a broken voice.

Y/N looks at the rest of the team and smiles at them, letting them know she's okay. Kinda. Bucky sighs and shakes his head at the girl in that state, knowing she must be screaming from the pain of the bullet, while Alexei smiles sideways and tries to encourage her from a distance. The blonde russian girl mouths to her that she will get the car ready to go, to wich Y/N nods and indicates her to do so.

"We still have our date," she tells him, still standing with the brunette, glancing at the man's lifeless body.

Bob lets out a sigh and nods his head against Y/N's chest, agreeing with her.

"Our date," he says in a soft tone, relaxing at the touch of her fingers in his hair. Although he can't help but feel anger again when he smells the metallic scent coming from the girl's wound.

"Yeah. Are we still up to that?"

"Definitely" Bob answers and lets out a small laugh.

She smiles and then pulls away from him to look him in the eye. Those blue orbits who watch her with a spark on his eyes.

"So let's go home and have our date, okay?" Bob nods and then lowers his gaze to the girl's wound.

"First, we need to treat your wound," he says, pointing to the red stain on her suit.

"Would you help me with that?"

"You don't have to ask me twice."

They both stare at each other with a small smile on their faces, understanding how much they care for each other and would do anything to keep them safe and viceversa.

Especially Bob.

And as long as Y/N is in his arms, he'll be okay.

[ferrstappen]

dad of three l dad! max verstappen imagine

a/n: sooo max is officially a dad 😭😭 so I picked up the draft of my dad!Max series with the twins which you can find here! I hope you like it and let me m ow if you have some ideas!

summary: baby verstappen nº3 is here, and the twins are now happy with the idea.

It had been a quiet morning, at least by the new Verstappen household standards.

The Monaco penthouse, usually alive with the squabbling of six-year-old twins and the occasional feline disaster, was unusually peaceful. The cause of this rare tranquility? The arrival of Baby Lia had everyone mesmerized, literally and metaforically having everyone wrapped around her little finger.

Youcradled the newborn in your arms, gently rocking her in the nursery Max had insisted on painting himself. Pale pink walls, soft grey furniture, and a mobile of tiny stars that the twins helped assemble.

“You’re not even crying today,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss on Lia’s forehead. “It’s like you know I needed a break, what a smart baby, yes you are.”

Footsteps padded down the hallway, fast and energetic. Then came the crash of something toppling over. The twins ready to disrupt the quiet.

“Mila!” Luca’s voice rang out, shrill and dramatic. “You almost dropped her bunny!”

“It’s not my fault Jimmy knocked it down!” Mila huffed back.

You sighed, smiling despite the quiet moment gone. The calm had lasted exactly twelve minutes.

You stepped into the hallway with Lia, just in time to see Jimmy dart out from under the baby’s toy box with a fluff of pink clutched between his teeth.

“Mama!” Mila wailed, dramatic tears already forming. “Jimmy stole Lia’s bunny!”

“Yes, because you dropped it, Mila!” Luca reprimanded his twin.

Before you could intervene, Max’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Jimmy! No stealing from the baby!”

Max appeared, wearing sweatpants, a Red Bull hoodie, and holding two sippy cups. He looked equally amused and tired. parenthood in a nutshell.

“Crisis averted?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I think Jimmy wants attention,” you replied, bouncing Lia gently. “He’s jealous, he probably thought it was only going to be the twins forever.”

Max chuckled, scooping up the cat and plopping him into Luca’s arms. “That’s what happens when you’ve ruled the house for years. Then babies come and steal your spotlight. Tough life.”

“And what about Sassy?” You asked Max.

Max glanced toward the back of the couch where Sassy lounged with the disinterest of a feline queen, which of course she was. “She’s plotting our demise, probably.”

You snorted, the vibrations of your body earning a smile from Lia.

The twins came running, now united in their mission: cooing at their baby sister.

“Can I hold her again?” Mila asked, reaching for Lia’s tiny hand.

“No, me first!” Luca insisted, already positioning the couch pillows for support just like Max had shown them.

You sighed again, this time with a full heart. You remembered the day you told the twins about the pregnancy, Luca had declared he didn’t want “a baby stealing his toys,” and Mila had spent the afternoon sulking because “babies are boring.” And both of them had tried really hard to stop the baby’s arrival.

Now? They were obsessed.

It was later that weekend in Miami when Max found himself being cornered in the paddock for an interview with Sky Sports Netherlands.

“So Max,” the interview began in Dutch, “congratulations again on the new addition to the family! How are things going at home with three kids now?”

Max grinned, hands in his pockets. “Chaotic. Loud. Exhausting… Perfect.”

The interviewer laughed. “And the twins? How are Mila and Luca adjusting? I remember they weren’t too pumped when we crossed paths a few months ago.”

Max didn’t hesitate. “Honestly? I thought they’d hate it. When we told them (Y/N) was pregnant, Luca wanted to move out.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Mila made us sign a paper saying we’d still play Barbie games with her even after the baby came. They were so in denial that we got a call from their teacher.”

The small group of journalists laughed.

“But now?” Max continued. “They’re obsessed. They follow Lia around like bodyguards. Luca brings her toys she can’t even use, Mila sings to her. They fight about who gets to hold her. I think I’ve held her less than both of them.”

“And the cats?” The interviewer teased. “I hear Jimmy and Sassy have opinions.

“Oh, Jimmy’s a menace. He tries to sleep in the crib,” Max said, his tone fond. “Sassy’s smarter, she gives Lia a five-foot radius. She watches from a distance like she’s evaluating her for royal court or something which is very entertaining.”

There was more laughter.

“Sounds like a full house.”

Max nodded. “It is. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

-

Back home, the house was quieter than usual.

With Max in Miami, you were managing the trio on your own. Your mother had offered to stay, but you politely declined, liking the rhythm and evolving routine; early mornings with Lia after the twins left to school, midday chaos with the twins, and long, quiet evenings watching Max on the TV while feeding the baby.

You curled onto the couch, baby Lia nestled in a wrap on your chest, Mila curled up beside you, and Luca was completely knocked out from building a Lego fortress with a secret baby princess chamber, which he assured was for both Lia and Mila.

Max’s interview played in the background. “Luca wanted to move out,” Max said on the screen, laughing.

You giggled, watching Luca’s face twitch in sleep as if he’d heard his name.

The moment made your heart ache with pride and love.

Two days later, Max came home.

The door opened quietly, he’d learned not to make noise just in case Lia was sleeping, but before he could take a step in, Mila barreled into him.

“Papa!” she squealed.

Max laughed, lifting her with one arm and dropping his bag with the other. Luca followed, hugging Max’s waist.

You appeared at the end of the hall, holding Lia with one hand and balancing a bottle in the other. “Hello babe, the house didn’t burn down.”

He met you halfway, kissing you deeply, letting his hand rest over Lia’s tiny head. “Missed you,” he whispered on your lips.

“She missed you too. She kept staring at the TV every time you talked.”

“She’s a Verstappen, she knows good racing.” Max bragged, a habit he picked since the twins were born was now at its peak after the birth of Lia. “Plus, she was conceived the night I won the fourth so she knows what’s good.” Max whispered the last part so the twins wouldn’t hear.

Later that night, the five of you, cats included, were on the bed.

Mila had brought her blanket, Luca had brought snacks which were promptly confiscated by Max. Jimmy snuggled into Max’s feet while Sassy stared at the baby with mild disapproval.

Lia gurgled softly between you, wearing a pale pink Red Bull onesie Max had been gifted by the team.

“I can’t believe we made her,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered back, brushing his thumb along Lia’s little hand. “She’s perfect.”

“I was so scared,” you admitted. “I thought adding another baby would ruin the balance and let’s be honest, we never really thought about having another baby, we were just desperate to celebrate your championship.” You giggled, remembering the night.

Max turned to you, cupping your cheek. “You were right to be scared. But we didn’t ruin anything. We just… added more love.”

Luca yawned. “Papa, can Lia come to the next race?”

Max smiled. “Not yet, buddy. But soon.”

Mila curled next to her mother. “She needs earmuffs with her name printed, like the ones we use when we go see daddy race.”

“She’ll have them,” Max promised. “We’ll get her baby-sized ones.”

You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading like sunlight.

“I know we have enough but… I think we need a new cat.” Max proposed.

You snorted. “Excuse me?”

Max shrugged. “It’s only fair! The twins have Jimmy and Sassy, Lia deserves her own.” Your husband worked his beautiful blue eyes on you.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” You said, knowing this fight was already lost.

“Mila was also talking about a puppy after meeting Leo.”

“Max!”

[abbotsanatomy]

heyyyyyyyyyyyyy are requests open by any chance 🥹 if yes i would love love love a chef!reader x jack and it’s a regular occurrence for her to visit and drop off food BUT but one day she comes in and she’s like i may have sliced something……. THANK YOU you’re my fave blog rn this jack hyperfixation needs to leave my body or else i’ll go crazy💋

⨳ TODAY'S SPECIAL

pairing: jack abbot x chef!reader warnings: depiction of injury and surgical procedure, intentional medical inaccuracies (for the plot :p). not beta'd! author's note: such a fun idea! so honored to be feeding the jack abbot craze

On today's dinner menu was supposed to be roasted rack of lamb, smothered in a rosemary-infused butter, with garlicky oven-baked potatoes. Key word: supposed.

Your carefully curated ritual of making dinner for Jack and bringing it to his work was interrupted by you accidentally slicing your thumb half off. It's what you get for not sharpening your knives when they needed to be sharpened, last week.

Now, you're on the way to the ER for an entirely different reason. You've got your good hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your leg, with a towel that smells faintly of garlic wrapped around your injury. It only hurts a little, for now. You're sure that'll change when the adrenaline of it all wears off. Or at least that's what you've heard.

You're hoping you can get there and be administered some kind of pain-killer before that pain sets in. Morbidly, the rest of your thumb's in a plastic baggie, that's in another plastic baggie filled with ice, because that's what google told you to do. And in the absence of your doctor boyfriend, you listen to google.

Obviously, you use the back emergency entrance, like Jack's instructed you to do, if you ever happened to find yourself in need of actual medical assistance. You'd fought him on the principle, claiming the whole thing stinks of favoritism and some kind of medical malpractice. Now, with the pain slowly tingling up your entire arm, you can't find it in yourself to care.

The glass doors of the ER open automatically, as you walk in with a chunk of your left thumb in your right hand. You're escorted by one of the EMTs who was standing outside when you drove by. You'd seen her around a handful of times.

“Yeah, so I was making dinner for myself and my boyfriend. You know him,” you pause, as she takes the plastic bag from your hand and nods.

“It just sliced in half. It's partially my fault. I forgot to sharpen my cooking knives,” you go on, as she finds you a place to sit and calls a nurse to grab Jack.

She smiled empathetically at you, “Don't worry. We'll get you taken care of. Dr.Abbot should be here any minute. Just keep your hand elevated for me.”

Although you're about 99 percent sure the nurse walking in behind Jack already told him exactly what's going on, he still looks incredibly shocked to see you sitting there.

“Heeey,” you say, trying to wave the injured hand instinctively.

You quickly realize how bad of an idea that was, though, “Oh, ow. Ow.”

He gives you a once-over, and then quickly instructs the nurse to grab something. Presumably, hopefully, some pain meds. You realize you assumed correct, when she comes back with a few pills and a cup of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and swallow the pills in one go with the water.

Jack's just standing there, watching you. When you put the paper cup down onto the side table, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. It's almost like he's putting off looking at your wound, even though he probably knows it's inevitable.

“I had such a great dinner planned. You have no idea,” you boast.

It makes Jack crack a smile, as he walks over to wash his hands. He takes a seat in front of you, and then looks at the rag on your finger expectantly.

“Come on. Let's take a look,” he begins, pulling the towel off, “I heard you kept the rest of it in ice. Good thinking.”

You nod, smiling to yourself at the praise, “Mhm, I know right? Didn't even panic or anything.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he affirms, still inspecting the injury.

In that moment, John Shen pops his head into the room.

“Woah, hey. What's Gordon here in for?” he asks Jack.

The nickname makes you roll your eyes. You really don't even like Gordon Ramsay.

“Sliced my thumb. Unfortunately,” you sigh.

You can't help but ask the one question on your mind right now, “Think you can reattach it?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out, sweetheart.”

You all wait with bated breath. Chopping things up could become infinitely more difficult with half a thumb.

“Yup. Found a vein for anastomoses. We can proceed with replantation,” Jack announces.

“Perfect,” Shen adds, and then leaves the room.

You let out a long sigh, “Oh thank god! I've never been more nervous in my life, I think.”

Jack leans in to kiss the side of your face, “Yeah, I could tell. You have absolutely no confidence in me.”

“No! That's not it. Not at all. You try almost losing your thumb!” you defend.

He grins at you with a tilt of his head. Then he looks down at his prosthetic, and back up at you. His expressions reads, ‘Really?’

You grimace, “Yeah, alright. You win this one.”

Jack makes quick work out of gathering everything he needs and disinfecting your wound. He starts the reattachment process, after giving you a numbing shot that makes you feel nothing from your shoulder downward.

You don't really understand what's going on, but Jack tries to explain as he's going. Frankly, you're too busy intently watching his hands work and admiring how incredibly sexy the surgical loupes he's wearing make him look. It should be criminal for him to look that good, while reattaching your thumb.

“This, right here, might be the hottest you've ever been,” you blurt out.

It makes him pause for a moment. Not in shock, just contemplation.

“Wow. Really?” he questions, the soft curve of his brows furrowed in disbelief.

You can't help but giggle at his tone. Maybe it's the antibiotics making you a little loopy, but how he's looking at you is also incredibly funny.

“I mean, yeah,” you reason, “Sure, sex with you is great, but this might be better.”

Jack just smiles and gets back to work. Mostly because he knows it isn't true; nothing tops the sex you have together. That shit's spiritual. But also, because he doesn't fully get it. He's never understood the appeal that apparently comes with being in scrubs.

Although he's deciding to back down, you need a clean-cut victory. You want him to actually understand.

“Hey, it's totally like when you spend an hour staring at my ass while I make dinner. It's mostly just that, but it's also you appreciating my cooking and how well I do my job,” you explain. “It's attractive!”

“Yeah. Sure, I can see it,” he concedes. It's a win you'll take.

There's a long pause. Just the sounds of the surgical tools in his hands filling the space between you. He's busy taking care of your finger, obviously, but you can also tell he's pondering what you just said.

“You like taking care of people,” is all Jack comes up with. You're more than able to fill in the rest, though.

“It's what I love about you.”

He doesn't need to say it. The words are buried in his tone, in the reverence in his eyes, in the gentleness of his touch on your arm, even though he knows you can't even feel it right now.

So, you nod, and come up with one of your own, “And you are immune to panic. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you haven't experienced a day of dread in your life.”

That earns you another smile. It takes him five minutes to come up with another thing to say.

The procedure takes much longer than you'd previously expected. Neither you nor Jack were too bothered by that. Anyone passing by with snacks or words of encouragement definitely found how you and Jack went back and forth, subtly trying to one-up each other with your compliments, incredibly cheesy.

The hours you spent in the ER recliner, with Jack hunched over your hand, meticulously gluing you back together, were a love letter to your long-lasting relationship. One you'll cherish for as long as you still have the tip of your left thumb attached to your hand.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 4 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: language, angst, hurt feelings, arguments, casual/recreational drinking, a super cringe dm exchange, bad behavior by pretty much everyone except soonchan because they're perfect angels, an almost-kiss

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

You don’t see or hear from Seungcheol for days - during which you go from feeling disappointed to confused and embarrassed, which is where you land by the next weekend.

His absolute silence was surprising, and remains confusing, but you’re determined to keep as much of your dignity intact as possible, so when Soonyoung texts you to come hang out on Friday night, you accept.

If you’re praying that Seungcheol doesn’t show up, no one needs to know but you.

And maybe your brother will have some insight as to what happened.

You hadn’t talked to Soonyoung about it at all, yet. You’re sure you’ll be accosted for information immediately on arriving, and you waste a good hour of your afternoon trying to decide what you’ll say. Should you lie and say everything went right back to normal? What if Seungcheol has just been busy, and he reaches out and does want to talk, or see you, or -? No, that won’t happen. Best to just be honest.

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’re still unsure what to say, and still unsure if you’d rather see Seungcheol there and potentially have to face his disinterest head-on, or if you’d rather he not be there there, leaving you wondering about where his head is for another week or so.

You spend all evening turning this over and over in your mind - how tender he’d been with you at the resort, his dimpled grin and airy giggles when you goofed off together, his hands on your body, his music in your ears. And now silence.

Had you imagined it all?

No. You know you hadn’t. There had been something between you. So…what had happened?

Your brother greets you by pressing a beer into your hand, the cold both jarring and grounding, somehow.

“Bless you,” you joke, but really, you mean it. You say a quick hello to the guys on the couch (Vernon, Joshua, and Wonwoo for now) and then you head for the kitchen, for some semblance of privacy. You perch on the counter, leaning back against Soonyoung’s ugly cabinets, and down part of the beer. When you set down the bottle, your brother and his dumb roommate - a brother by proxy - stare at you expectantly from the kitchen table.

“What?” you ask.

Soonyoung levels you with a look. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

You shrug. “Can’t think of anything.”

Dumb and Dumber exchange a look and then turn back to you in unison. “About Seungcheol? And you?” he prompts flatly.

You struggle with what to say next. You look down at your beer bottle, at your feet, at the floor. Finally, you meet your brother’s eyes, feeling that wave of embarrassment rise up inside you. At the end of the day, Seungcheol left you looking like a fool. You shrug, let this speak for itself.

And he understands, because he’s your brother, and he’s known you as long as he’s been alive. Something in his face crumples a little. “I’m sorry,” he says. He lets this sit for a minute, then adds “I shouldn’t have suggested that you bring him…”

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him. “And I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It wasn’t that deep, honestly. I just… feel really fucking stupid.”

“Noona, no,” Chan says, reaching across the table as if to soothe you. “We were all there. We all saw what was going on.”

This should make you feel better, but it doesn’t.

“I just…” you trail off, heels kicking against the lower cabinets, “I’m just… confused, I guess. When we were coming home, I was sure - like - even at the airport he was…”

They look at you with twin looks of sympathy, waiting you out.

You tap the bottom of the glass bottle against the countertop, just to look at something besides their pitying faces.

“I thought something would happen,” you finish quietly. “And I’m just confused as to why it didn’t. But it’ll be okay. It wasn’t that deep.”

The silence drags so long that you do look back up at them, finding them engaging in one of their frequent silent conversations.

Finally, your little brother meets your gaze, a bit cowed. “Would you… feel better, if you understood why? Or worse?”

Your blood runs cold, though you couldn’t say why. You just know by the question that they know something, that there is something to know.

“Tell me,” you demand.

“Have you… seen his insta?” Soonyoung asks timidly.

“No,” you say, heart sinking. “I unfollowed yesterday.”

He slides his phone across the table for you to see, and you’ve got the gist of it before your feet even hit the linoleum: him and Jieun, faces pressed tight together for a selfie.

You freeze in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on the screen, taking in the way he presses his cheek into the top of her head, familiar and affectionate.

It all makes sense, now - how he’d changed his tune out of nowhere. Jieun had said jump, and he’d leapt from his seat, as you’d seen him do for her since you were all still in college.

You wonder at what point during the trip she’d reared her head again - before the flight home? After?

There’s no way to know.

Joshua appears in the doorway, looking around at you warily like he knows he’s interrupting something.

“Sorry,” he says, skirting around where you stand frozen in the kitchen’s center, as if he’s afraid to get too close. “I just needed another beer.”

“No, you’re fine,” you say, making your way towards the table. “We were heading in there in a minute anyway.”

As Joshua exits again, beer in hand, he spots Soonyoung’s phone on the table, the offending image still displayed.

“Yah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again, right?”

You all stare at each other in silence as he leaves.

Finally, you sigh. “Can you just… warn me if he’s coming over?”

Chan frowns. “Don’t leave just because he’s here,” he begs.

“I won’t,” you promise. “It’ll just be nice to have some warning, you know?”

There’s nothing any of you can say to change the situation. You’ll just have to deal, have to move on. It’ll be fine; you just need a bit of time. In the end, you should just be grateful it wasn’t worse, grateful your heart hadn’t gotten in deeper. All things considered, you got out pretty unscathed.

Back in the living room, you all settle in and put on a movie you’ve seen a hundred times so you can talk over it without upsetting anyone. It feels nice to settle back into normal, back with people you consider friends, back with your brother, and you feel yourself relax.

That is, until Vernon’s phone buzzes on the coffee table and he reaches to answer it. “Hey hyung. Yes, at Soonyoung’s. Okay. Sweet.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone back to where it was, obliviously announcing, “Hyung is coming over.”

Even if you weren’t sure which hyung it was, the reaction would answer for you. Soonyoung and Chan look at you so immediately, heads turning in unison, that you feel yourself flush hot. Your stomach twists.

You spend the next ten minutes - you time it - arguing with yourself, trying to talk yourself into staying, trying to convince yourself that you can handle this.

Your cowardly side wins.

“I’m pretty tired,” you lie, starting to rise. Maybe some of the guys will buy it. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

The look Chan gives you reminds you of a sad puppy, but you do your best to ignore him as you wave goodbye, gather your things, and slink out of the apartment.

You’re too late; you spent too long waffling. Seungcheol’s car is parked two spots down from yours, and he seems to be fishing around his backseat for something. You try to sneak to your car, but he spots you, straightening up and closing his door.

“Hey,” he says tightly, and you wonder if he’s nervous, too.

“Hi,” you say back. You don’t mean it to sound like, hi, you asshole, but it absolutely does.

You stare at each other across the cracked concrete, the tension thickening.

You don’t know what to say - you don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation from him instead of your baby brother? Both?

Finally, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, shoulders sagging a little. “I should have texted you.”

It’s neither an apology nor an explanation, so you look at him flatly. “Only if you had something worth saying,” you say, and you can hear how cold it is. You suppose he deserves it, at least a little.

He seems to tuck small into himself for just a second. “So I guess you heard.”

You squint at him. “Could have saved me some embarrassment if you’d had the balls to tell me yourself, but yeah, I was informed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly - appeasing, insincere, just to get you off his back.

“Sure,” you say easily. “It’s whatever.”

He hears the lie for what it is and goes on the defensive. “It was supposed to stay there,” he points out. “We said - we said it stayed there.”

“We said that before,” you shoot back. Before he’d kissed you in private, before you’d slept together, before you’d stayed up all night talking, before he’d held your hand even when the weekend was over.

“No,” he snaps, taking a step towards you, away from his car. “You don’t get to do that. We agreed that we’d come home and go back to how it was. You don’t get to change your mind because you - because -”

He trails off; he clearly doesn’t want to put words in your mouth, doesn’t want to say because you liked it when you haven’t admitted it yourself.

“But you can change your mind - and let’s both be very clear, that’s what happened here - you can change your mind, just because your ex came sniffing around again?”

There it is - the whole picture, the entire truth, shattered on the feet of pavement between you, shards spraying into the darkness around you.

His expression darkens. “You don’t understand.”

You laugh, once, bitter. “I’ve been around since undergrad,” you bite. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

It’s true - you’ve seen it all before, the games Seungcheol and Jieun play to piss each other off: waiting to see who would text first, purposely making each other jealous, being petty and passive aggressive instead of ever talking something out.

Something plaintive crosses his face and he opens his arms wide, beseeching. “Don’t I owe it to her to try?” he asks, voice pained. “What if I can do it this time? What if I’ve… grown enough, or whatever, to be right for her?”

You feel sorry for him - that’s the feeling that overcomes all the others. Because you understand this fear: that not working is his fault, that it says something about his character, that it’s a fatal diagnosis that he’ll never shake.

That if he can’t do it right with her, it means he can’t do it right with anyone.

And you know he’s wrong. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering his question. He lets his arms drop, just stares at you across the pavement. “You’re not broken or irredeemable. And nothing’s wrong with her either.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “But?” he bites out.

“There is no but. You’re both capable of being a great partner to someone. Just not each other. It’s not a bad thing, and it’s not anyone’s fault. You just need someone… different than her.”

“Someone like you,” he says flatly, like he’s clarifying, but the sarcasm isn’t as hidden away as he might have meant. 

You regard him evenly. You still feel mostly pity. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “We didn’t get to find out.”

Then you shake your car key out from the others and head for your driver’s side door.

He calls your name, quietly, but you ignore him. You make a point of not looking for him in your mirrors as you toss your phone into the center console, slide into reverse, and weave out of the parking lot. You don’t want to know if he watches you go. It doesn’t matter either way.

The thing about your brother is that he has tells. Blatant ones, even over texting. So when his picture - an old, grainy one you’d found in one of your mom’s physical photo albums, from the year he was four, grinning in a full-bodied hamster onesie - pops up on your phone with a faux-innocent “hiiiiii” beside it, you frown immediately.

“Hi what?” you send back. You just know, based on years of experience, that he's going to ask you something he thinks you won't agree to.

And he knows you too well, because he knows that being cute about it won't help him. Instead, his next message is just the link to a brewery's website and the question - “Friday night?”

You click it and scroll around - it seems like it's pretty new, and the owners must be trying to drum up young clientele, because the website boasts a number of events (trivia! paint and sip! 90’s night!) and the photo gallery proudly displays images of games like giant jenga and cornhole.

You're still scrolling through the photo gallery when you're interrupted by an incoming call. You go to swipe it away - instinct, naturally - when you realize it says Nayoung. 

You frown, rereading the name on the screen as if maybe it’s a lie. Then, with a bit of simmering anxiety, you slide your thumb to accept the call.

“Hey, unnie. What's wrong?” you ask automatically, sure that she must be calling because someone is dying - nothing short of that ever got her to call before.

Her silence on the other end rings for a second, long enough to make you scared that someone really did die.

“Unnie?” you prod.

“Sorry - hi,” she says, her voice coming to life in your ear. “Nothing’s wrong. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s an edge to her voice and you try to define it - defensive? Irritated?

“Oh,” you say. This whole thing is so weird. “So, then, what’s up?”

“Just calling to chat, I guess.”

“You guess?” It slips out before you can stop it.

She sighs, like she knows you’re right. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s weird, right? I just… seeing you made me realize that you’re all grown up now, and I don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Every instinct you have is begging you to defend, to dig your shovel into the crumbling, wet earth of years of anger. But you want to see what she has to say before you bury her.

When you don’t answer, she pushes on. “I was just thinking that… if I want to change that… someone needs to start trying. And I guess it should be me.”

You tap your fingers on your desk, uneasy. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit. “I guess I appreciate… that you want to.” It feels stilted at best, completely faked at worst. You need time to process, to decide what you want. You wish this had been a text message so you didn’t have to say anything until you were ready, until you'd scripted it perfectly.

Because, in real time, she asks, haltingly, “Well, what do you want?”

You can’t not answer. You can’t spend six hours asking for help to craft the ideal reply.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Okay,” she says, like she’d braced herself for a worse response and she’s relieved it’s only this. “Okay, that’s okay. That’s fine. Just… think about it.”

“Mhm,” you manage. You feel like you’re in a play and no one ever gave you your lines. Then, as you glance sideways at the calendar tacked to your office’s bulletin board, you ask, “Aren’t you still on your honeymoon?”

She laughs, and the tension breaks a little. “Yeah. We’re just hanging out right now. We have two more days and then it’s back to reality.”

“Sorry,” you deadpan, and she laughs again.

“Me too,” she agrees. Then, she adds, “Well, I’ll let you go. I know it’s a workday.”

“Yes and I am clearly working very hard,” you say flatly, just to make her laugh again.

“If you want to call or text,” she says, “you’re welcome to, okay?”

“Sure,” you say, but you know you won’t. Habits of over twenty years are pretty tough to break, you think.

“Are you having a good time?”

It’s a delicate question; you find yourself spending your Friday night at the brewery that Soonyoung had texted you about, and it should be fun - has all the trappings of a good time. The vibe is nice, the live music is great, and you love a good game, so you’ve been playing giant Jenga and connect-4 against Soonyoung and Chan for the last two hours as you knock back different craft beers. All things you like.

But for some reason - which certainly isn’t that Seungcheol is here, and he hasn’t talked to you once, instead staying sequestered with Mingyu and Jeonghan - you’re in a shitty mood, constantly checking your phone to see if it’s late enough that you can leave without being a party pooper. 

You’re not even sure how long ago Chan and Soonyoung abandoned you with the stranger. You’re seated at the bar now, your back facing the games, and you can hear Seokmin’s noisy giggle floating your way.

“Yeah,” you say, because you hate being impolite. “I seem to have lost my friends, though.”

The guy - who, now that you’re paying attention, is actually pretty cute - glances over your shoulder towards the giggler. “I noticed,” he says, turning back to you, “that you are here with thirteen guys. What’s the situation? Are they, like, your sister wives?”

You laugh, and he smiles, happy to have succeeded. “Well, the one about to start crying over Jenga is my little brother, so let’s quickly remove him from the scenario,” you say, and the guy nods, playing along.

“They’re mostly his friends,” you admit. “I just tag along.”

“Ah,” he says. “So no sister wives. Or boyfriends.”

“Ah,” you repeat, because he showed his hand. “No boyfriends or wives. Or partners of any kind, just to cover all the bases.”

He does a valiant job trying to carry a conversation with you, and you try to engage at least to a polite degree, but your heart just isn’t in it. Your bad mood festers, weighs heavy like water-logged clothing. When the clock strikes midnight, you consider yourself off the hook.

You apologize to the guy - whose name you didn’t even get, during this whole time - and extract yourself. You make your way over to where the guys are gathered by the indoor cornhole games. 

“I’m gonna head,” you tell your brother. 

He frowns, glancing at his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

You nod, tight-lipped. You don’t want to speak, don’t want to let it all spill out - that it isn’t fun to hang around trying not to watch Seungcheol out of the corners of your eyes, not fun to push your bitterness down and keep up the mask of someone who isn’t angry. 

Luckily, he doesn’t push it. “Fine,” he says, kind of flatly, and it makes you sad for a whole different reason. You hate letting Soonyoung down. “Get home safe.”

In your periphery, you watch Seungcheol’s head snap up at this. You shift so he’s out of your view, start pulling up the app to get a ride home. 

He doesn’t get the message your body-language is sending, instead sidling up next to you, his own phone in hand.

“Are you heading out?” he asks. “I was going, too, if you want to share a ride.”

Soonyoung gives you a quick pat on the arm and dips, heading back to Chan and the little bean-bags on the cornhole board. You don’t blame him - you wish you could vanish from here, too.

“Fine,” you say evenly. You don’t wait for him or even look back as you tap to confirm the ride. You just head for the front door at a clip.

Outside, you have a few minutes to wait before the car will arrive. You cross your arms, watching the street carefully, determined to engage with Seungcheol as little as possible.

Apparently, he has his own agenda. “You’re leaving pretty early,” he observes, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket. 

You hum noncommittally, since he hadn’t asked a question. 

“Not having fun?” he prods.

You glance sideways at him. His cheeks are a bit pink. You hadn’t been paying enough attention to know how much he had to drink, but you’re wondering if he’s a little buzzed. 

“Just tired,” you lie, because it’s fewer syllables than the truth. 

He nods. His phone buzzes in his pocket again, loud enough that you both hear it. His face instantly shifts into guilt before he can correct it, and you know it’s Jieun blowing him up. You know that’s why he’s leaving early. You don’t even need to ask.

“Listen,” he says finally, and you lift your gaze to him. You feel absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, but your voice comes out hard.

“You know.”

This makes you let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you can’t even articulate it, then I don’t think I can accept.”

He sighs heavily, like you’re being difficult. “I’m not sorry that I chose to try again with Jieun,” he admits. “I think I have the right. But I’m sorry that you got hurt in the process. That wasn’t… what I wanted.”

You choke back the defensive I’m not hurt. “I appreciate the apology,” you say coolly. 

He regards you silently. For a second you’re back at the resort and he’s your knight in shining armor, ready to stand between you and whatever’s upsetting you. For a second, you’re back between his arms in bed, warm and safe and hopeful. For a second, your hand is back in his, accepting his promise to make things better for you.

The car slides up to the curb and you check the license plate against the app before opening the door and getting into the backseat. 

“I hope you’ll actually forgive me,” he says quietly, as the car pulls away. “Even if it takes a while.”

And there he is, your Seungcheol - earnest and quiet. 

“I forgive you,” you say. “I’m just… I’ll be fine. You hurt my pride, but I’ll get over it.”

“I am really sorry,” he repeats, and this time you believe him a little more. 

“It’s fine,” you say, because it’s going to have to be. “We’ve got to move past it, anyway, or things will be weird for my brother forever.”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a minute, thinking. His phone buzzes twice more on his lap, but he ignores it. 

“Do you think we can?” he asks finally. “Move past it? Maybe be friends?”

That would be new, you think. 

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. You’d have to put a lot of feelings away - both the good ones and the bad ones. “Do you think we could?”

He shrugs. “I already consider you my friend.”

You stare at your lap for a minute. “I’ll try,” you tell him, because it’s the most you can offer. 

He sends you a tiny, sideways smile. “I’m glad,” he says. 

That’s the last thing you say for the rest of the ride, until you’re slipping out of the car and calling a goodbye over your shoulder.

August

Time heals all wounds, and while you don’t want to say you were wounded necessarily, things do settle down - the sting ebbs, day by day. It’s replaced with acceptance and a bit of that same unnamable feeling that you always get when you think of Seungcheol and his quest to fix things with Jieun. It’s sort of how one might feel about Sisyphus - you understand his motivations and the good place they come from, but you wish he could step away and let the rock go, move on to more productive challenges. 

But he can’t - can’t step to the side and let the past roll away, can’t stop trying. Love is a curse, right?

“Don’t comets mean, like, disaster is coming?” Joshua asks. 

You’re all on Soonyoung and Chan’s roof - not even just the eight of you, but a bunch of your brother’s neighbors, too, all with the same idea. You’re not sure you’ll be able to see anything, with the city’s light pollution, but it’s one in the morning and you’re all standing around craning your necks, waiting for the promised show.

“Just change in general,” you say.

“Depends on the person, or the culture,” Vernon corrects from somewhere to your right. “To some, it’s a harbinger of disaster. To some, it just means change - good or bad.”

“Ominous,” Chan says, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder playfully before moving to bother Seungkwan.

You’d all been down in the apartment for a while, drinking and snacking. You’d even created a little themed cocktail you’d named the Comet-kazi, a play on the usual kamikaze made with your favorite tequila. It had been a nice night, even with Seungcheol there. You left each other alone, kept space, but you didn’t feel any of the simmer anything - neither the anger nor the desire. Things felt almost how they used to. Almost.

Now, all crowded together against the concrete wall of the rooftop, you feel a wave of affection for the whole crowd of your brother’s idiot friends - even Seungcheol. You lean a bit on Mingyu, mostly because you’re sleepy and he’s solid enough to hold you up, watching the sky for any flickers or flashes.

Seungcheol’s voice breaks the silence from behind you. “I gotta bounce. Sorry.”

No one answers him for a second, though you feel bodies shift around you as some of the guys look over their shoulders to see him already backing towards the door into the building. Next to you, Soonyoung meets your gaze, his expression flat and knowing - probably mirroring your own. 

It’s Joshua who speaks first. “You sure, man?” he asks. “They said this is once in a lifetime…”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” Seungcheol says, already halfway through the door. He doesn’t look back as he disappears from view.

“Won’t be as good tomorrow,” Vernon mutters, too quiet for Seungcheol to hear. 

In front of you, leaning against the concrete, Chan sighs heavily. 

“We’ve lost him, lads,” Soonyoung murmurs next to you.

“Again,” adds Seungkwan darkly.

You shift your weight to lean against Soonyoung instead of Mingyu, unconsciously moving to comfort him, sensing his distress. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly.

He gives your elbow a squeeze. “None of it’s your fault.”

You aren’t sure you agree with that. Maybe if you’d been better, more worthy somehow - prettier, more witty, something - he’d have chosen you over the familiar path, and then your brother’s friend group wouldn’t be splintering. 

“There,” Mingyu says suddenly, pointing. You all shut up, turning to follow the line of sight from his finger. A few of Soonyoung’s neighbors press closer to your little group, all trying to see.

It takes a second, but then you see it - a ball of light not much bigger than the blinking planets, moving slowly across the sky. It has no tail, no flashes or sparkles or anything else the media might have led you to expect. But still, your eyes stay on it as it travels. You’re all silent, watching, nearly holding your breath.

Change.

You let yourself wonder what kind of change could be in store for you, let yourself hope that maybe - maybe - the universe could be bringing you something good.

“Did you see the comet last night?”

You switch your phone to your other ear and tuck it against your shoulder, your hands busy chopping an onion for dinner. Your mother’s voice rings, tinny. 

“I did,” you tell her, pausing to push some of the chopped pieces to the side with the blunt side of the knife. “I was at Soonyoung’s with all the guys. It was pretty cool. Did you?”

“Mhm,” your mother answers evenly. Then, “All the guys, hm? Was Seungcheol there?”

Your stomach drops. You hesitate on the cusp of the lie, your hands already starting to sweat enough that you have to set down the knife and wipe them on your jeans before resuming the chopping. 

Your fake relationship was - as Seungcheol had said, back on the night you’d argued last month - supposed to stay there. You hadn’t discussed what would happen after, as far as your story. Should you keep the lie going a little longer, or will it make the situation snowball into a problem?

You hesitate too long and your mother catches it. She says your name, inquisitive, and you sigh. You don’t like being dishonest with her. You push the last of the onion pieces into one pile and rinse the knife in the sink, then turn and lean back against the counter, dragging a hand over your face wearily, trying to decide what version of the story to give.

You settle on something that at least mimics the truth.

“We broke up,” you say. You can hear the flatness of your tone, can hear the regret and sliver of hurt in it. Those aren’t a lie at all.

She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and your stomach twists again. You tap your nails against the kitchen counter you’re leaning on, your pulse singing so loud it’s nearly yodeling. Then, she says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

You hear the question for what it is - what happened?

You chew on your bottom lip, once again toying between the truth and a nicer version - it just didn’t work out, or, I’m not really sure what happened.

“His ex came back around,” you admit. It actually feels kind of good to say it to someone that’s not Soonyoung, something loosening in your stomach, a muscle you didn’t know you’d had clenched. “They’ve been on and off as long as I’ve known him. She’s like a drug he can’t quit, or something.” You pause, heart pounding hard as you trip over the words you’ve kept to yourself for almost a month now. “It was stupid of me to think it would be different now.”

Stupid to think he’d be different, for me, you add silently.

She says your name again, soft and regretful, and your eyes fill at the unexpected understanding and sympathy.

You let out a little bitter laugh, just to offset the unwelcome tears. “It is what it is,” you say, because that’s better than backsliding into being hurt, when you’d finally been putting it behind you.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice going uncharacteristically quiet in response to the stark sadness in yours. “You aren’t stupid for hoping something will work. It’s not stupid to hope that someone will step up for you.”

You busy yourself by digging out the pot you need for the soup you want to cook, just to do something, put your sudden adrenaline towards an action. “I guess,” you say, but you’re wondering if she’s speaking from experience with your dad, all those years ago. Is this a lesson she’d learned after waiting for him to step up, time and time again? 

“He seemed to really like you,” she muses in your ear, and your fingers tighten on your phone as your face heats.

Yeah, you think. I thought so, too. You can’t make yourself say it, so you simply hum in agreement. 

She sighs. “Well, darling, there’s nothing to do but brush yourself off and get back on the horse.”

You scoff. “I think I’ll go inside and watch the horses from the window for a while, actually.”

She laughs, understanding the metaphor. “Well, not for too long, yeah?” she concedes. “Or you’ll forget how to ride.”

You drop the pot, the phone falling from your shoulder as you scramble to catch it. “Sorry - sorry,” you tell her, once you’ve righted everything. “Dropped the phone. I’m trying to cook dinner.”

“I can let you go,” she says easily. “I should call Nayoung, anyway.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and then stare listlessly at the pot and chopped vegetables on the countertop. You suddenly feel too tired to cook, too tired to think.

You close your eyes, press a cool hand against them and breathe. Talking about the situation had felt a bit freeing, it’s true, but it’d also brought some of the emotions back, and you’ve been trying to pack those up tight. 

“Enough,” you mutter to yourself. You reach to turn on the burner, waiting for the flame to emerge, waiting for your hurt feelings to settle back into quiet.

It’s the hottest week of the year when your air-con dies, because of course it is.

You call the building’s super, who tells you that the building’s entire HVAC unit is busted, and he’s got a team coming to work on it sometime in the next week.

You lay on your living room floor in your underwear, star-fished because you can’t stand to have one part of your body touch another, and melt, miserable. Even your pulse and your heartbeat feel like too much work for your overheated body.

It takes you less than twelve hours to crack, using your phone to buy a window unit from the local hardware store (a decision that future-you will regret when your credit card statement comes, but right now you’re too hot to care), selecting in-store pick-up. 

You get the unit into the car without a problem, thanks to the help of a store employee in a blue vest embroidered with the store’s name. It’s getting it out of the car that you realize you hadn’t thought enough about.

You call Soonyoung, who picks up on the third ring.

“What are you and Chan doing tonight?” you ask. You’re standing next to your car’s open back door, staring at the box like it’s a problem you might be able to solve. “I need a favor and I am willing to pay cash.”

“Sorry, but I have a date,” Soonyoung says. “And Chan’s at his parents’.”

“Fuck,” you mutter. 

“Why?” your brother asks, as you crouch next to your car just to keep yourself in its shadow; the sun beating down on you has nearly made you dizzy already. “What’s wrong?”

You explain the situation to him, a bit desperately. 

He hums. “I could ask Seungcheol-hyung,” he suggests.

“Soonyoung.”

“I’m serious. He’d be the most help, anyway. Probably more than Chan.”

You hear an indignant hey! in the background of the call.

“I don’t want you to call Seungcheol,” you say. “In fact, I would rather eat glass.”

But then you think about spending the rest of the day laying like a starfish in your living room. And about trying to sleep - sweat trickling down your back, legs sticky, flopping over time and time again.

There’s no way. You won’t survive.

“God,” you groan, miserable. “It’s fine. I can call him myself. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck,” he tells you.

You lock your car and head inside - at least you can be out of the sun, and back under your ceiling fan. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. You go back to starfish position and tap Seungcheol’s name on your phone. 

It rings out and goes to voicemail, so you hang up. Then your phone buzzes in your hand.

You roll your eyes. He’d texted you a “what’s up” instead of answering, which means he’s with Jieun and doesn't want to be on the phone with you in front of her. 

You text him back, need help with something.

Your phone rings almost immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You love and hate the way he’ll jump to take care of you. It isn’t fair, it promises something he can’t provide. It also makes you feel like you’re being filled with helium, cared for and protected.

“Yeah, it’s not, like, an emergency,” you explain. “It’s just… the air-con in my building went out, and I bought a window unit, but I can’t get it upstairs. I tried my brother and Chan and neither of them are home. I was gonna see if… but if you’re busy it’s totally fine.”

It seems like Seungcheol has pulled the phone away from his mouth; you can hear his voice, muffled, catch the words Soonyoung’s sister. 

You want to smash something. You almost hang up. 

“I can help,” he says, normal volume again. “Do you mind if it’s in an hour or so?”

“You’re doing me a favor,” you point out. “Take your time.”

He laughs lightly. “That’s true,” he says agreeably. “Okay. It might be a bit, but I’ll get there before dinnertime. Sound good?”

When the knock on your door comes, you’re almost dozing - still in the middle of the living room floor. You have to peel yourself off the ground gently, your skin sticking slightly. You make your way to the door sleepily, belatedly realizing that you should probably throw on at least a t-shirt - you’re thankfully not in just underwear anymore, but you are only in a sports bra and a pair of workout shorts. 

Oh well, you think. It’s not worse than a bathing suit. 

When you open the door, Seungcheol takes a small step backwards. 

“Um,” he says, a bit unsteadily, “hey.”

His gaze sweeps over you and then he looks steadfastly somewhere over your shoulder, the tips of his ears going dark.

“Hi,” you say, as normally as you can, as something both smug and bitter swims in your stomach. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, sounding more like himself, though his ears stay red as you step backwards to let him in.

“I did try my brother first,” you say, even though he already knows this. You feel kind of defensive, like you need to be very clear that you hadn’t just wanted to see him or something. 

(It’s nice to see him, just the two of you. It makes you want to sink into his presence, unclench something you hadn’t realized you’d had tightened, lose yourself in his slightly spicy scent. But that’s a road you can’t go down.)

“It’s not a problem,” he says, looking around your place absently. You realize he’s never been here before. 

“Do you want a drink? Water or anything?” you ask.

“Maybe after I carry it up,” he says, pulling on the front of his t-shirt and flapping it to cool down his sweaty skin. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty unbearable,” you say. And it’s hotter now, just because his proximity makes your heart beat faster, your body raising its temperature without your permission. Just because his dark eyes look troubled, and it’s work to fight the instinct to fix it. Just because his smile still cuts through you, even when it’s kind of wary. “Let me just grab my keys and we can…” 

You trail off as you pat around your cluttered kitchen table until your fingers find metal. Then you lead Seungcheol back into the hallway and towards the stairs.

“So, uh,” you say as you walk, the back of your neck prickling under his gaze from behind you, “how have you been? How are things?”

You turn over your shoulder as you ask, which is the only reason you watch his face twist for a second before he says, “Ah, you know. Normal.”

“The face you just made says differently,” you point out.

He shrugs, mouth going into a firm, thin line. “It’s complicated.”

Ah. Of course. Jieun.

“Oh,” you say. “We, uhm. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” he says, sounding a bit chagrined. You watch his face carefully - your eyes charting the way his lashes flick as his gaze drops, the down-turn of his mouth flirting with the idea of a pout, his jaw flexing and relaxing like he’s focusing on making it look normal. 

You wish you could squeeze his hand or give him a hug; anything to let him know that someone cares if he’s hurting. But you can’t - he’s not your problem, not your responsibility. Straight-up not yours.

You blow out a quick breath, determined to get your shit together. “I mean,” you say, pausing on the stairs’ landing so you can face him, “you’re not going to hurt my feelings at this point. We did say we’d try being friends. If you want to talk about it and get a perspective that’s not from a twenty-something-year-old dude, I’m offering. As a friend.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing, making a decision. He seems to deflate a little when he decides. 

“It’s nothing really worth talking about,” he says. “Just the usual with Ji.”

Ji. You work hard not to grimace. 

“Are you two… back together?” you ask, your voice kind of small in the empty stairwell.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes finding the ceiling of the stairwell like he can’t look at you while he says this. “Not yes, but not no. Hence the… complicated.”

“Hence,” you repeat with a snort. He makes a face at you. For a second, it feels easy again. 

“So, what’s the problem?” you ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing your arms. The cement is cool against your back, actually feels nice after melting in the apartment for hours. 

“I dunno,” he admits. “We’re talking non-stop, it’s just… no one has pulled the trigger on it. It’s like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do. Neither of us wants to say it first.”

“Why not?”

He laughs once, a bit bitter. “Gives the other person the power, I guess. Gives them the chance to say no. So… here we are. Limbo.”

“So stop it,” you say clearly, like it’s simple. His brows scrunch. “Seriously. Say what you mean - tell her what you want.”

His eyes flick to the floor and then back to yours, something swimming in his brown eyes. “What if she -”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly. “If she says no, if she laughs in your face - it doesn’t matter. Would that be worse than never getting what you actually want? Really?”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he grumbles, “How come you always have the answer? I really fucking hate that.”

“It’s because don’t think with my dick,” you fire back, and he laughs out loud.

“What’s her excuse, then?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” you say, thinking about this. “But I have a lot of theories. The first one being that she enjoys the games just as much as you do - until they stop being fun.”

He lets out a wry laugh. “That’s no secret.” He regards you for a second, and you swear his eyes sweep your form again. Then he lowers his voice and says, “It’s kind of refreshing, how you don’t. Play games, I mean.”

You flush hot - angry, you think. You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him it’s fucked up to stand here and compare you to her, but he beats you to it.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just heard what I said.”

Your fury settles, just slightly, but your body takes longer to get the message. Your heart still pounds, your face feels like you need to stick it in the freezer, your pulse thuds with adrenaline as it prepares to fight.

For a second, you’re in that hotel shower with him again, your fingers in his hair. The adrenaline feels the same. The space between you feels charged, suddenly, alive and awake and ready to take what it wants - take what you and Seungcheol both want, it seems.

You’re saved from having to reply - the door at the bottom of the stairs slams open and Mingyu’s voice yells, “Hello? I’m dying out here!”

You look at Seungcheol, baffled, the moment broken.

“I brought help,” he explains. “Come on.”

Before he leaves, as the new window unit blasts into your bedroom, you stop him.

“Be honest with her,” you tell him, voice low so Mingyu won’t overhear and get nosy. “It’s Boyfriending 101.”

Later, you lay on your bed in the dark, your new window unit blowing directly over you. You want to freeze, want to have goosebumps for the rest of your life to make up for how hot your last two days were. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and you glance at it. 

Your sister - mom told me about your break up :( sorry to hear that

You frown. You don’t appreciate your mother spreading your business, don’t want Nayoung getting little peeks into your life that you don’t feel she deserves. 

Another text pops up under the first - want to talk about it? 

Not with you, you think sourly. 

Your real response is nicer. You send back, not really. i’m okay. thanks for checking in.

Your phone rings. You growl, loud and frustrated, then fix your tone. 

“Hey Nayoung,” you say, trying to sound like you don’t want to throw your phone across the room. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice sweet in your ear. You feel bad for being so prickly. “Are you sure you’re okay? It sucks more than normal to lose a boyfriend to an ex. There’s like… I don’t know, an extra hit to your pride in it. I know, I’ve been there.”

You wonder how many boyfriends and heartbreaks Nayoung had after moving out that you didn’t know anything about. 

You wonder what it would have felt like to have a big sister back when you were a teenager navigating your first heartbreaks, having boy problems. But you’re trying to move on from that kind of thought, trying to let go of your anger for decisions decades old, so you let the thought float along instead of clinging to it.

“I’m really fine,” you insist. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she says, and you can picture her shaking her head, hair swinging with the motion. “He seemed head over heels with you. I thought he was crazy about you. And I was only around him for a few days.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, I was… I was wrong, too. But I’ll be fine. It’s not my first rodeo, you know? I’ll be fine.”

Nayoung is quiet for a minute. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses? Would you even entertain him if he did?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “He and his ex have been on and off the whole time I’ve known them. I shouldn’t have… I should have known the pull she has on him would… I don’t know. Win. I don’t know if he’ll ever really be able to separate himself from her, you know?”

Maybe your relationship had been a lie, but every word you say now is true.

Nayoung groans dramatically. “That’s horrible,” she laments. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sucks for them, too,” you say, rolling and looking at your ceiling. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with your sister since before you wore a bra. 

She lets out a single disbelieving laugh. “Wow. I would not be so empathetic if it was me.”

“I’ve been around them a long time,” you explain. “Since college. I’ve seen him go through it with her over and over again. Sometimes I just want to yank him off the ride. I thought I had, for a while. But I guess not.”

She sighs. “Maybe there’s hope for him,” she says. “I was… when I was young, I was definitely the toxic ex for more than one guy.”

“You?” you say, surprised. “Toxic?”

She lets out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says, a bit guiltily. “I’m not proud of it. When I first moved out? You and Soonie were so young, you might not remember - it was bad in the house. Mom and Dad fighting was like… a black hole. Nothing else mattered - nothing else could exist except their fighting. I took a lot of my anger into my next few relationships. And then, even when I wasn’t as angry anymore… that was my example of love, right? I picked men who were bone-heads like Dad, and I treated them like… well, like Mom treated Dad.”

You’re stunned into silence. It’s a lot to process.

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you say. “No, not at all. I just… never saw that side of you. It’s hard to picture.”

“I know,” she says, a bit sadly. Then, she seems to steel herself. “I had to learn to do better. Therapy helped.”

Nayoung went to therapy? News to you.

When you hang up after chatting a little more, you sit on the edge of your bed, just thinking. You hadn’t really thought about how things had been for Nayoung before she’d left. You’d only thought about what she left behind.

The thoughts feel heavy. You’re too tired for them. You open social media instead, tapping when you see a message in the corner. 

Your whole body goes ice cold when you see the name next to the picture.

@princess_ji: hey girl. i want to clear smth up if thats ok?

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, standing up and pacing in your living room, despite the cloying heat in there. 

You: hey jieun. ofc, whats up?

@princess_ji: cheollie told me that when he went to your sister’s wedding last month you came onto him and you slept together. is that true?

“He told you what?” you bark, your voice echoing across your empty apartment. You stare at it for so long that you stop being able to feel your hands. Blinking, you set your phone down on the coffee table.

Be honest with her, you’d told him. You hadn’t meant this honest!

He’d told her you slept together. 

And you came onto him? Technically true… if you omit almost every single thing that happened leading up to it.

Jesus.

You stand up and start pacing, pressing your palms to your heated cheeks. Your stomach knots up, nausea creeping up your throat. You pace the length of your apartment six times before you sit back down again, pressing your forehead to your knees and exhaling slowly.

He must have told her he wants to be with her. He must be trying to do it right, starting with no secrets. 

Seungcheol had been there for you. He had held your hand and defended you to your family and held you when you were low. He’d done everything he’d promised and more. 

And then he’d carried your new air conditioner up two flights of stairs.

You owe him.

You: yes, it’s true. he went to the wedding with me as a favor so i wouldn’t be alone. i was going through some hard stuff that weekend and he was there for me. 

You: i was in a bad place and i let myself make a choice i wouldn’t normally make. that’s all it was.

You exhale slowly again, almost dizzy with anxiety as you see her start to type.

@princess_ji: okay… so like… what about now? do you still want him???

You can’t even blame her for wanting to know what she’s walking into. You’d want to know, too, if you were in her position.

You owe him. It’s with this in mind that you send your final reply.

You: it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t want me. he only wants you. the whole time i’ve known him he’s only wanted you.

There, you think, as you turn your phone off completely, sliding it away on the table so you can’t reach it. Now we’re even. 

September

Another Friday night finds you surrounded by your brother’s friends in his dimly-lit living room. It is identical to a thousand Friday nights before - the flicker from the tv, the sound of chatter and video games, beer fizzy in your mouth, the company shifting slightly week by week depending on who’s around. There’s only one thing different.

Seungcheol brought Jieun. 

Things were tense at first - the room going silent for a nano-second when he walked in with her, before everyone burst into noisy fake-normalcy to cover for it. But an uneasy acceptance seemed to fall over the room when you knocked back a bit of your beer and said, “Hey, guys. Either of you need a drink?”

Now, Seungcheol’s on the couch watching Vernon get absolutely destroyed in whatever team game they have on, Jieun’s legs draped across his lap and his arm around her back. You’re on the floor in your usual place. Chan has seated himself beside you, steadily between you and the couple, like a loyal golden retriever standing between you and something dangerous.

You love him a little, this second baby brother.

You chat with him quietly, trying hard to keep your attention on your conversation and not what’s happening across the room on the couch. You feel a little resigned, which is a step closer to acceptance, so you’ll take it. You’re starting to come to terms with the fact that this is just going to be how it is - you’ll move on from Seungcheol bit by bit, but for a while it’s going to continue to sting a bit when he’s in front of you like this. It’s going to be a long time before his presence doesn’t stir up everything you’re walking away from - the affection, the attraction, the sameness. When he’s in the room with you, you’re always going to feel the rush of how much you like him. 

It’ll be easier when you’re not around each other as much. 

And, with time, the rest will get easier, too. 

When Soonyoung calls you from the kitchen to help carry snacks, you rise quickly, happy to be in a separate space even if just for a minute. 

You grab a bowl of chips and a plate of veggies and dip and make your way back into the living room, heading to the coffee table to set down the dishes. As you draw closer to the couch, Jieun leans up, wrapping her arms around Seungcheol’s neck to pull herself closer to his ear. 

“How long do you want to hang out here?” she whispers. “Back to your place soon?”

She releases him, smiling mischievously as he turns to look at her. You set down the food and head back to Chan, so you miss his reply, which is too quiet to catch, muttered low only for her to hear. 

It must not be the answer she wants, because when you glance back at them after settling on the floor near Chan again she’s taken her legs off of his, her arms crossed and her mouth downturned. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tics. He shifts sideways so they aren’t even touching, but then his gaze inexplicably lands on you.

You hold his gaze. It feels like you’re having a conversation, eyes locked and neither of you speaking. You tilt your head just slightly. 

Do better. 

Don’t play the game.

His slides his eyes closed, lets out a slow breath, his chest deflating as the air leaves him. When he opens his eyes again, they don’t look at you. He reaches over to Jieun, gives her thigh a quick squeeze, and murmurs something to her.

You watch her soften, watch her frown slip away. 

You flop backwards on the carpet, so that you can’t look at them even if you’re tempted to. It’s not much longer that they rise, both of them apologizing for dipping out early.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, giving them a smile as genuine as you can. “The guys don’t realize how boring it can be to sit and watch them play video games.”

“Hey!” your brother objects. “No one’s making you hang out with us!”

Jieun sends you a grateful smile, though. “Exactly,” she says. “I like to hang out with your friends, Cheollie, but I can only watch so many rounds of -” She mimics a machine gun with her hands, complete with sound effects.

Seungcheol scrunches his face at her in adorable, teasing protest and whisks her out the door. 

You flop backwards, suddenly exhausted - from masking, from trying to push through the awkwardness, from being “on”.

“Was that as awful as I thought it was?” you ask the ceiling.

“Yes,” Soonyoung says seriously, as the rest of the room assures you that it was not. 

“It’ll get easier,” he promises. 

Whatever guidance you’d given Seungcheol clearly doesn’t last. When you join Soonyoung and Chan (and whoever else they’ve roped in on this particular Friday) at a dive bar halfway between your places, it’s clear that things have gone sour. 

He gets there late, storming in and slamming himself onto the empty barstool to Mingyu’s left, ordering something that sounds like it’ll burn the whole way down.

“Rough day?” Mingyu asks, one brow arched. 

“Fucking over it,” he mutters, which is somehow both an answer and not an answer. 

He’s too many seats away from you to really carry a conversation with each other, so you turn your back to him and Mingyu. You instead chat with your brother and Chan and occasionally Wonwoo, who’s on Chan’s other side. But you can hear, behind you, the low timbre of Seungcheol’s voice, snapping and dark and so unlike the version of him you’ve known. You can hear and feel the force with which he slaps down his glass each time it’s empty, can feel Mingyu’s back stiffen bit by bit as Seungcheol’s temper gets hotter and hotter.

“I need some air, hyung,” Mingyu says finally. “You want to come with?”

Seungcheol declines, but Dumb and Dumber get up from next to you and follow him, elbowing each other (for no purpose except to annoy) as they go.

Which leaves you alone with Seungcheol one barstool to your left, and Wonwoo two barstools to your right.

With a side, you swivel left. Seungcheol is already looking at you, his expression still stormy.

“Well,” he says sourly, and then drains the rest of his glass, dropping it heavily to the wooden bar like he had his last few. You wince, expecting it to break, but it doesn’t. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I guess,” you observe.

He scoffs, lip curling. “Don’t need to fucking rub it in.”

You shrug. “Just stating the obvious. I’d ask what happened, but I can guess.”

His entire face twists, and for a second you wonder if you’ve poked the bear one time too many. Then, he seems to catch himself, takes a breath. He turns to signal for another drink before he responds, which you’re guessing was a ploy to give himself more time to cool off. 

“Haven’t heard from her since Wednesday. Either her phone’s off or she blocked my number.”

“Did you fight?” you ask, even though it seems like a dumb question. 

He raises and lowers one shoulder. “Not a bad one. Not a never speak to you again kind of fight. Not a don’t talk for three days kind of fight.”

You grimace. “Sorry, buddy.”

He mirrors the face back at you. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask, fake sweet. 

“You call every guy buddy who’s had his mouth on your pussy?” he sneers.

“Seungcheol!” you gasp, horrified. You glance over your shoulder - Wonwoo is pretending he’s not listening as he nurses his beer, but his ears have gone dark. You whip back around. “What is wrong with you?”

He seems taken aback - maybe at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking at the wood of the bar instead of at you. “I just… didn’t like that.”

“Get over it!” you snap. “I don’t lash out at you or embarrass you in public every time something happens that I don’t like!”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “You’re right. I said I’m sorry. I mean - I am. I’m sorry. Fuck, I need some air.”

He stalks past you - definitely unsteadily - and you lower your forehead onto the bar, groaning with frustration.

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” you mutter, unable to even look at him. He awkwardly pats your shoulder, and then you’re saved by the sound of Dumb and Dumber returning, boisterously arguing about a band they both like.

You’re just starting to lose the heat of embarrassment when a notification pops up on your phone. Your eyes narrow. Seungcheol has tagged you in a photo? That can’t be good. You didn’t take a photo with him today.

Silently, you swipe to open the app. The shot you’re tagged in - along with the rest of the group - is just a blurry shot of everyone’s mostly empty glasses atop of the bar. It’s paired with a selfie he most certainly hadn’t taken here at the bar, but whatever - that’s not the problem.

The problem is you know exactly what move he’s trying to make here.

You release a breath too loudly. Your brother turns to look, alarmed.

“Where are you going?” he asks, baffled, as you grab your shit and stand.

“To fight with Seungcheol, apparently,” you mutter. 

You push your way through the bar, slipping through the door and past the bouncer, scanning the sidewalk for the idiot you know you’ll find here. 

“Hey,” you call when you spot him, leaning against the brick wall, face lit by his cell phone screen. “Untag me in that shit.”

He looks at you, confused. “Why?”

“Because you only did it to make her mad,” you say firmly as you draw closer. “You want her to see that I’m out with you guys and get pissed off or jealous or both. Don’t do that. Don’t use me to play your fucking games with her.”

The silence you’re met with is so stony, you think he’s going to fire back at you. But instead he lets his screen go dark and his arm lowers to his side again, and then he mutters, “Fine. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell her sorry,” you grumble.

He scowls at you. “Whose side are you on? She should be apologizing to me.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes a little. “This is getting old, don’t you think?”

“What is?” he asks darkly, a warning in his tone for the first time. You ignore it; he’s pissed you off too many times tonight and you’re done being delicate about all this.

“Me trying to correct the course while you try as hard as you can to steer towards the rocks.”

He pushes himself from the wall, coming to face you completely. A shiver goes through you, despite yourself. You meet his angry gaze just as furiously.

“Why are you trying to steer at all?” he asks, mocking. “You shouldn’t even be on the boat.”

A laugh bursts from you - half from shock and half because he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding, still smiling despite how fucking angry you are. “I guess it’s just… as your friend… it’s kind of hard to watch it happen. Especially when I know you can do better.”

His expression darkens further, his brows furrowed and his eyes angry slits.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and hard, “I’m getting really tired of your I know everything act, when I’ve spent the last three or four months watching you pretend that if you keep everyone but Soonyoung off your island, nothing will ever hurt you.”

“Excuse me?” you breathe. “I don’t do that.”

He shrugs, all innocence. “Sure seems like it from here. Who else do you let see you when you’re down - your family? Definitely not.”

A dangerous wave of anger washes over you. “That’s pretty fucked up,” you say, voice sounding warped to your own ears, “considering you saw firsthand why I keep distance with my family. I’m not trying to not get hurt, I’m creating boundaries -”

“Creating boundaries that don’t let them close enough to hurt you,” he says, like you’ve proven his point.

“That’s not the same,” you argue. “And who the fuck asked you, anyway?”

He shrugs. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about my life, just thought I’d return the favor… buddy.”

You very nearly launch at him, your hands balling into furious fists, but you’re saved from yourself by Soonyoung jogging up the sidewalk, calling both of your names.

“What’s going on?” he asks, panting. “I came out to see if you were gonna come back in to close your card. Are you guys fighting?”

“No,” you both say, in tandem.

You start to follow Soonyoung back towards the bar. Over your shoulder, to Seungcheol, you shoot, “Untag me. Got it?” Then you head back inside with your brother, leaving your ex fake boyfriend outside, alone.

–

You’re pulled from a dreamless sleep by your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You reach for it without opening your eyes, mumbling a hello, expecting Soonyoung or Chan.

“Come open your door.”

For a long second, you have no idea who’s talking or what the hell they’re talking about. You blink your eyes open, pulling the phone away from your face to peer at the screen.

“Seungcheol?” you manage to ask. “What do you mean open my door? Wait, are you in my building? How did you even get in?”

“I knocked,” he says simply. “Come let me in before your coffee burns all the skin off my hand.”

“Coffee?” You perk up just a fraction.

You can almost hear the playful eye-roll he gives you. “Come on, it’s really hot. They didn’t give me one of the paper-hand-protector things.”

You hang up and shuffle across your room, grabbing a hoodie from the back of your desk chair and pulling it over your head as you make your way to your front door.

Seungcheol clearly hasn’t slept, is probably nursing a hangover - but somehow still looks great. 

“Here,” he says, holding out a to-go cup from a nearby cafe. “I think I got your order right. Careful, it’s hot.”

You take the cup and regard him silently. You have a hunch that he’s here to apologize for fighting with you, and you aren’t sure how you feel - not sure if you’re going to forgive him or pretend to forgive him or maybe even just keep fighting.

“Can I come in?” he asks, a bit sheepishly.

You twist your mouth sideways. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

He smiles ruefully. “She can’t yell at me if she isn’t speaking to me.”

“That’s true,” you murmur, and after considering for a moment, you find yourself backing up to let him in.

He stands near your table, looking around with mild interest, the same way he had when he came with your air conditioner. 

“You wanna sit down?” you ask. Then, “You want half of this? I can pour it into mugs.”

“No,” he says quickly. “That’s yours. I want you to have it.”

This solidifies your guess that this is an apology coffee. But he does sit at your table, gingerly, like he’s scared the chair will break beneath him. 

You sit across from him, sipping at the coffee he brought you, and wait. He came with something to say, so you’ll sit and listen.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, quietly.

You look at the cup in your hand - it’s easier than looking at him as you say, just as quietly, “Some of it was true.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shifting forward. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I had to say it. You’re right - I can’t keep inserting you in my bullshit. It isn’t fair.”

You shrug. “I should stop telling you what to do, too. I’m… inserting myself into the bullshit, I guess. It’s just…” You trail off.

He raises both eyebrows, like he wants you to complete the thought. 

You let out a nearly silent sigh, a breath of defeat. “It is really hard to watch you go ‘round and ‘round with her, after all these years. But… even if it’s hard… it’s not my business. I’ll try to stay out of it.”

He nods. “That’s probably… better for both of us.”

“Well,” you say, a bit of awkwardness settling between you, “we can both make an effort to keep me out of it. I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry, too, if anything I said was out of line.”

This was good communication, you think. If you weren’t trying to stay out of it, you’d say so, tell him that this was how partners should talk after a fight.  

You walk him to the door instead, slowly, something weighing on your mind.

“Seungcheol?” you say, as you get within arms’ reach of the door. “What you said outside, last night… about my island…”

He looks embarrassed, shaking his head immediately to deny the truth of it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It isn’t true,” you say again - firmly, but much more calmly thank you had outside the bar. “I keep my family out of my day to day life because I prefer that.”

He waves his head slowly, like he’s considering what you’re saying. “Sure,” he says after a second. “So, ask yourself why. Why is it preferable, without them?”

“Because they drive me crazy,” you say. “Because I can’t rely on them to support me. Because they don’t consider my needs, or even feelings.”

“Because they’ve hurt you,” he says gently. “And sometimes they still do.”

You purse your lips, annoyed that his point has checked out. 

“And your friends?” he prods. 

“My friendships are fine.” Your tone has gone defensive again.

“You’ve never brought anyone out with us,” he points out. “I’ve known you since college and I don’t know the name of a single person in your life that isn’t in your brother’s living room every Friday night. Why keep your circle separate?” 

“No room left in Soonyoung’s apartment.”

He says your name like a gentle scolding. “Seriously.”

You blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” you huff. “My friendships aren’t like that - lay around the living room and bullshit over beer. They’re… get brunch on Sunday morning and maybe get a mani-pedi before going home again. It’s just different. They like different things - a plan, an activity. Soonyoung’s is just… sitting around.”

“Have you ever let them see you when you’re ‘off’? Just lounging? Do you ever talk to them when you’re low? Who did you turn to the last time you had your heart broken?” he asks.

You go quiet. It had been Soonyoung, and Chan just by proxy since you couldn’t avoid him in their kitchen.

“I’m not trying to pick on you. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. But, you asked, so I’m explaining,” he says, a bit pleadingly. 

Your throat has gone embarrassingly tight and your vision blurs. The answer to his question is, no one.

His arms around you are so unexpected that you jump a little, startled. Then, after less than a second of consideration, you melt into his hold, into the safety between his arms that you’ve missed and craved since your sister’s wedding ended.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You let yourself hold him back, your arms loose around his middle. You don’t know where the line is - is this a friends hug, is it okay to lean on him or do you need to hold your tension yourself? 

In the end, you hover somewhere in the middle until he releases you, stepping back and looking at you carefully, one hand resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be like that,” you whisper.

He gives you a sad smile. “Then you have to let people in.”

 “I don’t… think I know how,” you admit. Your stomach feels like lead.

He nods, face serious. “Yes you do. You let me in, when you needed me. That’s a start.”

And look what you did with it, you think. You were just more proof that my way is, in fact, keeping me safe.

His hand moves from your shoulder, up to your jaw. You startle again, your gaze jumping to his in alarm, a question on your face.

There’s a question on his, too, and he’s still standing so close.

“You should not kiss me right now,” you whisper, voice raw. Because, fuck, you want him to - or you would if he were here fully unattached. And he is very much not.

But that would be a mistake anyway, because even if he was unattached for now, Jieun would show up again eventually. You’ve made the mistake of thinking he can say no to her for the last time.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Right now, he’s with her, whether she’s currently speaking to him or not.

“You’re right,” he says, his own voice rough. His hand is gone from your cheek, but you don’t remember him removing it. “You’re right. Sorry. That was… that would have been a mistake.”

“It was a very good apology until that,” you tell him, reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he admits, stepping into your hallway. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Thanks. For talking to me.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” you return, and then you watch him go.

–

When your sister calls a few nights later, you don’t feel the spike of frustration or anger you had the last few times. You’d almost been expecting it - at some point.

When she asks what’s new with you, you start to say nothing - just like always - but Seungcheol’s words are still swimming in circles in your head. Nayoung is trying. Maybe you could try, too.

So, you admit, “Kind of had a weird fight with Seungcheol the other night. I dunno.”

Her surprise is clear in her tone. “You talked to him?”

“Oh,” you say, realizing how little your sister knows about your day-to-day happenings. Of course she wouldn’t know that Seungcheol is at your brother’s essentially every weekend, just like you. “Well, yeah. He’s one of Soonyoung’s best friends. He’s always around.”

“God, that’s the worst,” she grouses. “How can you be expected to get over someone when they’re always in your face?” The question seems rhetorical because she continues, “What did you fight about?”

“Him and his ex, at first. Well, she’s not his ex… currently. I’m his ex, currently. But, you get it. Just like… watching him act like a tool with her when… he was better with me.” You let out a sound that’s almost a laugh - at your own expense. Because you can hear how stupid you sound. 

Your sister says it more nicely. “You have to let people make their own mistakes, unfortunately,” she says. 

“I know,” you say mournfully. “It just sucks.”

She sighed. “You’re braver than me,” she tells you. “I don’t think I could date again. If anything happens to Jeongwoo, I swear I’ll be single until I die.”

“It’s rough out here,” you agree. 

“Seriously,” she says. “I really only got in deep with Jeongwoo because when we started talking, I had already known him from college. I knew his character already, I knew his reputation. I’m not sure I could just… learn to trust a stranger.”

You go cold with how much this sounds like you.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, not sure you want to unpeel this truth for her, not sure you want to reveal this ugly part of yourself. But maybe this is the best place to do so - with someone who seems to match. Someone who knows how you grew up, learned love from the same fiery wreck that you did. “I… me, too. That’s the second thing we fought about. He kind of threw it in my face that I don’t let… most people in.”

She laughs once, sarcastic and biting. “You can blame Mom for that.”

This shocks you into silence. “I don’t blame Mom,” you say carefully. “I mean, I don’t fully blame anyone - every day of my life worked to shape me into who I am, no person is responsible. But between Mom and Dad… I wouldn’t say it’s Mom’s fault that I don’t like… sharing myself with others.”

The words come from you unsteadily, like a newborn colt, wobbly and unbalanced. You’ve never articulated this before, never even really thought about it. But you don’t blame your mother - for all of her flaws - for your fear of vulnerability with others. She hadn’t left you behind.

That had been Nayoung - Nayoung, and your dad.

Nayoung makes a sound that seems like the vocal representation of a shrug. “I don’t remember Mom ever feeling like someone I could talk to when I had problems, or when I was upset,” she observes. 

“Maybe,” you say, because, true, your mother hadn’t really been soft and comforting. But - “But at least she was there.”

And there it is. 

Unlike Dad. Unlike you.

You don’t say it, but you think she probably hears it anyway. Nayoung doesn’t respond for so long that you check to see if you got disconnected.

“We’re all a mess, huh?” she muses finally. “All four of us. How’d Soonie end up so normal?”

“Everyone babied him,” you supply, and she laughs, the potential moment of depth successfully swerved - as expected for you, and apparently from your sister, too. 

Still. When you hang up a little later, you feel somehow lighter. Like you understand her better - and maybe you let her understand you better, too. You’d let her in a little bit - just an inch - but it wasn’t nothing.

It almost feels kind of nice.

<- Prev || Next ->

The final chapter will go up next Friday!! Thank you for reading!!

[sturnsblogs]

CONTROL OVER LOVE

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

—

You had been around Matt every day that week—showing up early, letting yourself in with the spare key Chris gave you a long time ago, tiptoeing through the quiet house to Matt’s room. You always woke him up the same way—soft, patient, gentle.

You’d sit on the edge of his bed and lean close, brushing your fingers through his messy curls. “Matt… c’mon, wake up,” you’d whisper, your voice like a breeze against his skin. You’d rub slow circles on his back until he stirred, groaning and flipping to the other side, burying his face into the pillow like a stubborn child.

You didn’t push. You just sighed with a small smile and headed to the kitchen.

Cutting up some fruit, cracking eggs into the pan, the soft sound of the stove heating filled the quiet. It had become a little routine. You didn’t even know why you kept showing up—not really. Maybe guilt. Maybe love. Maybe something in between.

Nick padded out in sweats, rubbing his eyes. “He doing better?” he mumbled, voice still raspy with sleep.

You glanced up from the stove, unsure how to answer. “I think—”

“—This is your fault, by the way.”

Chris’s voice cut through the kitchen, flat but sharp. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His hair was a mess, but his eyes were sharp and burning.

You blinked, a little stunned. “Chris…”

“No, I’m serious,” he said, walking forward now. “He hasn’t been like this since middle school. And that was bad—like, therapy bad. But he was getting better. And then you…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You let Noah treat you like shit while Matt watched it happen. You chose him. And now look.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your throat tightened.

Nick gave Chris a look. “Dude. Chill.”

Chris ignored him. “You broke him. And now you’re here every day acting like fruit and eggs are gonna fix what you did.”

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you whispered.

Chris scoffed under his breath. “Yeah? Well, you did. And if you’re gonna keep coming around, maybe think about what kind of message that sends. ‘Cause this—” he pointed toward Matt’s room—“this is not sustainable. You don’t get to keep him warm while sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

You stood frozen, tears slipping down your cheeks as the eggs crackled behind you.

Nick reached out, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Enough, bro. Seriously.”

Chris stared at you for another second, then turned and walked away.

You didn’t move. You just turned back to the stove and kept cooking, even though your hands were trembling. Because even if Chris was right… Matt still needed you.

You carried the plate into his room quietly, the smell of warm eggs and fruit drifting through the air. Matt was already sitting up in bed, blankets pooled around his waist, hoodie rumpled and hair pushed back like he’d been up for a bit. You paused for a second in the doorway when you noticed.

He was awake.

And he looked… off. Like he had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to start. His eyes were red—not puffy, not like he’d cried, but tired. Emotionally tired. The kind of tired you couldn’t fix with sleep.

You gave him a soft smile, though it barely reached your eyes, and crossed the room. “I, um… made eggs. And some fruit.” You set the plate on his nightstand and sat at the edge of the bed, a little farther away than usual.

He didn’t reach for the food.

Instead, he reached for you.

“Hey,” he said softly, fingers brushing against your wrist. “I heard what Chris said.”

You froze. Your heart sank. “Matt—”

“He’s just upset,” he cut in gently, like he already knew what you were about to say. “Don’t let it get to you.”

You swallowed hard, eyes focused on the pattern of his blanket. “But he’s not wrong.”

Matt leaned in a little closer, his voice low. “Maybe. Maybe not. But none of that matters right now.” He let out a small breath, his hand finding yours and giving it a squeeze. “You’re here. And that’s enough for me.”

Your lip trembled. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know you didn’t.”

You finally looked up at him, and the way his eyes searched yours—it broke you. He looked at you like you were still everything he wanted, even when it hurt. Even when Chris was yelling in the kitchen and your heart was a tangled mess.

He nudged the plate toward himself and picked up a fork, quietly starting to eat—more for your sake than his.

And for a while, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the soft clink of metal on ceramic and the occasional breath between sentences neither of you had the strength to say just yet.

You were still in Matt’s room, holding your phone in your hand, screen lit up with message after message from Noah.

NOAH: “I was gonna pick you up but guess what the fuck I found out?”

NOAH: “You’re with Matt? Are you fucking serious right now?”

NOAH: “Tell him to enjoy it while it lasts.”

NOAH: “Get outside. Now.”

Matt looked over at you, sitting at the edge of his bed, his expression clouded with concern. “You don’t have to go, you know…” he said quietly.

You gave him a small, forced smile and shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll text him later. It’s just Noah being—Noah.”

Matt sat up more. “He doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I’ll handle it, Matt.” Your voice cracked at the end, and you hated that he noticed.

You left the house a few minutes later, walking down the porch steps slowly, trying to steady your breath. Noah was already waiting in his car, engine running. You climbed in, pulling the door shut gently behind you. He didn’t say a word for the first minute. Just drove—fast.

“Really?” he finally muttered, jaw tense. “Matt’s house? Again?”

“I was just helping—he’s been going through stuff, Noah—”

He hit the brakes harder than needed at a red light. “You think I don’t see what’s going on? You think I’m stupid?”

“No, I—Noah, please just listen to me,” you said, reaching over, your voice trembling slightly.

“No. You’re gonna listen to me now.” He looked over, eyes dark. “If you ever pull that shit again—going behind my back to be with him—I swear to God, I’ll tell your dad about the time I had to sneak you back in drunk after Ava’s party. You remember that night, right?”

Your throat tightened.

“You think he’d be okay knowing his perfect little girl was throwing up in my car and couldn’t even walk straight?” he sneered. “You think he’d let you out of the house again after that?”

Tears burned behind your eyes. “Noah…please don’t. That wasn’t—don’t do that.”

He leaned closer, his voice low and cruel. “Then don’t make me.”

You nodded quickly, swallowing back the tears, voice breaking as you whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t mean to upset you. I promise I won’t go back.”

“Good girl,” he muttered coldly, sitting back in his seat as the light turned green. “Just remember who actually gives a fuck about you.”

And you just nodded again, looking down at your hands, heart pounding, too scared to say anything else.

You got home after school, your body heavy with everything that had happened. You didn’t even bother taking your shoes off—just dropped your bag by the door and made your way upstairs. You felt like you could still hear Noah’s voice in your head, laced with anger and manipulation, and you hated how small it made you feel.

Your phone lit up just as you flopped down on your bed. Matt. You stared at his name for a second before answering, lifting the phone to your ear with a soft, “Hey…”

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hesitant at first. “I just wanted to check in. You okay?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” There was a pause, then, “You didn’t seem fine when you left.”

You swallowed hard, turning onto your side. “It’s nothing, Matt.”

“I don’t believe that.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m serious,” he said, more firm this time. “What happened? What did he say to you?”

“Matt—”

“No. You’re not gonna shut down on me. Tell me what he said.”

You stayed quiet for a few seconds, heart pounding. And then, like a dam breaking, your voice cracked. “He said… if I kept going to see you, he’d tell my dad about Ava’s party. About when I came home drunk.”

You could hear the silence on the other end of the line, the way Matt’s breathing suddenly slowed and thickened like he was holding in a hundred words.

“He used it against me, Matt,” you said, voice small. “He threatened me with it. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do.”

Matt finally spoke, his tone tight and sharp. “That’s not normal. That’s not okay. You know that, right?”

You blinked up at the ceiling, eyes stinging. “I just… I didn’t want to fight. I wanted it to stop.”

“No,” Matt said firmly. “You can’t let him treat you like that. That’s not love. That’s control. You shouldn’t ever feel scared of someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he said, softer now, but still steady. “You’re so used to people walking all over you that you think it’s just part of being in a relationship. It’s not.”

You stayed quiet again, his words echoing in your head.

“I would never do that to you,” he added. “Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered again, tears now slipping down your cheeks. “I know, Matt.”

There was a long pause, and then he said, “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know? Even if you don’t want to be with me, I’m still gonna be here. Because I care. So much more than you realize.”

And this time, you didn’t say anything—you just cried.

—

A/N- FINALLY SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING THEM.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[writing-mlm]

Mark variants and a Rogue reader??

Basically reader is a super with the ability to absorb physical strength or powers from the ones she touches, the only catch is that it cannot be turned off so they can't touch anyone for to long or reader will kill them

Head canons for Invincible Variants with a boyfriend that has Rogue’s powers (Mark, Sinister, Mohawk, Omni-Mark, No mask)

warnings: canon-level violence, canon-level actions, mentions of reader dying, sometimes reader matches their freak (mohawk mark), manipulation (Sinister), talks of human farms… not proof-read word count: 900 a/n: i’m aware the request says she, i’m working on the assumption the requester was referencing Rogue

Main Mark

very careful about your powers and you

you have to reassure him that he, in fact, can be within one foot of you without setting your powers off

introduces you to Debbie after the third date, warns her that you’re very touch adverse and when you’re comfortable with her knowing, he lets you explain

Debbie’s confused at first, she doesn’t understand how your powers work until you show her a video

aside from that, Mark is glad his mother likes you

when Oliver comes into the picture it’s harder to get him to understand that he cannot touch your skin

especially with him being so young, you started avoiding the house until he was old enough to really understand 

literally the best if you over-use them and need to rest

converts his bedroom into an amazing recovery room + refuses to let Cecil or anyone from the GDP to go anywhere near you

you’ve mentioned once or twice they used to push you to the point of having you in comatose states 

he’ll insist that you undress to something looser, more skin showing while he adds his layers

in this world you’re not over confident but not incredibly anxious about your powers- a good balance 

during fighting you’re the best tag-team, though 

out of all the variants you’re probably the best duo, working so well together that it’s scary

when he notices you’re aging faster than he does, he doesn’t say anything. It’s your choice, he’ll stand by whatever you do, even if it means he’s holding your hand as you pass

Sinister Mark

literally loves your powers so much it’s borderline an obsession

it’s great for when he rounds up the Resistance and uses you to torture them

he’ll drag them into a corner and sit, watching as you remove your gloves probably kicking his feet with glee

sometimes he’ll push you too far, usually on accident but other times it’s definitely on purpose 

you’d made him upset and he can’t hurt you, not the love of his life 

and besides it’s you who went too far. it’s not his fault you listened to him urging you to keep going and now you’re in a small coma 

he takes good care of you, though, he wouldn’t just leave you to recover alone. maybe add a few condescending remarks but that’s it. he’s hoped you’ve learned your lesson because of it, though 

asks you to take Eve’s powers because they’re useful, especially since you don’t have 

when it gets to his cannibalism era, he loves watching as they bleed out just to get their life forced sucked away because you’ve finally fully joined him and stopped holding back

when he notices you’re aging faster than he does, he’ll ask what you want to do. If you want to live, he’ll pick off people just so you can. If you want to age and die, he won’t let you. There wasn’t an option, are you kidding? You’re his, if he lives a million years you’re going to live a million fucking years

Mohawk Mark

he’d probably use you as a shield at some point

the fight is getting boring or maybe- rarely- something he can’t fight alone and he just needs to leave 

signals you over, you’re never far from him and rips your gloves off before putting your hand on whoever he’s fighting 

sometimes he grabs your hand or shoulder just to see how it feels

he thinks it’s oddly satisfying and he loves watching as you get his strength for a little while

it lets him get really rough 

you definitely overdo it a lot, in the beginning you were more reserved about your powers but you started to match Mark and eventually, you found yourself draining people without meaning to

not your fault they have sick ass powers

when he notices you’re aging faster than he does, Mohawk Mark starts a human farm so you can drain their life energy to stay alive. you don’t have a choice, you’re living with him. Even if he has to force you. 

No Mask Mark 

he seems like a very touch starved person and is a little bummed he can’t be skin-to-skin with you but he manages

sometimes he risks it, begging you for just thirty seconds because he just needs to touch you

whenever you’re together he’ll act as a human shield, shoulder-checking anyone who gets too close

you’re never allowed to walk with both your sides open to people, you always have to have a wall next to you or he’ll simply carry you wherever you’re going

you’re a lot more guarded about your powers, no skin aside from your face and MAYBE your neck

when he notices you’re aging faster than he does, he’s similar to main timeline Mark and lets you pick. Literally devastated if you decide to ride out the rest of your natural life but if you decide to drain people to live, he’s very clearly happy. He can’t lose another boyfriend, he probably would become a hermit if you decided to not extend your lifespan

Omni-man Mark

He’s probably the one who’s the most relaxed about your powers

he understands to an extent that while you’ve long since had these powers you’re reserved around them and prefer to linger in the back of fights 

he keeps certain people around for the sole purpose that you take their powers during fights 

literally keeps them in cages and beckons you forward, arms crossed and goes “pick.” 

it’s rare, extremely rarely, that he pushes you to go completely gloveless during fights 

he’s strong and fast enough to defend and attack at the same, you can worry about other things 

when he notices you’re aging faster than he does, he’s similar to Sinister Mark but it’s clear there’s no choice. he’d protect himself more than you, if you decide to pass he’ll kill you before you can start growing truly old to help himself process your mortality but if you decide to live, he’ll give one nod and every so often he’ll find someone for you to drain

[darkmatilda]

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which spencer struggles a bit to come to terms with the fact that you don’t celebrate your birthday.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader doesn't celebrate birthday, karaoke bar, reader wearing a dress

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request marathon masterlist

“NOBODY TAUGHT YOU TO WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING—”

“DO YOU HAVE TO YELL AT ME—”

“WHEN YOU CAN’T WALK STRAIGHT—”

“You were the one glued to your phone—”

“Well, I work on it. What were you doing, genius, pondering paramecium’s sex life?”

“Parameciums reproduce asexually—”

“So you were thinking about it?”

“What does that have to do with anything—”

“Kids,” came a heavy sigh from their left.

Both turned their heads to the side. Rossi was passing them, clearly having caught part of the argument—and now shaking his head slowly.

“You’re worse than preschoolers. No offense to preschoolers.”

Spencer realized they were standing right in the middle of the hallway, practically blocking the way. The things they'd dropped when they bumped into each other were still waiting to be picked up at their feet. The papers he had been carrying, the empty coffee cup he intended to throw away, and those belonging to the woman he'd bumped into— a thick folder the size of an encyclopedia, a granola bar, a red lipstick, a magazine with a black-and-white cover, a holder for ID cards and other documents that had spilled open, and the question of how on earth she'd managed to fit all those things in one hand.

Rossi had disappeared from their sight, but his comment about childish behavior lingered. Spencer rolled his eyes upward and, with a reluctant expression on his face, crouched down to collect everything. The woman didn’t seem like she planned to do the same. An irritatingly self-assured expression appeared on her face, one that clearly indicated she still believed the collision was in no way her fault. He huffed but decided to behave his age—ignoring the hint of humiliation that arose within him as he found himself so close to her shoes, he picked up the things that belonged to both of them.

He barely managed to fit them all into his arms, which required nearly professional spatial planning—something that was definitely not Reid’s forte. When he held out the items that belonged to her, she didn’t move.

A sly smirk appeared on her face.

“Oh, how sweet of you to take this to my lab,” she said with a dramatic smooch and...

...She bypassed him, not even bothering to turn around to check if he was following her.

Spencer stood there for a moment, mouth agape, but then quickly shook his head and followed her. Of course, it was just to play her camel for the day. Oh, no. He needed to shove her stuff back at her because, seriously, what the hell else was he supposed to do with it?

"If you don't take this, I'll just drop it on the floor," he threatened in a serious tone as they stepped into the elevator.

Her red lipstick slipped from the top of the items he was carrying and fell to the floor. The woman bent down to pick it up and placed it back on top of her complicated pile.

"Thanks," Reid said automatically, immediately slapping himself in the forehead. "No, no thanks! If you think you’ve found yourself a servant, you’re mistaken. I don’t have time for that, so if you think I’m taking this straight to your lab, you're deeply mistaken—”

In her lab, he set down each item one by one on the counter, sighing with admiration at himself for actually managing to get them there.

“You did great as a camel,” she complimented, patting him on the shoulder.

“I hate you.”

“Affectionate?”

“No!”

The woman rolled her eyes. Spencer adjusted the documents he was holding in his arms, realizing that there was one last item of hers left between them. He handed her her ID, but as her fingers closed around it to take it, something suddenly stopped him. They both held the document on either side, and her eyebrow shot up questioningly. But before she could ask, Reid finally tore his gaze away from the date printed on it.

“It's your birthday today,” he said, looking at her in surprise.

She took the document from him, delaying her response. He registered it with some surprise. She had always struck him as the kind of person who would show up to work on her birthday wearing a golden crown, a royal cape draped over her shoulders, and every intention of bossing people around more than usual. Yet she hadn’t mentioned it—nor had Morgan or Garcia, both of whom he’d spoken to that day—leading him to assume they didn’t know either.

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you can read dates,” she scoffed at last.

He should’ve responded with the same level of endearing snark and simply walked away—he had hundreds, if not thousands, of better things to do than engage in their usual bickering. But something just wouldn’t let him leave.

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“So, what are your birthday plans?”

He was met with a shrug.

 “I don’t celebrate birthdays.”

“You don’t celebrate birthdays?” he repeated, incredulous.

 “Do I have to say everything twice for you?”

 “Do you always have to act like a complete—” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that maybe insulting someone on their birthday wasn’t exactly appropriate. “No, you don’t. I’m just surprised you don’t. I figured it would be the opposite. I mean, it’s your day, after all.”

“Every day is my day,” she replied in an obvious tone.

He held back an eye roll. Of course. But despite the rather dry answers, he kept going.

“You don’t like your birthday?”

“I don’t celebrate it. Doesn’t automatically mean I cry into my pillow every time it comes around. Finished your interview?”

He ignored the end of her sentence.

“I used to be the same,” he started, not entirely sure why he felt the need to share this. But since he had, he decided to keep going. Some inner sense of duty, maybe. “But then I joined the team and, well, it feels completely different when others actually remember your birthday and put effort into celebrating it for you. Now I…actually kind of like them. Maybe it’s the same with you.”

As she listened, her eyebrows lifted slightly with intrigue, but overall, she didn’t seem convinced. His gaze dropped to her arms crossed over her chest, one of her fingers tapping absentmindedly against her shoulder.

"I don’t think so," she replied stubbornly. “There’s no difference between a party on the day you’re a year older and a party on any other day of the year. It’s not some kind of special day.”

Spencer had completely forgotten about his plan to leave her lab as soon as he handed over her things. He also wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so determined to change her mind about birthdays. Maybe over the years, and through his friendships with the team, he had gotten used to the idea that everyone threw each other surprises and gave gifts, using the occasion to show mutual appreciation and remind each other that work wasn’t the only thing that connected them—that they really mattered to each other. 

Accepting the fact that some people were missing out on that was unexpectedly hard for him.

“I think I could easily prove you wrong,” he declared smugly.

She propped her elbow on the counter, giving him a look laced with amused pity.

“Prove me wrong,” she repeated, one brow arching mockingly. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Bake me a little cake and buy some party hats? Invite my stuffed animals?”

“Well, if that’s what your dream birthday party looks like…” he spread his hands in a why not? gesture. But then his tone shifted—more serious now, as if he wasn't joking at all. What had started as a spontaneous idea was now beginning to root itself deeper. The longer it stayed in his head, the more he felt compelled to make it happen.

“If your opinion doesn’t change, you won’t lose anything.”

“And will I gain something?”

She seemed genuinely intrigued. Apparently, she enjoyed proving him wrong too much to dismiss the idea outright. Reid shrugged at her question.

“A relatively pleasant evening?”

“So you’re taking me somewhere,” she said, her face a strangely entertaining mix of disbelief, reluctance, curiosity, and—maybe he was imagining it—just a hint of excitement.

“Congrats on your deduction.”

“Be nice, it’s my birthday.”

“Oh, so now you do celebrate?”

“Only when I need to keep you in line.”

His amused huff marked the end of the conversation. But just before he could leave—step out of the lab—one last thought danced on his lips, the final thing he wanted to say Dress nicely.

Yet the moment he opened his mouth, his gaze slipped over her figure. A little too thoroughly—like someone who’d promised himself he’d only read the final page of a good book, but whose eyes were already drifting to the next. He shook his head, turning toward the exit.

Whatever she wore, it would be fine.

Besides, he didn’t even know where he was taking her.Something he only realized once he was out of her sight and earshot—prompting a loud, exasperated fuck. 

*

"Can you explain why we had to find out it’s your birthday from Reid?"

She was being squeezed in a hug so tight—classic Penelope—that she could barely get a word out. A couple steps away, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, curious to hear her answer. They were all seated at the same table in a karaoke bar—nothing fancy, but the company mattered more than the place. To his surprise, his entire team had offered to come along on their own, and her team agreed without even a second of hesitation, shocked that they hadn’t known it was her birthday. He’d asked them where she might want to spend it.

“Your friend’s been spying on me,” she answered, adjusting her dress that had gotten bunched up from the merciless hug.

Well, turned out he’d been right. He hadn’t even needed to tell her to dress nicely—clearly, she just did. 

Once she had smoothed herself out, another arm wrapped around her—this time Morgan’s.

“And good thing you did,” he said, nodding toward Spencer. Reid met her eyes and let Derek’s approval hang in the air between them. She rolled her eyes, of course, but there was a small smile on her lips. One that filled him with a quiet sense of triumph.

“I knew something was off this morning,” Morgan added. “You look older.”

“Screw off,” she snorted, bumping his shoulder and shoving him gently toward the stage. “Now get up there and make my birthday wish come true. I want to hear you and Pen sing me a duet.”

Garcia snapped her fingers like she was gearing up for an epic battle.

"Whatever your heart desires, darling. Britney Spears, ABBA, or maybe..."

"I’ll leave that decision to you two."

There was a flicker of dread in Derek’s eyes—he didn’t even get the chance to blink before his friend dragged him toward the microphone.

And while the two of them quietly bickered over the song choice, Spencer felt someone step right up beside him.

She wasn’t looking at him yet, her eyes fixed on the pair up on stage, which gave him a moment to study her expression. She could deny later that she was having fun, but he already knew better.

She must’ve felt his gaze, because she met it.

Reid, instead of looking away like someone caught staring, leaned in slightly so she could hear him over the noise.

“Happy birthday.”

It suddenly hit him that he hadn’t said it once.

“Does this qualify as your relatively nice evening?”

She pretended to consider, biting her lower lip.

His eyes followed the motion before returning to hers when she gave the tiniest nod—not quite confirmation.

“As of right now, no,” she answered mysteriously. “But it has potential. There’s one thing you can do to change that.”

They looked at each other in silence for a second—him, waiting for her to go on; her, waiting for him to figure it out. Eventually, she glanced toward the stage.

“You want me to join them?”

A snort of laughter, suggesting he wished that was what she meant.

“I want you to sing with me.”

what song should diva reader sing with reid?