#please........ come play with me in this space.......

[sabxynsweet]

sweetheart!reader can't think straight with mattheo

short little one while i write all your requests <3

"I think Astoria doesn’t like me.” You murmur, though you start to lose your train of thought as Mattheo trails kisses down your jawline to your neck.

“Who?” He mutters, continuing with his open mouth kisses.

You roll your eyes before they flutter close.

“Astoria Greengrass, you know her, I’m sure.”

“Sure, what about her?”

“She said- no, Pansy heard from her friend that she, umm, she-” You can feel Mattheo smirk against your skin before his lips ghost over your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.” You murmur, titling your head back, leaning into him which makes him chuckle.

“You’re cute.”

“You’re cute, too.” You mumble. He snorts.

“Sure.” He pauses his ministrations, giving your poor brain time to think and giving you some space to breathe before he’s whispering in your ear again.

“I like your skirt.” He whispers, his hand playing with the hem from where it was resting on your thigh, “You should wear it more often.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Mattheo traces shapes on your thigh, you swear you feel the shape of a heart, “Please, baby.”

He coaxes you onto his lap and smiles smugly when you nod.

“Sure.”

“Good girl.”

You make a mental note to wear this skirt again, you quite liked it anyway. Besides, you’d wear bees woven together if Mattheo asked nicely enough.

He finally moves to kiss your lips, making you feel dizzy and fuzzy all over.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you melt into him.

He pulls away, leaving you in a daze.

Mattheo smirks and pats your head after checking his watch. “It’s dinner time, Sweetheart.”

You don’t respond, your mind blanking.

He laughs. “Come on.”

You snap out of your daze, finally.

“I hate you.” You whine.

He laughs. “Sure you do.”

also! i hope you know that for some of your requests i do have them in my drafts already written but i thought that they fit boyfriend!mattheo more so unfortunately we have to wait a little for those

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x @peterparkerspersonalplaything

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Call Me When You Fix Your Attitude 

Lando Norris x fem!reader

a little toxic but it’s ok. 

Lando had been impossible since the post-race debrief. Snapping at engineers, throwing his gloves at the wall, dodging every media obligation McLaren threw his way. You stood just outside the driver’s room door, arms crossed, praying he’d calm down once you got him alone.

He didn’t.

You slipped in quietly and shut the door behind you.

He didn’t look at you, just yanked his race suit down to his waist and flung himself onto the couch like it owed him an explanation.

“They fucking played me,” he muttered. “Team orders my ass. Oscar had the better strategy and the faster car. What the hell am I even doing here?”

“Lando…” you began carefully. “Second isn’t a failure.”

He scoffed, loud and sharp. “Of course you’d say that.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not in the car. You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to fight every fucking lap just for the team to throw your efforts in the bin because golden boy Piastri is quicker.”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Project. I didn’t build Oscar’s car. I didn’t give him better strategy. Don’t talk to me like I’m the enemy.”

“You’re not helping,” he snapped, standing up now, pacing the room.

You followed him with your eyes, trying to stay calm. “I’m not trying to help right now. I’m trying to be here. To support you.”

“Well maybe I don’t want support. Maybe I want space.”

“Then fucking say that instead of tearing me apart like I’m a punching bag!”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t stop. “You want me to spell everything out for you all the time. You always need something—reassurance, validation, your goddamn ‘talk to me’ routine like it’s gonna fix anything.”

You stepped forward, voice rising. “So now being emotionally available is a bad thing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No—you implied it. You implied that me caring is annoying. That me showing up for you is inconvenient. You know what? Maybe I shouldn’t have fucking come this weekend.”

“Oh please,” he sneered, “don’t act like this isn’t your moment too. The paddock loves you. Everyone wants a quote from Lando Norris’ girlfriend. You eat this shit up.”

The breath punched out of your lungs.

“Say that again,” you dared.

He hesitated.

“Fucking say it again, Lando.”

He met your glare but said nothing.

“You think I came here for clout? You think I’ve been flying across the world to hold your hand after shit races, picking you up off the fucking floor when you spiral, just for attention?”

He flinched, but again—nothing.

You were seething. “I loved you when no one was watching. When the cameras were gone. When your hands were shaking after Silverstone and you couldn’t sleep for days. I was there. I am always fucking there.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be second on purpose.” His voice cracked. “To be told to stand down. To not fight.”

“And you don’t know what it’s like to be with someone who resents you every time you try to help!”

The air felt sharp.

Your voice broke through the tension like thunder. “I’m not the reason Oscar’s winning. I’m not the reason you’re angry. But I’ll be damned if I keep letting you treat me like I am.”

He shoved his hands through his hair, practically pacing a hole in the floor.

You were right behind him now. Loud. Unfiltered.

“I stayed quiet after the media tour. I stayed quiet when you told me to ‘just not bring it up’ when you missed the podium in Austria. I stayed quietwhen you brushed me off the night before this race—didn’t even say ‘I love you’ back.”

He whipped around. “I had a race to prep for!”

“And I’m your girlfriend! Not your punching bag. Not your therapist. And not your emotional garbage can.”

Silence.

And then: “I’m fucking done with you.”

You backed up toward the door.

“Call me when you find your fucking senses—because clearly you left all five of them on the goddamn track.”

And with that, you slammed the door and walked out.

You barely made it ten feet before Oscar stepped out of the hallway shadows.

His brows were drawn together, concerned. “Y/N, I—”

“Don’t,” you said, breath shaking. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just coming to get my physio stuff and—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” you repeated firmly. “You’re killing it out there. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

He gave you a tight smile, visibly uncomfortable. “Are you heading back to the hotel?”

You shook your head. “No. I might murder him if I see him again.”

Oscar blinked.

“I’m going home.”

“Monaco?”

You stared at him. “No. Home. My real home. I haven’t seen my family in a while.”

His face softened. “The States?”

You nodded. “Pennsylvania.”

“Oh…” he said, quietly. “Do you want me to call you a car?”

“I already called one.”

He nodded, like he didn’t know what else to offer.

You hugged him—briefly.

“Do me one favor?” you asked.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell him where I’m going. Not until I say so.”

Oscar nodded, eyes gentle. “Promise.”

———

The silence in the driver’s room was deafening after she left.

Lando stared at the wall for twenty straight minutes. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His fingers still trembled from the adrenaline—of the race, of the fight, of the realization that he might’ve gone too far.

Twenty more minutes passed before he finally stood up.

He grabbed his phone. Thought about texting. Thought about calling.

But he knew she wouldn’t answer—not yet.

So he tried to find her the old-fashioned way.

⸻

He moved through the garage, eyes scanning the crowd of engineers and McLaren personnel like a hunter tracking something he’d already wounded.

He checked the hospitality suite.

Not there.

Media pen? Empty.

Her usual seat in the back of the engineering meeting room?

Gone.

He shoved past a cluster of interns near the garage door, barely muttering an apology as he searched for any sign of her—hair, voice, familiar silhouette. Anything.

Then he spotted Oscar.

“Hey,” Lando said, walking up, heartbeat skipping.

Oscar looked up from his phone, guarded.

“Where is she?”

Oscar exhaled slowly, then looked Lando dead in the eye.

“She went home.”

Lando blinked. “Home?”

“That’s what she said.”

The word echoed in his mind. Home.

“Right,” he muttered. “Monaco.”

———

Lando dropped his suitcase with a thud.

His neck ached. His head was pounding. The trip from Silverstone to Monaco was a blur of sleepless hours and spiraling thoughts, and yet noneof that prepared him for walking into an apartment that didn’t feel like home anymore.

It felt��� abandoned.

Half the closet was empty.

Her makeup drawer: cleared out.

No cardigan over the desk chair. No sparkly water bottles lined on the nightstand. No favorite mug in the sink.

She was really gone.

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting that fact sink in, chest tight and cold.

And then his phone buzzed.

From Y/N

I’m home. Don’t worry about me.

Call me when you fix your attitude.

It was 8:42 a.m. in Monaco.

Which meant it was nearly 3 a.m. where she was.

His fingers hovered over his screen for half a second before he hit call.

She answered on the third ring, voice groggy, heavy with sleep.

“…Lando?”

His voice was hoarse. “You’re not here.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I thought you were coming back to Monaco.”

“I never said that.”

He swallowed. “You said ‘home.’ I didn’t think—”

“No, Lando. You didn’t think. That’s the whole fucking problem.”

Her tone wasn’t cruel. It was flat. Exhausted.

“You’re in the States?”

A pause. “Yeah. I landed yesterday.”

His heart dropped. “And you didn’t even tell me?”

“You screamed at me,” she whispered. “You humiliated me. In front of Oscar, the team—hell, probably half the garage heard you tearing me down.”

“I know.”

“And now you want updates? After what you said to me?”

“I was angry—”

“At me? For something I didn’t even do?”

“No,” he said quickly, “I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself. The team. The car. The situation. And I made it your fault because you were standing there trying to love me through it.”

She was quiet for a long time.

When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I didn’t fly home because I wanted to leave you. I flew home because if I’d stayed, I would’ve let you keep treating me like that. And I’m finally—finally—starting to love myself enough not to let anyone talk to me that way. Even you.”

His breath caught. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she said softly.

He heard a sniffle.

“You said I came to races for clout.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You said I make things worse by trying to fix you.”

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

Her voice wavered. “But you still said it.”

That hit deeper than anything else.

He pressed a hand over his face, trying to hold in the pressure building behind his eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “Tell me how to make this right.”

“You don’t get to ask that until you understand how you made it wrong.”

Silence.

“I gave you everything,” she said through tears. “And you made me feel like I was in the way. Like loving you was an inconvenience. Do you know what it feels like to shrink yourself next to someone who used to make you feel ten feet tall?”

He covered his mouth, trying to breathe through the guilt.

“I do now,” he said, brokenly. “And I hate myself for it.”

She let out a small, aching breath.

“I have to go,” she murmured. “It’s late. I’m tired.”

“Wait—please—”

“I’m safe. That’s all you need to know. Call me when you figure out how to be the person I fell in love with again.”

Click.

The line went dead.

———

The apartment in Monaco felt colder without her in it.

Not physically—just empty.

Lando barely moved from the bedroom the first two days. He left the lights off. Curtains drawn. Ordered nothing but espresso and dry toast.

He read her last text a hundred times:

Call me when you fix your attitude.

She hadn’t messaged since.

He hadn’t either.

Because for once, he was listening.

⸻

Day 3:

He sat on the balcony in the early morning, hoodie drawn over his head, staring out at the water like it held answers.

His phone buzzed. Daniel. Max. George. All left unread.

He opened Instagram and saw a tagged photo: Oscar smiling with Lily and a few friends in Paris.

The caption read:

“Grateful for the people who make this sport feel like home.”

Lando locked his phone and tossed it across the table.

She would’ve laughed at that post. She always loved how calm Oscar was—said he reminded her of her brother. Lando used to love how her face lit up when she talked about people she cared about.

Now it haunted him.

⸻

Day 4:

He went to sim. Crashed the car within two laps. Swore loudly. Quit the session.

He hadn’t crashed in months.

His engineer called.

“You good?”

“No,” Lando said honestly. “Not even a little bit.”

⸻

Day 5:

He walked through Monaco like a ghost, hat low, hood pulled. Saw a girl on the beach wearing her favorite brand of sunglasses. He had to look away.

Bought her favorite snack at the corner store out of instinct. Forgot she wasn’t there to eat it.

Came home. Left it on the counter.

Still couldn’t throw it out.

⸻

Day 6:

He stayed up watching old videos on his phone—her voice in the background on race weekends, teasing him, laughing.

One clip from Austria:

“You’re gonna win this weekend.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you always win when I kiss you for luck first.”

She kissed the camera in the video.

Lando cried into his pillow for the first time in months.

He woke up on the seventh morning and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

She’d given him space.

And now he had one chance to fix it.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

He just booked the flight.

———

It was quiet.

Too quiet for the way Lando’s heart was racing.

The rain pattered softly against the porch as she stood there, frozen in the doorway of her childhood home, eyes wide and bare-faced. Her hair was still damp from a recent shower, cheeks flushed, hoodie too big. She looked like someone who had finally started to heal—and didn’t expect her wound to come knocking.

“Lando?” she whispered.

“I didn’t want to text. I didn’t want to call,” he said, voice low and shaking. “I wanted to show up.”

A beat of silence.

She didn’t step forward. Didn’t pull him in. She just stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time again.

“I told myself I’d slam the door if you ever showed up without asking.”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t stick. “Do you want to?”

She blinked. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“No.”

A breath escaped his chest—relief, guilt, desperation all tangled together.

“Come in,” she said quietly, stepping back. “But take your shoes off. My mom just mopped.”

He nodded, shoving off his trainers and stepping inside. The house smelled like lemon cleaner and cinnamon. Homey. Unchanged. Safe.

Too safe for someone who’d broken her the way he did.

⸻

She led him to her room. Same pale walls. Same fuzzy blanket at the foot of the bed. A photo of the two of them in Abu Dhabi framed on the dresser—still there, untouched.

“Sit,” she said softly, motioning to the chair near her desk. She sat on the edge of the bed, feet tucked under her.

Lando looked around like he’d never seen it before. His eyes were glassy, red from the flight. Tired. He looked… hollow.

She noticed.

“Have you slept?”

“No.”

“Eaten?”

“Not really.”

“You should’ve waited to fly—”

“I couldn’t.” His voice cracked on the words. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

Another pause. Then she spoke first.

“You didn’t text. All week.”

“You told me not to. Said to call when I fixed my attitude.” He glanced up. “I didn’t want to call you with excuses. I wanted to come here with the truth.”

She nodded slowly, looking down at her lap. “Then say it.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“I was awful to you. I know that. I’ve been awful for a while, haven’t I?”

Silence.

“I’ve been so focused on trying to prove myself—on not being second, not being forgotten—that I forgot you. I forgot that you’re not just here for the wins, or the highs, or the press photos. You’re here for me. And I treated you like that wasn’t enough.”

He stared down at his hands.

“And when you said you were done… I deserved it. Every word. I was cruel. And cold. And I let my pride drive the only person who’s ever stood by me right out the fucking door.”

She looked at him, eyes glossy. But she didn’t cry.

“Why do you do it?” she asked, voice tight. “Why do you talk to me like I’m the enemy every time something goes wrong?”

He blinked. “Because I hate feeling weak.”

“You think I make you feel weak?”

“No,” he said instantly. “You make me feel safe. Which scares me. Because when everything else in my life is falling apart, you’re the one thing that never does. And when I feel myself losing everything else… I guess I start trying to break the one thing I know is real. Just so it doesn’t hurt when it breaks on its own.”

Her eyes welled then. Finally. Quiet tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You’re right,” she said. “I am your safe place.”

She wiped her cheek. “But I haven’t felt safe with you in months.”

That shattered him.

“I’ve been walking on eggshells, Lando. Constantly. Trying not to say too much, not to get in the way. Swallowing how I feel because God forbid I add to your pressure.”

She looked up, trembling now. “You’re exhausted? So am I. You’re scared? So am I. You’re angry? Lando, I’ve been angry for months. Angry at myself for letting it get this far. For letting you chip away at me in little, quiet ways every time you came home and didn’t say ‘I missed you.’ Every time I stood in the paddock and you looked through me.”

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“No. Let me finish.” Her voice cracked. “Because I haven’t said this out loud to anyone. Not even Alex. Not even my mom.”

She took a breath.

“There were days I thought about leaving.”

That stopped him cold.

“I thought about packing a bag, leaving a note, and just disappearing from your world. Not because I don’t love you. God, I love you more than anything. But because I couldn’t breathe around you anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay while slowly being erased.”

Lando didn’t just tear up.

He broke.

His hand shot up to cover his mouth, shoulders trembling, face turning red as tears spilled freely down his cheeks.

“You were gonna leave,” he whispered.

She looked at him, chest heaving, barely holding herself together. “I didn’t want to. I wanted you to see me before I had to.”

He stood up slowly, like his legs barely worked. Walked to her. Dropped to his knees.

His head bowed into her lap like he was praying.

“I didn’t know,” he choked. “I didn’t know you were hurting that much.”

“I didn’t want to make it worse,” she whispered. “You already had the weight of the whole world on you. I didn’t want to be one more thing dragging you down.”

“You were never that,” he sobbed. “You were never that.”

She ran a hand over his hair, fingers trembling.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said against her leg, voice muffled. “I’ll do anything. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll quit racing. I’ll walk away from the grid tomorrow if that’s what it takes.”

She froze. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he said, looking up. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe with me again.”

A long silence.

Then—

“I still love you,” she whispered. “But we’re not okay. We’re not gonna fix this with one big gesture.”

“I know.”

She reached for his face. Wiped under his eyes with her thumbs.

“We have to rebuild, Lando. From the ground up.”

He nodded, leaning into her hands. “Then let’s start. Please. Just… don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Not yet. But I need you to prove this matters to you. That I matter to you when things are bad, not just when they’re good.”

“I will.” He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “I swear to god I will.”

[comically-callous]

Thinking about having sex with Bob for the first time.

You’ve been together for a while, plenty of makeout sessions and light over the belt touching. But, you hadn’t actually gone there quite yet.

One night Bob comes to your apartment to watch a movie and about twenty minutes in you’re already halfway seated into his lap, playing with his hair while he traces patterns into your hip. It only takes a couple more minutes for him to have his head tilted back with his eyes fluttering shut as you kiss his neck. You smile against his throat every time he whimpers and the way your nails scrape over his scalp as your fingers run through his hair is enough to get him hard.

You feel it almost immediately since you’re in his lap, a slight tent beginning to form in his pants, pushing against your thigh. It wasn’t the first time you’d gotten him riled up. All the previous times he’d mumble an embarrassed apology before moving away to put space between the two of you. And it looked like this time wasn’t going to be any different.

“Sorry.” He said with a shaky sigh. He began to shift away when you cupped his cheeks in your hands. You turned his face to look at you and spoke softly.

“We don’t have to stop if you don’t want to.” His eyes widened and you felt him tense under you. You would’ve been worried that you’d taken things a step too far if you didn’t also feel his cock twitch in his pants. “Do you wanna keep going, Bob?” You asked, feeling a bit more bold. He didn’t trust himself to answer without sounding absolutely pathetic, so he just nodded.

Now you’re in bed with Bob above you, thrusting in and out of you like he’ll die if he stops.

You honestly hadn’t expected for him to be so desperate. Things had started how you’d expected, slow and a bit nervous. He’d kissed you with his hands in his lap and you literally had to give him permission to touch you. But, once he was inside of you it was like a switch flipped. Now he was whimpering and moaning into your ear, his face buried into the crook of your neck while his arms were wrapped around your body, holding you as close as possible.

He mumbled a “Feels so good….” Into your neck for what had to be the twentieth time, arms tightening around you like he was trying to bring you impossibly closer to him.

Meanwhile, you’re laying beneath him, one hand tangled into his hair while the other is laid on his bare back. You hadn’t expected Bob to be so ripped, but apparently he was full of surprises.

Bob eventually lifted his face from your neck enough to press his mouth to yours in a messy, desperate kiss. He was moaning into your mouth while you were struggling to keep your jaw from going slack. He was the one to break the kiss, pulling away as an almost guttural moan fell from his lips. His eyes fell shut and his mouth fell open in a sort of “O” shape and you swore he was the prettiest man you’d ever seen. He went to bury his face into your neck again, but you managed to stop him with a gentle tug on his hair (which elicited a shaky whimper).

“Wanna see you—“ You manage to say through your own sounds of pleasure.

And he obliged, trying his best to maintain eye contact with you (although, he couldn’t help it when his eyes would occasionally flutter shut). The eye contact seemingly does something for him because he begins to rock into you faster, holding you tighter, moaning louder. Through the midst of his pleasure he manages to speak.

“T-tell me you love me.” He begs. “Please, please, please, say I’m doing good, need it, oh god-“

And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely? When you do say all the things he’s asked you to, he’s almost immediately done for. His eyes screw shut, head tilting back as a series of moans fall freely from his open mouth. He just barely manages to pull out before he’s cumming onto your stomach and chest.

The both of you pant, trying to catch your breaths and eventually his head falls to your chest.

“…. M’sorry.” He mumbles against your skin.

“For what?” You ask.

“Didn’t make you finish.” He lifts his head enough to look up at you with a pout.

You manage to smile down at him. “It’s alright.” You say. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to.” He interrupts, shifting so that his face is just a bit closer to yours. “Let me. Please, let me.” He begins to kiss your neck and you shiver. “Please,” He repeats. “I wanna taste you.”

A/n: I had to stop myself from making this way longer. Honestly, I planned for it to be shorter, but then the freak took control of me. Anyways, I love Bob. Send in requests for him if you’d like ❤️❤️

[meiplays]

Movie Night.

The soft flicker of the TV danced across the dark living room, casting little gold shadows over tangled blankets, forgotten snacks, and three very content bodies piled onto the couch.

You were happily smushed between Dean and Sam, each of them pressed into you on either side like living space heaters. Sam’s arm was tucked under your legs, hand lazily resting on your thigh, while Dean’s hand had slipped under your hoodie ages ago, warm palm rubbing slow circles on your back.

You hadn’t even noticed the movie plot anymore. It was some dramatic rom-com that Sam had picked with suspicious nonchalance and Dean had immediately groaned about.

And now? The couple on-screen was kissing for the third time in twenty minutes.

Dean grunted. “This better not be sappy shit every time they kiss.”

You didn’t even pause. “If it is,” you said sweetly, “I’m kissing both of you.”

Dean paused. “…Well. Shit.”

Sam snorted. “We’re really not seeing the downside here.”

You grinned and tilted toward Dean first, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. He hummed against you, smug and warm, already cupping your cheek like he planned on keeping you there.

Then you turned and kissed Sam just as slowly—he smiled into it, thumb brushing your chin, his kiss soft and grounding.

You leaned back, flushed and glowing, and snuggled in deeper between them.

Another kiss started on-screen.

You sat up straight. “Rules are rules.”

Dean laughed and pulled you right into his lap. “Come here then, sweetheart. Pucker up.”

Sam leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “You made this game. You gotta commit now.”

You rolled your eyes but happily accepted both kisses—Dean’s rough and teasing, Sam’s tender and lingering.

After the next on-screen kiss, Dean groaned dramatically. “This couple has zero chemistry. You two are the only reason I haven’t turned this off.”

You raised a brow. “Wow, so dramatic.”

Sam gave a quiet, knowing smile. “You’re secretly invested. You’ve been making faces every time they argue.”

Dean scowled. “That’s not invested. That’s me trying not to throw the remote.”

You giggled and cupped Dean’s face in your hands. “You're blushing.”

“I’m not—!” he started, but you kissed him before he could protest further, soft and slow. His grumbling faded instantly, replaced with a pleased little noise.

Sam just watched, his hand softly stroking your thigh, until you turned and kissed him too—your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just a bit.

The movie kept playing. You all stayed tangled up in each other, exchanging kisses during every sappy moment until the plot barely mattered anymore.

Eventually, Sam’s head rested on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Dean yawned loudly and buried his face in your neck.

“Might be the dumbest movie I ever watched,” he mumbled against your skin, “but definitely the best night.”

You smiled, running your fingers through both their hair. “Told you. Sappy shit pays off.”

Dean chuckled sleepily, and Sam murmured, “Every single time.”

[homeofthelonelywriter]

gamer!Ghost x f!gamer!reader | Previous Part

You won’t lie, you spend the next few minutes just standing in the doorway, watching the spot where the car Simon had gotten into, disappeared. Riley stayed by your side the whole time, letting you scratch his head absentmindedly. Only when goosebumps rose on your thighs, and the first neighbors left their houses, did you move back and closed the doors, a heavy sigh leaving your lips.

As you looked around, a frown took over your face. You were alone. In your boyfriend’s house. With his dog. That thought made you look down, and you smiled at Riley. “So? What do you usually do when he’s gone.” You didn’t expect anything to be honest, maybe a confused head tilt. But instead, you watched as he turned around and sat down in front of the door, looking at it. The quiet chuckle that tumbled from your lips filled the space as you crouched down beside him. “You wait for him, hm? Well, this time, you won’t be waiting alone.”

As if he understood what you said, he gently knocked his head against yours, before standing up and trotting toward the bedroom. You quietly followed, growing tired once again, and a day in bed sounded like heaven, but when you entered the bedroom and watched as Riley curled up on Simon’s side, you noticed something resting on his pillow.

With a frown, you climbed onto the mattress and picked up the folded piece of paper, chuckling once you saw the chicken scratch Simon must call handwriting. But it fit him.

Heya love,

‘know it must be weird being here alone right now, and I’m really sorry I had to leave. Not how I imagined our time together. Feel free to explore the house, nothing’s off limits. You can also use my PC to game and if you’d like, stream. I removed the pin, so you have free access. I also left my card in the kitchen. Please use it if you need to buy anything. Riley is easy, he’ll let you know if he needs something. If you don’t want to take him out, the kids from the right hand neighbors love to take him on walks and play with him, I already let them know that you may drop by. I also asked…someone…to keep you up to date as much as possible, so don’t be surprised if you get texts from a random, American number. I hope I’ll be back soon.

Thinking of you, always, Simon

You smiled, reading through it, before pressing a soft kiss to it and putting it ion your nightstand. Then, you cuddled up with Riley, and fell asleep. Your heart lighter and a smile still on your face.

Next Part | Coming Friday the 4th

A/N: I know it's not much, I'm just so freaking tired (and relieved).

Also, let me know if you want to be on the perma taglist! Just say if you want all of COD or specific characters. Although I mostly post Ghost.

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I hope I have everyone on the taglist! If I forgot you or your tag isn't working, let me know, please! <3

[lis-likes-fics]

Shameless

Pairing(s): Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 2.2k word Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), sort of exhibitionism (getting caught and not caring), idk what else... A/N: So I've had the biggest writer's block since my Valentine's event and I am just now getting back into it so forgive me if I still don't post too often after this. But thank you for your patience, and please bear with me as I get back in the groove. I hope you enjoy this little fic of my favorite autistic man!

Spencer thinks it's worthy to note that he's not nearly as shy as he used to be—and you would agree. When you met him, he was an anxiety-ridden, can't-look-you-in-the-eye, speaks-too-fast-even-he-can’t-keep-up boy that blushed every time you looked at him.

He's still all of those things but at least now he can kiss you without feeling like his heart might give out—just stutter a bit.

But it's not like it's come easily. You've practically thrown him into exposure therapy when it comes to relative public humiliation. He doesn't mean that you actively embarrass and/or harass him like it's some sort of life purpose—of course not.

But it's important to understand that you are Morgan's best friend and roommate. So when you and Spencer start dating—worse, when you start having sex? He learns what exactly that really means. And so does Derek, who stands in the break room with his favorite mug—courtesy of Penelope Garcia—refilling his coffee for the third time in the past couple of hours.

Emily is armed to the teeth, fully prepared to pick on him when she steps into the room to tease him and his wrinkled, un-suave looking shirt. “Well, you look like something the Strauss dragged in,” she smirks, teeth flashing with her amusement when Derek flinches slightly as he sees her looming over his shoulder. “What's wrong with you?”

She steps to the side just to take him in and really revel in this new, slightly unkempt version of the sleek Derek Morgan. His eyes are marked with exhaustion, and he looks at Emily like he might just pass out right there.

“Pretty boy.” The way he says has so much spite that Emily can't help but snort. He'd scoffed and shaken his head and looked off into space like he was plotting.

Emily takes the coffee pot from his lazily offered hand and starts pouring her own cup. “What? Were they talking all night?” She mixes in her creamer, fully unaware of what she's walking into. “What is it that they even do? Stare at each other and play Sudoku? The occasional shy peck on the cheek?”

“Are you sure you've met my roommate?” he asks, the look on his face way too vexed to simply be you and Spencer rambling at 2 A.M.

It's as if she's being summoned as JJ walks into the room, cup empty and hand already reaching for the pot. “The one dating Spencer, right?”

“The only one I have? Yeah, that one,” Derek says, leaning back against the counter with one ankle crossed over the other.

JJ is unfazed by his tone. “What’d she do this time? Or is it just the shoes again?”

“Actually, it's Spencer this time,” Emily corrects.

“Well, what'd he do this time?”

“Actually,” Derek says, “it's both of them this time.”

JJ rolls her eyes. “Who did what when?”

“Say that five times fast.” Emily laughs, much to Derek's dismay. Which makes JJ laugh, much to Derek's dismay.

“If someone says ‘time’ one more–” He cuts himself off, sighing and hanging his head in defeat as the two cover their mouths and laugh at Derek's general dismay.

“So what happened?” Emily says, refocusing the topic at hand because she really wants to know who to thank for her ammunition and why.

~

Really it's his own fault. At this point of their relationship, Derek should know by now that when it comes to Spencer, there's little that will keep you from him. You've been obsessed with the boy since Derek introduced you, head over heels and so deeply protective of him—in a way that's both fun and dangerous to tease.

Spencer adores it. He can't believe there is someone that loses her mind any time anyone even looks at him the wrong way. He has to reassure you that he's okay just so you don't fight a man who happens to shove shoulders with him on the street.

But it also means there is nothing that will pull you away from him when you've got the pleasure to give him pleasure (and vice versa).

Not when you're straddling his lap in the living room, square on his back on the couch while you make out with him until he's dizzy with adoration.

“You have an entire room,” Derek reminds, brow raised as he looks over at you from where you glance at him over the couch.

“Yeah, but we were already out here,” you shrug. It's not a convincing argument but you apparently don't have time to finish it because you're already cradling his red cheeks and kissing him silly again. He's already forgotten about Morgan, holding you to him like there's nobody there, at all.

And you definitely weren't pulled away when Derek opened the door to said room this morning, a question on his tongue when he foolishly forgets to knock. “Did you–”

Spencer startles in the form of a brief shout and a sharp jolt of shock. You don't share that reaction—in fact, you don't react at all, besides the instinctive shift to cover Spencer with your body, which you continue to rock feverishly back and forth atop him in a desperate search for the ends of your pleasure (which doesn't quite exist when it comes to Spencer).

Panting, your hands on Spencer's shoulders tighten slightly as you roll your hips deeply. “What?” you huff over your shoulder.

“I did not want to see this today,” Derek says, not to himself but to you as a half-gripe.

“You're the one who didn't—mmph—knock.”

“I thought he was gone.”

“Can you please close the door?” Spencer's voice shakes from a moan he tries to keep in as he covers his face with his hands, which had once been on your waist that you now miss. His face is burning with embarrassment, flushed red with humiliation and pleasure alike.

Derek doesn't quite pay attention to him, gaze focused solely on you still bouncing on top of him as you allow little moans to slip from your lips. “So I'm guessing you don't need a ride to work?”

“No, he's got me,” you say, looking down at him with źa smile and gently encouraging one hand from his face to see him. He glances at you, warm with exertion, pupils blown wide with lust, smiling down at him in a way that makes him forget about his current predicament. “Right, Spence?”

Spencer would be thinking of cradling your face and kissing you silly, of hugging you until you run out of breath, of holding your hand and staring into your eyes forever or until some cruel force comes to pull him away—if you weren't currently riding his cock like it's the one thing you were meant to do. Instead, all he can think about is how beautiful you look on top of him, how he wants to spread your pretty thighs and devour you, how he wants to make you cum over and over and over again.

“Yeah,” he nods, panting as he goes. “I got you.”

“See?” You smile at Derek, still rocking and still occasionally whimpering between fast, shallow pulls of breath. “All good.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, I'm gonna go bleach my eyes before work. I'll see you later.”

You bite your lip looking down at Spencer's half-blissed face (the other half is still still pure embarrassment, because shame would insinuate being ashamed of giving you pleasure and that would never be an option). “Look so pretty, honey,” you whisper breathily, partially forgetting Derek's in the room.

And as such, “And my ears, too, while I'm at it.”

“Oh, wait,” you glance over your shoulder once more to catch his gaze. “Can you get me after work? Spencer's got a thing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, already turning to close the door behind him. As he's doing so, a shocked whimper falls from Spencer's lips when the blunt edges of your nails begin to dig slightly into his chest. “Or maybe I'll just gouge ‘em out.”

~

“Oh,” Emily says, brows raised and lips pursed. “I didn't know our boy got down like that. Respect.”

“Yeah, and I didn't need to know how much,” Derek shakes his head woefully as he takes another generous sip from his mug.

“How much?” JJ echoes. “This is a common occurrence?”

Derek drops his face in one hand, like the mere memory of the two of you and your “activities” brings him pain and despair. “You don't know the half of it, because the kid definitely isn't innocent in all this.”

~

Derek nudges your door open when you answer his knock. Glancing around, he notices a suspicious lack of your boyfriend, usually glued to your hip and at your every beck and call. You're alone at your desk, your fingers still on your computer as you work away on something.

“Hey, I was gonna get somethin’ to eat. Where'd the kid go?” His brow furrows as he glances around for a moment.

You look at him with eyes just a bit too wide, lips pursed as you look at him with far too much attention. You smile a bit, your words so slightly slurred. “Oh, he just went to do the same.”

“Weird, I didn't…” Derek watches you, suspicion in his gaze as he looks you up and down, tucked neatly into your desk. “I didn't hear him leave…” He trails off at the end, studying you suspiciously. Your eye twitches lightly, like you're trying not to close it as your fingers tap repeatedly on the desk.

Derek's grimace is strong. “Aww—c'mon, really? Couldn't’ve warned me or anything?”

You drop some of your façade, the remains more for the sake of his sanity than your dignity—there is nothing at all undignifying about being worshipped by Dr. Spencer Reid. Your mouth goes mostly slack, your eyes get droopy. You have enough handle on your voice for now not to moan in his face when you tightly say, “The knock was your warning. Whoops.”

“‘Whoops’? You let me walk in on you fuckin’, and all you say is ‘whoops’?” He rolls his eyes, not nearly as infuriated as he seems (he's so incredibly glad two of the people who mean most to him are together and happy, just sick of witnessing them together and happy).

Spencer doesn't seem like he's letting up anytime soon either. Within the cover of the desk, he spreads your legs just a bit wider as he leans in ever closer to you. You feel the slightest scratch of the barely-there stubble beginning to grow on his cheeks at the inside of your thighs and have to bite your lip to keep your sounds in.

“We're n-not fucking,” you say. “This doesn't count.”

“It does to me,” he raises a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. It doesn't necessarily feel like all this talk-back is really warranted if he's the one standing there talking to you instead of leaving now that he knows what's actually happening.

“Do you need anything, Derek?” The pleasure is creeping up your spine, and you're not totally keen on cumming on Spencer's mouth while Derek Morgan is staring you down. Is this the first time he's “witnessed” one of your orgasms? No. But that doesn't mean it needs to be a common occurrence.

He grabs the door again. “Are you hungry?”

“We're good,” you nod, your voice thin.

He's beginning to pull the door closed when Spencer pulls away from between your legs, looking up at you with glistening lips. “Wait, I'm a little hungry,” he murmurs to you, a shy smile ready on his lips.

You roll your eyes playfully, one hand coming to stroke gently at the back of his as it gently squeezes your thigh. “Ugh, fine. Derek.” He peeks his head in. “Send me the menu, I'll text you.” He sticks out a thumbs up and closes the door.

You turn back to Spencer, whatever is on your computer long forgotten. You smile, “I hate you.”

“Oh,” he says. “I can fix that.”

He spreads your thighs a bit once more and dives between them with the enthusiasm of a starving man to a buffet. His tongue laps at you until you moan too loudly, and then he's sucking at your clit like a straw. “Oh, fuck.”

~

The attention of the three agents is pulled to the door when the perpetrator suddenly walks in with a coffee cup in one hand, a wooden stir in the other, and a really confused look when they're all looking at him with varying expressions.

Spencer looks between them, eyes widening slowly as he nervously shifts from foot to foot. “What?”

Emily and JJ look at each other before falling into a fit of surprised laughter. Derek rolls his eyes, walking past the two, and then past Spencer with a small shake of his head.

His gaze follows Derek until he's behind him, confusion etching deeper into his face as he turns back to Emily and JJ with worried brows. They leave next, and Spencer is left to his own confoundment.

“What did I do?”

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 @hits-different-cause-its-you @liza-beth03 @carolina-angel @mournfuldeer Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake @imgonnaslurpu @i-live-in-spite @stevendenkiswhore

[jedi-luca]

Head Over Feet: Chapter Nine: I Can Love You Better

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show. Slowburn 🔥❤️‍🔥

Previous Chapter

You don’t remember much.

But Lili does.

You were covered in blood. Breathing hard. An arrow wound. Bullet holes. Your jaw bruised, knuckles broken from hitting someone too many times. You only collapsed when she said your name and reached for your hand.

In Jackson, the gates burst open as Lili rode in with your limp body slumped against her, head bowed, boots dragging. She shouted for help, voice ragged, barely holding you up.

People started running. Calling for Maria. For medics.

Charlie was in the greenhouse, just down the hill, helping Cam with the planters when she heard the shouting. The urgency in the voices.

“Did something happen?” she asked, blinking up at Cam.

Cam stood suddenly, eyes scanning the path toward the clinic. Her face went pale. “Stay here,” she said.

“Why?”

Cam didn’t answer. Just dropped her tools and jogged off.

Charlie stood frozen, the quiet creeping in. Then the whispering started kids on the path, adults talking low and fast.

She caught one sentence:

“It’s Y/N… they’re in bad shape.”

She took off running, and when she made it to the infirmary Cam caught her before she could reach the door.

“No!” She screamed.

“It’ll be okay I promise.” Cam whispered.

“I have to be there!” Charlie cried.

“The doctor and nurses are doing their job. We have to stay out of the way for now, but I promise you Y/N will be okay.” Cam sniffles.

“You can’t promise that!” She whined.

“I know you’re right, I can’t promise that, but you know Y/N they’re a fighter. They wouldn’t leave you.”

Charlie nodded sobbing in Cam’s arms.

Meanwhile in the Infirmary.

Lili didn’t let go of your hand not even when she helped the medics lift you, stumbling into the infirmary with you still in her arms. Someone tried to stop her.

“I’m staying,” she snapped.

“Only immediate family.”

“I’m not leaving them.”

Dina arrived a breath later.

When she saw you pale, shaking, blood-soaked she stopped moving entirely.

Then she stormed forward, voice shaking.

“Get out of the way.”

“Dina-”

“I’m not leaving them.”

“Ma’am, we need space,” someone says.

The doctor pushes through, blood already on her gloves. “Step aside. Both of you.”

“No—” Lili starts. “I’m not leaving—”

“You can’t help if you’re in the way,” the doctor snaps. “We need room. Now.”

Hands pull at her shoulders. At Dina’s too.

“I’m right here,” Lili says, trying to grip your hand tighter.

But the nurse is stronger. “We’ll call you back in the second we can.”

Dina doesn’t argue. Doesn’t speak. But her jaw tightens, her fists balling at her sides as they guide her away from the table.

The last thing Lili sees before she’s pushed toward the curtain is your chest still. Pale. Blood seeping through fresh gauze. Then the curtain closes.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Inside, the room spins into ordered chaos.

“Pressure’s dropping.”

“They’re losing too much blood!”

“Clamp that artery- no, above it.”

“Come on, Y/N. Come on, don’t do this.”

Your pulse slips lower. Then lower.

Then the sound that left everyone breathless.

You flatline.

Time seems to have stopped and suddenly you’re somewhere else.

A field. Wind moving soft through the grass. The sky sunny with big puffy clouds scattered around. It was a memory you can’t quite name.

Your family is here.

Your mom. Dad. Brother. Sister-in-law. All the ones you lost. Faces gentle. Silent. Smiling like they’ve been waiting for you.

You take a step toward them.

But behind you, something pulls.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Charlie’s voice. Clear. Real.

Then another choked. Lili.

And Dina, whispering your name like it’s a vow.

“It’s not your time yet.” Your brother says softly.

You turn away from the light.

You choose them.

Back in the chaotic room.

Your chest rises.

A strangled gasp. The machine shrieks back to life.

The doctor swears under her breath, “There you are, Jesus… get that line in now!”

Outside the curtain, Lili drops to her knees with a sob.

Dina sinks against the wall pressing both palms to her face.

You’re still unconscious. But you came back.

And neither of them loses you.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

The room is quieter now.

Monitors beep in steady rhythm. The bleeding’s stopped. Your color’s returning, just barely. You’re breathing on your own.

But you haven’t woken.

Lili sits on one side of the bed, her head resting in her hand, the other lightly curled around your fingers. Her thumb strokes your knuckles, slow and steady, like a promise.

Dina sits opposite her, elbows on her knees, her hand wrapped around yours too gently, but firmly. She hasn’t let go since the doctor gave the update: “They’re stable. For now.”

The silence between the two women isn’t cold. It’s thick. Quiet with fear. Fatigue. Grief. And something deeper, something unspoken but shared.

It’s been hours.

Then they hear footsteps. Light. Fast. Scared.

The door creaks open, then swings wide.

“Y/N?”

Charlie.

She rushes in, wide-eyed and breathless. Her gaze locks on the bed, and on you, still as stone, pale, wires trailing from your arms.

She stops short.

Then she stumbles forward, voice cracking. “Why are they still asleep?”

Neither Lili nor Dina has time to answer before Charlie breaks down.

“I thought they were gonna die,” she sobs, dropping to her knees at the edge of the bed. “They said it was bad but they didn’t say this!”

Lili moves first, slipping her hand from yours to gather Charlie into her arms. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. Come here.”

Charlie clings to her, shaking, tears soaking into Lili’s shirt.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Dina rises slowly, her own hand still holding yours. She let’s go and crouches beside them, wrapping her arm around Charlie’s back, then resting her hand gently on Lili’s shoulder.

“You won’t have to,” Dina says, her voice steady but hoarse. “They’re still fighting.”

Charlie nods into Lili’s chest, gasping little hiccuping breaths.

The three of them stay like that for a while curled at your bedside, fear giving way to quiet comfort. When Charlie dozed off Dina eventually slides her onto the bed beside you, her fingers threading once more into yours. Lili takes her seat back, taking your other hand.

And there you lie, still unconscious, but not alone.

Two hands holding yours. One small girl is safe and warm beside you. Three people who aren’t leaving.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

In the Morning

You were still asleep, but stable.

The town buzzed with whispers.

“They took down four raiders?”

“Alone?”

“They didn’t even flinch.”

“Covered in blood and still fighting!”

Maria called you a miracle.

Cam called you a lunatic.

Charlie just called you their Y/N/N, and kissed your cheek like you were made of glass.

In the afternoon after Cam failed trying to take Charlie back home. The little girl turned towards Lili asking her the question Dina wanted to know.

“What happened?”

Dina looks towards the blonde.

“They fought for me,” Lili whispered. “They didn’t stop, not even when they were bleeding. You should’ve seen them, Charlie.”

“Did they…did they win?”

“They did.”

Dina sighed saying: “Y/N is the bravest idiot I’ve ever met.”

Charlie let out a watery laugh. Wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“They’re our idiot.”

Dina smiled, soft and broken. “Yeah. They are.”

That night, you didn’t wake.

Not even when the nurses cleaned your wounds again. Not even when Charlie curled up back up beside you and whispered stories into your neck.

Later that night Dina finally spoke to you.

“You’re so stupid,” she whispered. “So fucking brave. You didn’t even think. Just threw yourself in the way. That’s who you are, huh?”

She swallowed hard.

“I’ve been so goddamn angry at you. For moving on. For being good. For not waiting.”

Her voice trembled as she cried.

“But you’re mine. And you’ve always been mine. Even when I couldn’t say it.” She leaned in closer. “You saved her. Of course you did. Because that’s who you are.”

Then, softer: “You’re the fucking hero of this town. And I’m the idiot who let you go.”

Lili didn’t pretend not to hear.

She turned her face away, her eyes shining.

The next morning the room is still.

The only movement is the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin blanket. Monitors hum their steady rhythm. It’s been long enough now that no one knows what to expect.

Charlie lies curled in a chair with her knees tucked to her chest, blanket drawn to her chin. She’s not crying anymore just staring at you. Silent. Waiting.

Lili sits close on one side, body coiled with exhaustion. Her hand rests beside yours on the edge of the bed. She hasn’t touched you since the last time you shifted. She’s afraid to wake false hope.

Dina is on the other side. Her hand has never left yours.

She’s holding it loosely, like something she knows doesn’t belong to her anymore.

Then you stir.

A faint twitch at the corner of your mouth. Your fingers curl ever so slightly in Dina’s palm.

Charlie sits up. “Did they just…?”

You inhale sharply, a ragged breath that barely fills your lungs. Then:

“…Charlie…”

Soft as breath. Worn like a prayer.

Charlie’s lip trembles.

“They said my name,” she whispers. “They said it.”

She leans forward. Lili instinctively reaches out to guide her closer without letting her get too close.

“She’s here Y/N.” Lili answers.

And then—

Another breath. Rougher. Your mouth opens again.

“…Dina…”

Dina freezes.

Lili does too. But only for a second.

Dina blinks, like she misheard. Then slowly leans in. “I’m here,” she says. Her voice cracks. “I’m right here.”

Your face relaxes. Your hand curls tighter around hers.

Lili looks down at her lap. Not bitter. Just… quiet. Struck.

She gently pulls her hand away from the edge of the bed.

Charlie looks up, confused. “Did… that mean something?”

Lili tries to smile. “It means they’re still with us.”

Dina doesn’t let go of your hand. Not now. Not yet. Her thumb rubs gentle, slow circles over your knuckles.

Charlie shifts beside Lili, her head against Lili’s side. “They’ll wake up soon, right?”

Lili nods, but doesn’t speak.

The monitor beeps. The room breathes.

And somewhere beneath the surface of painkillers and blood loss and dreams, you whisper the names of the ones who’ve claimed the deepest parts of you.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

The room is hushed.

Charlie sleeps tucked against Lili’s side, soft breaths brushing her arm. Her fingers still curled in the fabric of Lili’s hoodie. The blanket has slipped off one shoulder, and Lili gently tucks it back up without thinking.

Across the bed, Dina sits still leaning forward, elbows on her knees, one hand loosely wrapped around yours.

You haven’t moved since whispering their names.

But their presence is louder than ever.

It’s Lili who speaks first, voice low, hoarse from crying and too many hours awake.

“I’m not walking away from them.”

Dina looks up.

“I mean it,” she says again, steadier now. “I know this is messy. I know you’ve known them longer. But I’m not backing off just because you still love them.”

A pause.

Then Dina lower, more guarded. “I never stopped.”

Lili nods once. “Okay. But you kept pushing and pulling them over and over again.”

That lands between them. Sharp. Not cruel, just honest.

Dina takes it. Sits with it. Then, finally: “I know. And I regret that every damn day.”

They both glance down at Y/N—motionless but breathing, face bruised and still somehow soft in the pale light.

Lili’s voice shakes when she speaks again.

“They didn’t even look scared when it happened. When they were bleeding out. They were more worried about me.” Her throat tightens. “They kept fighting. For me.”

Dina’s jaw tenses. Her fingers tighten slightly around Y/N’s.

“They’ve always done that,” she says. “For everyone but themselves.”

Lili nods. “So now someone needs to fight for them.”

Dina meets her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lili lifts her chin. “Neither am I.”

There’s no malice. No shouting. Just two women holding ground. Both knowing what they feel. Both staring at the same person in the bed and refusing to leave quietly.

Dina exhales, voice low. “So what, we wait until they pick one of us?”

Lili shakes her head. “I don’t think this is about winning. I think it’s about staying.”

Charlie stirs against her side. Lili places a steadying hand on her back, soothing her before she can fully wake.

Dina watches the motion—tender, instinctive, maternal.

“I care about her,” Dina says quietly. “Charlie.”

Lili nods. “I know.”

Another beat.

“I care about you too,” Dina adds. “More than I want to.”

Lili doesn’t respond. But her throat works as she swallows. The weight of it is too much and not enough.

They sit in the quiet for a long time. Watching the rise and fall of your chest. Listening to the monitor beep like a ticking clock.

Neither of them moves.

Because love, real love doesn’t always make sense.

Sometimes, it just means you stay.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

It starts with pain.

A dull, pulling ache deep in your shoulder. A pressure in your ribs. Your skin feels hot and tight, like it doesn’t quite belong to you.

Then light.

Even with your eyes closed, it presses through—faint and pale behind your eyelids.

You don’t know where you are. Not yet. But the bed is too soft to be the field, and the air smells clean, sharp with alcohol and cloth. Not blood.

A hum. Mechanical. Beeping.

Monitors.

Your fingers twitch.

You feel it before you register it: a hand in yours. Warm. Familiar. You try to squeeze, but your body won’t listen fully.

“Y/N?”

That voice.

Dina.

You try again. This time your fingers curl slightly under hers.

She gasps. “Lili, did you see that?”

There’s a shift beside you. A rustle of blankets. Another hand brushes lightly at your temple.

“Y/N, baby?” Lili’s voice. Soft. Afraid. “Can you hear us?”

You try to answer, but your mouth is dry. Your throat burns.

Still, you manage something just a sound. A faint groan, sharp at the edges.

Charlie stirs somewhere nearby. Her voice cracks with sleep and worry. “Are they waking up?”

You blink.

The light is too bright. Everything’s out of focus. But shapes start to take form. A window. The ceiling. And two blurry silhouettes leaning over you.

Dina.

Lili.

Both of them close. Holding on.

You blink again. Your lips part. You mean to say something, but only a rasp comes out.

Lili grabs a cup of water from the bedside. “Here,” she whispers, tilting the straw toward you. Her fingers are steady, but barely. “Just a sip.”

You drink. It hurts. But it helps.

When you finally speak, your voice is rough, small. “What…?”

Dina leans in, eyes wet. “You’re okay. You made it.”

You look at her, then Lili, then down at your hand—still wrapped in Dina’s, Lili’s other hand resting lightly over your arm.

Charlie appears beside the bed, climbing up carefully, her eyes wide and red.

“You scared me,” she says softly.

You want to apologize, but your voice isn’t ready for that yet. So you lift your hand—barely—and she grabs it like it’s life itself.

You close your eyes again. Not to sleep, but to breathe.

They stayed.

All of them.

You don’t know what day it is. You don’t know what comes next.

But they’re here.

And so are you.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

It takes another day before the doctor clears you to leave. You’re not moving fast, and your shoulder screams every time you shift the wrong way—but you’re alive, and that’s enough.

They come in together that morning: Lili with your backpack slung over her shoulder, Dina balancing JJ on one hip and a folded blanket in her free hand, and Charlie clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest.

“Ready?” Lili asks, soft and warm, already knowing you’re not. Not really. But also knowing you’ll say yes anyway.

JJ kicks his legs and mumbles something unintelligible into Dina’s shoulder. He’s got that just-woke-up face, hair sticking up and cheeks flushed pink.

Charlie insists on carrying your water bottle and the rabbit. “It’s for luck,” she says solemnly, offering it like a talisman.

You try to argue when Dina moves to help you up, but the second your feet hit the floor, the room tips, and your knees buckle.

She catches you before you fall. “Y/N,” she says sharply. “Don’t.”

“I’ve got it,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“You don’t.” Lili’s already on your other side, slipping beneath your good arm. “Let us take care of you, please.”

It’s humbling—being half-carried out of the infirmary like that. JJ rides on Dina’s hip, watching you with wide eyes. He keeps patting her shoulder and whispering, “Up?” like he doesn’t understand why you’re the one being helped this time.

The walk to your house feels long. The sun is bright. A breeze moves through the town, and someone calls out hello, but you don’t register who. Everything feels far away.

Inside, the house smells like fresh linen and something warm on the stove.

Someone probably Lili has cleaned. The couch is made up with extra blankets. The coffee table’s been cleared. There’s a vase on the windowsill with a few wildflowers stuck inside.

“You’re staying down here,” Dina says as she lowers JJ to the floor and steers you gently to the couch. “No stairs.”

“I can go to my bed-”

“Nope.” She nudges your knees until you sit. “You’re on couch lockdown.”

Charlie plops the rabbit down beside you and adjusts your pillow like she’s in charge. “And I’m bringing snacks later.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Lili calls from the kitchen.

Charlie shrugs. “Too late.”

JJ toddles over, thumb in his mouth, dragging a small wooden car. He eyes you cautiously.

“Hi, buddy,” you rasp.

He leans into Dina’s leg but peeks up at you, curious. “Boo-boo,” he says seriously, pointing at your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you manage, smiling. “I got a boo-boo.”

He considers this for a long moment, then carefully places the toy car on your knee like an offering. You want to cry.

Dina crouches in front of you, eyes on your bandages. “Let me check this. Just to make sure nothing shifted.”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me decide that.”

You glance over her shoulder. Lili is stirring something on the stove. Her sleeves are rolled up, her hair tucked behind her ears. She looks at home here.

JJ clambers awkwardly onto the couch and situates himself near your legs. He keeps looking at you, then at his mom, like he’s waiting for confirmation this is all okay.

Charlie climbs up beside you too, close but careful. “Do you feel like watching a movie? Or do you wanna nap?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy watching them move around you—the way Lili hums under her breath, the way Dina presses the back of her hand to your forehead like it’s second nature, the way Charlie leans into your side with the easy weight of someone who knows you’re not going anywhere.

You try to get up after lunch to rinse your cup, but Lili’s on you immediately. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I can carry my own-”

“You can, but you won’t,” she says, lifting it from your hand. “Sit down before Dina sees you.”

Too late.

“She already saw,” Dina calls from the laundry nook. “Y/N, I swear-”

“I’m going!” you grumble, lowering yourself back to the couch.

JJ peeks up at you and mimics your tone with a playful, “I’m gooooin’,” then dissolves into giggles.

Charlie gasps. “JJ, you can’t sass!”

“Wonder where he learned that,” Lili says, smirking as she passes Dina.

Later, after JJ’s gone down for a nap in the guest room, Charlie lays curled at your side, reading aloud from one of her books. You don’t follow the story much, but her voice soothes something in you.

Dina brings over fresh gauze and kneels beside you again. She checks your shoulder slowly, carefully, her touch gentle but clinical.

“You should’ve seen yourself,” she murmurs, not looking at you. “You were out. Pale. Barely breathing.”

“I’m here now.”

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t answer that.

When Charlie finally dozes off, Lili drapes a blanket over her and presses a quiet kiss to the crown of your head.

You close your eyes—not to sleep, but to breathe.

They stayed.

Even Dina, even now.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you let yourself be taken care of.

And for now… that’s enough.

A/N: don’t forget to like reblog and comment what you think!

[the-daughter-of-a-wolf]

THE OLD GUARD 2 THOUGHTS AS I AM HAVING THEM AAAA

LITERALLY NOTHING BUT SPOILERS PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!

I have never been more anxious about hitting play on a movie in my life

I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH AWOOOOO

the violence feels a lot more cartoony than in the first one

like sure, there were gratuitous gore shots in that one as well, but they feel... idk, more goofy and over the top here

also I get starting on an action sequence, but the extreme violence against a horde of random guards feels a lot harder to justify when you don't really know the stakes. like yeah sure guns bad, but so bad that you have to very violently murder this many people over it?? maybe I've just gotten soft in my old age

man I am worried about the Uma Thurman plot. I am very anti-adding new (old) immortals at this point, but I hope they explain it in a satisfying way later on

QUYNH AAAA OOOOWWWW WAUGHH

me chanting to myself with tears in my eyes when Joe asks for some space: "I WANT THEM TO HAVE ARCS AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT! I WANT THEM TO HAVE ARCS AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!"

OMGGGG OKAY THAT'S A GOOD DEVELOPMENT. OUCH. AWOO. YES.

like okay yay Tuah I don't mind him, but how are you just rewriting the immortals lore now?? also why would Copley's discoveries change Andy's mind if Tuah was already doing the same thing??? raaahhhh!!!!

also you'd think this whole Discord situation would've come up in conversation between Tuah and Andy before now like hello???? something you might need to know?!

Godddd Andy and Nile make me feral!!! Also if they don't acknowledge Andy and Quynh romantically I'm throwing my laptop off the balcony

OOHHHH that glimpse of historical Nicky and Joe has me screamingggg

I'm actually really happy so far with how Andy and Quynh's reunion is being handled!

ohhh how I wish I gave a shit about the Discord plotline. but alas. I really don't

NOOOO YOU'RE KIDDING ME. please don't explain the becoming mortal thing. please don't. that's so fucking stupid. also how convenient that there are these very specific legends about this very secret thing that only applies to a very few specific humans and that almost no one knows about! this is the lamest shit I've ever heard

oh Booker my sweet baby angel ;___;

Booker trying to wingman Andy into fixing things with Quynh HEEEELLLL YEAH.

OH SHIT THIS IS JUICY!!! Booker using Nile to try to become mortal???? OUGH OW OUCH WAUGH OWWW. I mean that sucks and is so cruel to Nile, but. JUICY. (also unrelatedly, goddd Nile is so fucking hot!!!)

J U I C Y !!!!! AAAAAAAA!!!!

FUCK ME UP NICKY ALRIGHT 😭😭😭😭

THIS IMMORTALITY TRANSFER IS THE STUPIDEST SHIT I'VE HEARD IN MY LIFE!!! SO NOW IT'S A GAME OF HOT POTATO????? jesus christ

ALSO DOES THIS NOT NEGATE THE WHOLE DISCUSSION THEY HAD ABOUT STUFF MEANING MORE WHEN YOU ONLY HAVE LIMITED TIME????

Oh I am BIG MAD about Booker's death. That's a real mean stunt to pull on Andy.

Also can we talk about how this is a giant retcon??? ANDY HEALED FROM WHEN NILE STABBED HER, DIDN'T SHE? Like, the first time she noticed her wound not healing was after the church fight? she would've noticed much sooner if Nile's stab wound hadn't healed. so it wasn't a case of "the first wound inflicted by the newest mortal takes away the healing", right? or am I tripping. but either way that's so fucking stupid.

it would've been much much juicier for Quynh to realise Andy's not immortal than the other way around.

god Andy is hot in this movie. the lesbian mullet. awooga awooga.

dude as anyone who knows anything about consent can tell you, consent given under torture is not consent! it's never going to be "fReELy gIVeN" if you torture them to do it! dumbass.

WHAT THE

WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING MEEEEE?????????

THAT'S WHERE IT ENDS???

I'M SORRY?????

dude you're lying to me

THAT'S...

I'm legit speechless.

THAT'S NOT EVEN SEQUEL BAIT, THAT'S AN UNFINISHED MOVIE! WHERE'S THE FUCKING REST OF IT?!?!?!?!

IT TOOK YOU FIVE YEARS TO GET THIS SEQUEL OUT AND YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE THE CONCLUSION TO THE NEXT MOVIE???? WHAT IS HAPPENING??? YOU'RE NOT GETTING A THIRD MOVIE YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!! SO THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS????

I am gobsmacked.

did not see that coming

0/10. fuck you.

(EDIT: okay I hit "post" the second I was done so that ended a bit harshly so I will amend that there was a lot to like about this, as I hopefully brought up in my notes! I loved all the interactions between the main crew, most of the Booker stuff was handled really nicely, and I liked a lot of the things they did with Quynh's return. but that final curveball really shat on my enjoyment of this movie big time. so it's not actually a flat 0/10, but my god it sure was not a well-made movie, was it. OOF.)

[hangetagram]

HELLOURR

sorry I’m kinda stalking ur page rn oops

Idk if ur open right now but if you are can I req a Umemiya x Sakura’s older sister reader where she works at a clinic nearby and ume is just there at her clinic always all up her space like it’s his second home and reader calling Sakura to come get his boss (in love) cause he’s spending too much time there and maybe cause she’s also playing hard to get idk🤭

note: OH EM GEE!! my first request!!! i love this idea so much 😭🩷 i tried my best please cut me sum slack LOL if it’s ass LMK IN DMS LMFAO 😭💔 (Notes and re blogs are GREATLY appreciated!!)

summary: umemiya being so in love with you he has to be at your workplace 247! umemiya x f!reader

“Do you have anyone else to bother?” you asked the boy in front of you that was covered in wounds.

“Nope! Just you! My one and only savior y/n!” Umemiya exclaims as he smiles brightly at you while you treat him.

“Well you’re fine now so you can leave.” you told him off.

He never liked it when you asked him to leave because he liked hanging out with you, but he wouldn’t dare to disobey you.

“Fine! But i’ll be back!” he yells as he exits the clinic.

you rub your temple due to the extra stress a certain white haired boy has caused.

“when is that boy gonna give up..” you mumble as you head back to your desk.

————————

Not even a couple hours later you see umemiya storm into the clinic’s entrance yelling.

“Y/NNNN!!” you see him smile once he spots your face.

“Yes? Did you get hurt again?” you groaned knowing he probably did.

“Are you worried about me!?” he joked.

“Did you or did you not?” you replied a bit annoyed.

“Well, no, but i want to spend some time with you!” he shyly told you.

“You’re literally here almost everyday, can’t you just go home this once?” You snapped.

“But today i really wanna be with you!” he whined.

“I’m calling haruka to come and get you.” you told him with a stern tone.

“Aw, cmon don’t call Sakura! He’s gonna ban me from coming here!” he pleaded as you were already on the phone with your brother.

“Too bad, he’s already on his way.” you stated.

“You’re too mean Y/n!” he cried.

As you were about you say something you heard you brother barge into the clinic.

“Dude! You gotta stop pestering my sister!” Haruka shouted.

“I can’t help it! She’s so pretty and smart. Totally my type!” He smiled while looking at you.

You couldn’t lie, that made your stomach flutter hearing that.

“Well stop! Come on, let’s go!” Your brother told umemiya.

Umemiya stood up from the seat he was sitting in next to your desk walking towards the exit but before he left he made sure that you heard,

“Nothing will stop me from coming to see you! Not Sakura, no one!” he proudly said.

You chuckled quietly tucking a strand of hair behind of your hair, maybe having some company won’t hurt.

pretty short but i hope this one shot was good 😓

- please don’t repost, translate or do anything with my fics!

@hangetagram

[demie90s]

Please Stay

Shuri Udaku x Black!Fem!Reader

NAVI | MORE | Part 1

Summary: You were chosen for a prestigious Wakandan outreach program for promising youth in tech, science, and innovation. A dream opportunity—except Princess Shuri hates you. Or pretends to. You’re not sure which is worse.

Word Count: ~ 2.1k

Genre: Slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, academic rivalry, mutual pining

Warnings: Petty insults, academic tension, mutual jealousy, background family meddling

Shuri was moody the week she had to leave.

Which wasn’t news to anyone—Shuri was always a little grumpy when she had to play Princess in public instead of Queen of Her Lab—but this time, it was different.

This time, she was short with everyone. Snapped at Griot. Slammed her tools down more than once. And if she thought no one noticed the way her eyes kept flicking to you during her prep meetings, she was sorely mistaken.

You, of course, pretended not to notice.

You did notice. You noticed everything. But you weren’t the type to make things sentimental. Especially when she didn’t know how to say how she felt.

So when she sighed loud as hell and asked for the fourth time if the “nanoparticle batch was stable enough to survive without your constant supervision,” you didn’t even look up.

“They’ll survive,” you muttered. “You might not, but they will.”

“I am being serious,” she said flatly.

“So am I.”

She glared at you. You just smirked.

She left without a hug.

Not that you expected one. But it still stuck with you, the way she paused in the doorway of the main lab, turned her head slightly like she might say something… and then didn’t.

Then she was gone. The palace was quieter without her.

Not just her voice but her presence. Her pacing. Her muttering. The hum of her tech moving before she did. You had your space back, sure, but it didn’t feel right. Even the way your bench was angled, tilted toward where hers used to be felt off now.

But you worked. Of course you worked. It’s what you both did best.

You had just finished patching a fault line in the vibranium lens calibrator, hunched over your table with one knee in the chair and your tongue between your teeth, when the door hissed open behind you.

You didn’t look up. Probably another intern or technician. Until you felt arms wrap around you from behind. Not awkward. Not overly familiar. Just… home.

You blinked, hands freezing mid-code.

“…Huh?” you said, not alarmed—just surprised. “What did I miss?”

No answer. Just a sharp inhale near your neck, a longer-than-usual squeeze, and the weight of Shuri’s forehead pressing against your shoulder like she’d finally exhaled after holding her breath for a week.

Your fingers twitched on the keypad. You smiled.

“So you did miss me,” you said quietly, lips curling. She didn’t move. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t have to.

———————————————————————————————

When she finally pulled back, she was flustered. You could tell—eyes darting, jaw clenched, voice too clipped.

“I thought you’d meet me at the gate,” she said, brushing invisible lint off your arm.

“I was working,” you said, faux-innocent. “Didn’t know you were coming back today.”

“You knew.”

“I forgot.”

Her eyes narrowed. You grinned. The lab wasn’t empty, but Shuri acted like it was.

Two junior developers blinked awkwardly in the corner, clearly not expecting the Princess of Wakanda to show up and wrap herself around someone like a glitchy magnet. Even Griot seemed to be holding his breath, which was saying something for an AI.

You sat back in your chair, fingers laced behind your head, eyes on her.

“You like… wanna kiss me or something?”

She blinked. “What?”

You tilted your head, gaze smug. “I’ll take that as an absolutely sorta kinda.”

She frowned, mouth parting. “I’m con—”

You leaned in. No warning. Just a light peck on her lips—quick, clean, warm. Then you turned back to your screen like nothing happened.

Shuri stood still for a full two seconds. Then, softly, incredulously. “You kissed me.”

You didn’t look up. “You looked like you needed it.”

“I..” Her hands moved like she didn’t know where to put them. “You…”

“You’re welcome.”

From the corner of the lab, one of the interns made the fatal mistake of giggling. Griot’s voice crackled in amused observation. “Confirmed: simulated heart rate increase in Princess Shuri detected—”

“Shut up,” she snapped. You giggled on purpose this time.

Later, when the interns cleared out and the lights dimmed to their evening settings, she sat beside you without asking. You didn’t talk. Didn’t touch. But her knee stayed pressed against yours under the table. Every time she shifted, her hand brushed your elbow. Every time you stood, she followed.

She didn’t say she missed you. She didn’t have to. You didn’t make it a thing.

But that night, when you leaned against the console to stretch and she instinctively reached to steady you with a hand at your waist just for a second you didn’t flinch.

You just let her. Like always.

Shuri had no real reason to come with you. You told her this plainly. Standing at the palace gate, bag in hand, sunglasses on, calm.

“I’m going home for three days,” you said. “Not to war. Not to battle. Not to a rogue AI insurgency. Just to Atlanta.”Which, okay could be all three if you hit the right block but still.

“I’m going,” she’d said simply, like she wasn’t already packed. “The city is-”

“Dangerous?” you finished, laughing. “Girl, I grew up there.”

“All the more reason to be cautious.”

You just looked at her. “You’re the head of Wakandan technology. You fought in the Infinity War. And you’re worried about… Little Five Points?”

She didn’t flinch. You sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

Truth be told, you didn’t mind having her with you.

Your family adored her. Your little cousin cried when she saw her in person. Your aunt asked if she was single, and you thought about committing a felony on the spot. And your mom, God bless her soul had the nerve to say, “You two act married. But you’re not fooling anyone.”

You choked on your tea. Shuri looked away, pretending not to hear. So no, you didn’t mind the way she followed you around like she belonged there. It was kind of cute. Kind of… us.

But what you didn’t expect was how territorial she’d get outside of Wakanda. Or how quick.

The store was just a corner spot local, Black-owned, small enough to feel like home and stocked enough to make your New York friends jealous. You went in for ginger and hibiscus tea. Shuri followed without question.

You could feel her trailing you down the aisles, quiet, composed. Her fingers brushed your wrist once when you reached for a jar.

You didn’t think anything of it. Until it happened.

He was tall. Too tall. Jeans too tight, voice too smooth. The kind of man who never learned to respect boundaries and thought charm could hide it.

“Hey lil mama,” he said, and that already had you rolling your eyes. “I ain’t mean to stare but… you real pretty. You from around here?”

You blinked, confused. Not at the flirting but at the timing. You weren’t alone. Shuri was right there. Or at least, she had been right there. So when you turned to find her gone from your side, you froze.

The guy kept talking. “You got one of them smiles that make people crash the car.”

You blinked once. “That…that’s concerning.”

And just like that poof. He was gone. Like actually gone. No footsteps. No goodbye. Just vanished.

You stood there, holding your tea tin, eyes narrowing. “Shuri…” Nothing.

You called again. “Shuri.”

She appeared by the fridge section, casual as ever, holding a kombucha bottle like nothing happened.

“Nothing,” she said smoothly. “Is that all you’re getting?”

You squinted. “What did you do?”

“I asked a question.”

“Where’d he go?”

She shrugged, already turning toward the register. You laughed, low and slow. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You’re fast.”

“Mm.”

“You’re scary.”

She smiled then. Real small. Real pleased with herself. It didn’t stop there.

Back in the car, you reached for the aux cord and she leaned over, hand brushing your thigh like it was nothing. You watched her, but she didn’t blink. At the next stoplight, she rested her hand on your knee.

When you leaned back to grab your bag in the backseat, she hooked her fingers in your waistband to pull you back.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. But when you got home and sat on the couch, she didn’t sit beside you.

She sat behind you. Legs on either side of your hips. Arms around your waist. Chin tucked against your shoulder.

“Atlanta’s dangerous, huh?” you teased.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” you said, reaching back to touch her thigh. “Deadly.”

She kissed the side of your neck once, slow. You bit your lip.

Later, when your mom walked in and saw her practically wrapped around you while you sorted laundry, she just nodded and said, “Told you. Married.”

Shuri didn’t even argue. Just held you tighter. Shuri had changed.

Not all at once, but slowly. Like heat cooling or stars fading into dawn. She didn’t argue anymore not really. She still had her sharp tongue, her elegant eye rolls, her You’re being irrational tone but she rarely used them on you now.

These days, if you snapped, she went quiet. If you walked away, she followed silently, patiently, like your shadow belonged to her. If you were overwhelmed, annoyed, frustrated?

She just… softened. Offered things without asking. Rubbed your temples with the pads of her thumbs. Read your code when you were too tired to debug.

It was strange. At first, you thought she was letting you win. But it wasn’t that. It was something else.

“You don’t like seeing me upset anymore,” you muttered once, forehead pressed to her shoulder after a long day.

She said nothing. Just pulled you closer. It had only happened once—the sleepover.

Not planned. Not romantic. Just two girls in a lab too late, too long, until the lights dimmed and you both fell asleep across the same bench, breathing slow and uneven. You’d woken up with her coat covering you, her arm curled around your side like it had been there for centuries.

You never talked about it. But it happened. And that was enough.

You didn’t knock. You didn’t text. You didn’t even hesitate.

You just walked past the guards, past the AI systems, through the palace wing quickly. No one stopped you. Not one glare, not one raised voice. Just respectful silence and a few exchanged looks—some amused, some resigned.

Everyone knew. Even if you didn’t. Her room was quiet when you entered.

Not cold. Not sterile. But hers. Neat. Sharp. Rich blues and clean whites. Open balcony door. One lamp still glowing.

Shuri, dead asleep in the center of the bed, black tank top, one leg kicked out, arm thrown over her pillow like she’d fought a war in her dreams.

You padded in soft, slow. No sound. Not until you slid onto the bed and kissed her cheek. She flinched. Mumbled. Turned her head but didn’t wake. You kissed her again. This time at the corner of her mouth.

“Hi,” you whispered. “I missed you.” No answer.

You curled against her side, legs tangled, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I made ugali with that one chef from the eastern wing. It was dry. I lied and told him it was good.”

Still nothing.

“I think you’re spoiled,” you continued. “All this love and affection and access to vibranium. Like…girl, I’m literally laying in your bed uninvited. What kind of power trip is this?”

Shuri made a soft sound. Not quite awake. Not quite dreaming. You kissed her again. Nose to nose this time.

“You know,” you said, voice low, “you never even asked me to be your girlfriend.” Her brows twitched.

“Oh?” she said groggily. “Is that what you want me to do?” You paused. Grinned.

“Honey,” you whispered, “the things I want you to do aren’t respectful enough to say out loud—uhhhh SHURI THE WOMAN YOU ARE—”

She kissed you. Fully, properly, finally.

Still half-asleep, yes, but her hand came up to cup your jaw with unshaken precision, and her lips pressed to yours with more intent than her waking body should’ve had.

You melted into it. When she pulled back, eyes still closed, she whispered, “Then don’t say them. Just show me.”

The night passed like a dream you wouldn’t admit to having. You didn’t sleep much. Just stayed curled against her chest, murmuring nonsense, fingers tracing the edge of her tank strap like it was the only thing keeping your sanity in check.

She drifted in and out of sleep, answering half your sentences, ignoring the rest, but never once pushing you away.

She never even asked why you came. She didn’t have to.

When dawn painted pale gold across her sheets, and you whispered, “I love you, you know that right?” just to mess with her. She didn’t open her eyes.

Didn’t move. Just said. “I know. Go to sleep.” And you did. Right there. In her arms.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

[unicornsandpugs]

Healing Hands Part 1

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Pairing: No outbreak au! Joel x f!reader

Summary: Sarah and Tommy gift Joel a massage voucher for his birthday. It’s time to cash it in.

Warnings: At this point nothing?!, fluff, I picture an age gap (reader in late 20s) but nothing mentioned yet, eventual smut, MDNI

A quick note…

Hi all!

Long time reader, first time writer…

I’ve been lurking around these parts for a while, I’ve probably read every Joel fic in existence at this point…

I’ve always thought about trying to write something myself but it felt too daunting, today I just sat down, got bored, and started typing in my notes app.

I don’t know how to format anything yet and I just thought I’d get this out there and figure out the rest later, that’s kind of how I go through life.

I hope you enjoy it (I hope it’s worth reading at all) please let me know if you have feedback, comments or if you want to say hi (I really mean it… I can take the feedback and I really want to make this something good for the fandom that’s given me so many amazing stories to read!).

Here goes…

- - - -

Joel’s POV

Joel sat in his truck and looked down at the voucher in his hands “Healing Hands Massage - 1hr full body deep tissue massage session valid for 6 months from date of issue”.

He’d protested when Sarah and Tommy gifted it to him for his birthday 5 months ago.

Tommy had nudged him and laughed “Hopefully this will stop you moaning about your back at work all the time old man.”

Sarah had laughed at Tommy’s jab, but the 16 year old looked at Joel seriously for a beat “Dad you deserve a bit of pampering, you work so hard and do so much for us. Please don’t let it go to waste”.

Which brings him here, stepping out of his beat-up pickup, stuffing the voucher back into his pocket as he let out a breath.

His back had been playing up more than usual recently…

With the voucher running out soon and Sarah’s weekly reminders he had caved, she’d spent her hard earned money from her Saturday job coaching kids soccer and he couldn’t ignore that.

Tommy had a baby to feed and clothe, a mortgage for his new house with Maria to afford.

Joel couldn’t let their money go to waste.

It was a thoughtful gift, truly, and he appreciated the consideration. He’d always appreciate anything Sarah bought him.

He walked slowly down the weathered street towards the massage parlor, delaying the inevitable.

He slowed as he noticed the dainty, well designed sign hung above a glass door. He’d noticed it a few times in passing since he’d received the gift. Sometimes it felt like it was calling him in. That was probably his back crying out for help.

He pushed open the heavy door and a gentle smell hit him, something floral and fresh. Soothing music played from speakers hidden somewhere in the luxuriously decorated lobby. He definitely felt out of place.

There was no one behind the large wooden clad reception desk with a large recessed logo which read “Healing Hands”.

He stood awkwardly, contemplating turning around and grabbing a drink at the bar he knew a few roads over. De-stressing with a glass of amber liquid and returning home to Sarah to tell her how much lighter he feels after his session. It wouldn’t be a lie, a loop hole.

No, he couldn’t bear twisting the truth like that, and he knew Sarah would see straight through him.

So he took 3 large strides toward the reception desk and dinged the little bell perched atop it.

“Sorry one moment, I’ll be right with you!” A delicate feminine voice drifted from the room hidden past the lobby.

Joel responded with a simple “No rush” because there was really no rush.

He wanted to delay the inevitable, still trying to come to terms with the fact that someone was going to be in his personal space for an hour, their hands touching him, probably slathering perfumed oils over his body which would leave him uncomfortable and sticky until he could get home and straight in the shower.

This is for Tommy and Sarah he reminded himself.

A shuffle pulled him from his thoughts as you emerged from the doorway and confidently walked to desk.

Glowing. The only word Joel could think to describe the beautiful woman who was stood in front of him.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” You greeted him with a cheerful smile, your aura was light and welcoming, Joel instantly felt calm. So calm his mind went completely blank.

You continued to smile, your head cocking gently to the side in question.

“Apologies again for the wait, how can I help you Sir?”

“…Sir?”

Sir…

That word pulled Joel hurtling back to reality.

He coughed slightly, grounding himself in the moment and shaking his head.

“Sorry miss, I called this morning. I have a voucher for a full body massage and I believe my appointment is at 2pm?” He glanced towards the clock behind the desk, half checking he was on-time, half to break the intense eye contact you were giving him.

He looked back to you and you had dropped your gaze to the screen, moving a mouse delicately over the surface of the desk.

How can someone moving a mouse be so graceful Joel thought to himself.

You nodded and looked up at him with another beautiful smile.

“Certainly, Mr Joel Miller?”

His name tumbling from your mouth made his heart race.

What is wrong with me today… Joel blinked away the thought and nodded in response.

“That’s me” he offered with a smile of his own, trying to lighten the weird tension he felt he was giving off.

You beamed at him and nodded “Perfect, it’s lovely to meet you Joel” you introduced yourself and started rounding the desk.

“You’ll be with me today”.

Oh no. Joel’s heart thumped louder in his chest, feeling like his fight or flight was kicking in. Not you.

He’d thought you were just the receptionist. The beautiful, glowing receptionist who had made Joel’s cheeks warm and his thoughts wander within the first 3 minutes of meeting you.

He was going to be stuck in a room with you, your hands rubbing his bare skin for a full hour.

Realising he’d been stuck in place since you’d dropped that bombshell on him, he stepped forward to follow you down the hallway off the lobby, kicking himself again for being so awkward.

“That’s great” Joel responded, trying to speak in a tone that didn’t infer the feeling of apprehension and dread that had overcome him.

Mentally slapping himself he gave himself a quick mental pep-talk. This was your job. Your profession. He needed to be respectful and put whatever this feeling was aside. You were going to heal him, to stop the pain that groaned from his back every time he stood up from his armchair.

“Is this your first massage Sir” you asked inquisitively as you guided him into a dimly lit room.

“That obvious?” Joel responded, his mouth quirking up in a playful smirk.

You laughed gently, and Joel thought his heart may actually beat out of his chest. Thinking about how that beautiful sound would be ingrained in his mind forever.

“Maybe… no not at all, I just need to talk you through a few basic things as you’re a newbie” you responded, light and jovial.

You asked a few necessary questions, covering off medical history and allergies, somehow managing to make the conversation feel like the most fascinating exchange Joel had ever had.

“Right!” You clasped your hands together and started striding towards the door “I’m going to leave the room so you can remove your clothes and get comfortable, contrary to popular belief you can keep your underwear on! Just shout out when you’re on the bed and I’ll pop right back in” you flashed him one last small smile and closed the door softly behind you.

Oh right… he had to take his clothes off.

Joel let out a small groan and toed off his boots, he unbuckled his trousers and shook his head. How did I get here he mused to himself.

He pulled his worn dark grey t-shirt off and looked down at his body. Bare bar his tight dark Calvin’s, at least I wore good underwear he thought as he laid back on the table. He pulled the towel over his bottom half as instructed and called out steadily to let you know he was ready.

You re-entered the room, Joel glanced up and his breath hitched again slightly. You looked ethereal walking into the lowly-lit massage room, the bright light of the hallway behind you casting a halo-like glow around your hair.

“Hello again” you quirked. Your light essence and slightly comical nature shining through.

Joel smiled amused, and the feeling of calm overtook him again. He was now convinced you might be a witch. A good witch though.

“Are you ok with oils?” You asked, moving around the table and lingering near his head.

“Sure, maybe not the ones that’ll make me smell like a perfume shop though” Joel replied, glad he could string a sentence together while laying half naked in front of the most gorgeous woman he thinks he’s ever seen.

You chucked and smiled down at him “But they’re the best ones!”

He shook his head with a quirked lip sensing your teasing tone and let out a dry chuckle.

You squeezed a glistening liquid into your hands from a sleek bottle and placed it back on the shelf to your left. Joel noted that it luckily wasn’t accompanied by a strong scent, he knew he could trust you.

You rubbed your hands together, warming the oil, and leaned forwards gently running your hands over the tops of Joel’s broad shoulders.

Joel sucked in a breath.

You noticed.

It was normal to you. Usually it was the shock of the first touch. Sometimes you’d wonder if you hadn’t heated up the oil enough. But as you looked down at the ridiculously handsome face of the man laying beneath you, you hoped it was for another reason.

Tbc…

[anewspringday]

Mixed Up

Hii guys I'm getting back into fic writing after literal years of hiatus. Here is my first stab at a Kpop fic I've had in my head for ages now. Please let me know what you think 🥰 feedback is more than welcome. Thank you!

Title: “Mixed Up”

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader (Y/N), with Han (Stray Kids)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Mild Enemies-to-Lovers, Jealousy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Wooyoung always touched too much.

A hand on your shoulder. His arm around your waist when a joke landed just right. His head on your lap during movie nights.

At first, it had felt harmless. Maybe even exciting. After all, it was Wooyoung — charming, sharp-tongued, unpredictable Wooyoung. The kind of boy who could light up a room and zero in on you like you were the only one in it.

But then you’d watch him do the same with others — leaning in close to whisper something to someone else, brushing hair behind another girl's ear, play-wrestling with his members or leaving his arm slung lazily across another waist — and that feeling of being special would suddenly evaporate.

And what was left? Frustration. A flush of embarrassment. The sour aftertaste of realizing you might have just been another moment in a long string of “just how he is.”

But then he’d lean in, whispering, “Come on, don’t act like you don’t love it,” low and close against your ear — like the lines he crossed weren’t accidents anymore, but something he knew he could get away with.

You didn’t like the way your stomach clenched.

Worse, you didn’t like that he seemed to notice.

“You’re so jumpy lately,” he said one night, eyes narrowed, his smirk lazy. “What, afraid I’m gonna steal your heart?”

You gave him a flat look. “Maybe I’m just not into guys who act like a walking TikTok thirst trap.”

The boys howled. Wooyoung flinched — just a flicker — like you’d actually hit something tender. But he covered it quickly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.

“Harsh,” he said. “But you’ll miss this when it’s gone.”

You didn’t respond.

After that, Wooyoung became unbearable.

It happened one night when everyone was out at dinner. The table was loud with laughter, chopsticks clinking against bowls, half-finished stories being yelled over music. But next to you, Wooyoung had grown insufferable.

Yunho was mid-story, his hands animated as he described some backstage disaster involving a fog machine and a very startled manager. You were trying to focus (which was made difficult with the amount of soju you had imbibed) nodding along and laughing in the right places, since he’d been the one to invite you out in the first place.

But then there was Wooyoung.

He’d slid into the empty seat beside you just as dinner started, and since then, had slowly closed the distance between you. By the time the food arrived, his thigh was pressed against yours under the table, warm and unmistakably intentional.

He leaned in every time you so much as moved — hovering just a little too close when you turned your head, your personal space shrinking inch by inch.

You tried to shift your weight, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in again, his voice low, lips brushing your ear like a secret. “You flinch every time I touch you now,” he said, mock-casual. “Don’t tell me I scare you.”

You didn’t flinch this time. You turned to him, calm and cool, your voice clipped. “No. You just make things weird.”

He blinked, taken aback — but before he could respond, you added, louder this time, “I’m trying to listen to Yunho.”

That shut him up. The tension around the table shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Even Yunho faltered mid-sentence, glancing between the two of you with a hint of concern.

Wooyoung leaned back, finally putting some space between you, hands raised in mock surrender. But the cocky spark in his eyes had dulled, replaced with something quieter.

“Got it,” he said, voice low. “No more weird.”

And for the first time all night, he kept his distance.

The night had thinned out. A few of the boys were still lingering over dessert, laughing about something San was animatedly reenacting. You stepped outside the restaurant for a moment of air, letting the murmur of conversation fade behind you.

Hongjoong joined you a minute later, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders slightly tense.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face. “You got real quiet after dinner.”

You shrugged, hoping to play it off. “Just tired.”

He paused, then leaned against the railing beside you. “Is Wooyoung… bothering you?” he asked carefully. “He’s been kind of—relentless lately.”

You looked down at your hands. “He’s just being Wooyoung, right?”

Hongjoong let out a short breath, something between a sigh and a scoff. “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you — just staring into the street, jaw tight.

“That’s just how he is,” he said finally. “Flirty. Touchy. Gets bored and moves on. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

The words were meant to comfort, maybe — but they sank into your chest like a weight.

You nodded slowly, swallowing around the tightness in your throat. “Right. I figured.”

Hongjoong finally looked over, frowning. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I mean – good. I’m glad that’s all it is,” you said quickly, smiling too fast. “Thanks for checking in.”

And before he could say anything else, you slipped back inside, heart aching with the quiet truth of it all:

You weren’t special. You were just next.

And this was confirmed, of course.

After that night, Wooyoung seemed to spend less time around you. He stopped hovering near your seat. Stopped reaching for your drink or casually stealing your food. Stopped joking with you like he used to — like you weren’t someone worth teasing anymore.

It was distance. Subtle, but deliberate. Like he was giving you space, or worse — like he just didn’t care anymore.

Except... he did notice you.

Only when you were laughing with Jongho. Or deep in conversation with Seonghwa. Or smiling just a little too much at something Yunho said.

That’s when he’d strike — cutting in with some biting comment, sliding into the conversation like he owned it, slinging an arm around whoever you were with just to pull them away with a smirk.

“Oh, this is what you’re into now?” he’d say loud enough for everyone to hear, eyebrow raised. “Didn’t realize it was Cute Boy Hour.”

It always earned a few laughs. But never from you.

If anyone noticed the way your smile faltered, they didn’t say anything. And Wooyoung never looked sorry.

Only satisfied.

Like it was some sort of game. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

So you created distance too. Deliberately.

One night, with the city buzzing and neon lights flickering across the skyline, the music pulsed from a rooftop after-party Mingi had invited you to.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but after the tension with Wooyoung lately, a change of scene sounded perfect.

The venue was smaller, more intimate, dimly lit with colorful lights casting playful shadows over clusters of people. The bass vibrated through the floor beneath your feet as you navigated the crowd, drink in hand, scanning for familiar faces.

And then you saw him.

Han Jisung stood casually against the wall, effortlessly cool, a relaxed grin on his face as he chatted with a few guys you recognized but didn’t know by name. At the same time, Mingi spotted you and waved you over with that familiar, easy smile.

Was he friends with them? You weren’t sure — but you did recognize Han. You’d admired his rap style and lyrics for a while now, even if you’d never expected to see him this close, in a setting like this.

Han’s eyes met yours as you approached — warm, a little wide, like he hadn’t expected you to look directly at him. He gave a shy smile and glanced at Mingi, then back at you.

“So, you’re the friend Mingi keeps talking about,” he said, voice slightly raised over the music but still soft.

You laughed, light and genuine. “Hope he’s saying good things.”

His smile grew, and he ducked his head a little. “Yeah. All good. Really good, actually.”

Before the moment could stretch any further, Mingi slung an arm around Han’s shoulders with a wide grin. “You’re gonna scare her off if you keep looking like a deer in headlights, man.”

Han flushed immediately. “Hyung—”

“I’m just saying,” Mingi added, turning to you with a wink. “Don’t let the puppy eyes fool you. He’s cool once you get him talking.”

“Barely,” Lee Know chimed in dryly from the edge of the circle, sipping his drink. 

“That’s rich coming from you,” said Chan, giving Lee Know a nudge with his elbow. “You threaten to leave every party after twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Lee Know shrugged, “I usually mean it.”

Amid the laughter, Han turned to you again, a little shy but more confident now.

“Do you maybe want to step outside?” he asked, voice quieter this time. “It’s kinda loud in here.”

You nodded, surprised by how easy it was to say yes.

It felt like the first real breath you’d taken all night — no games, no jabs, no one watching you like you were just another punchline.

Maybe this night would be different.

However, just as you and Han slipped through the crowd toward the foyer, you passed Changbin coming in — followed closely by Wooyoung.

They were laughing about something, relaxed, shoulders bumping like old friends mid-joke. But the second Wooyoung spotted you, his expression shifted.

You didn’t notice at first — too focused on Han, who had gently laced his fingers with yours as he guided you through the bodies and bass. There was a quiet, steady confidence in the way he held your hand, and the ghost of a smile still played on his lips.

But Wooyoung saw it.

Saw you — leaving with someone else. 

His laughter died instantly. His mischievous eyes darkened into something sharper, less playful. He rolled his jaw, a muscle twitching in irritation, gaze locked on your joined hands like they were a betrayal.

Han didn’t look back. He was too busy pulling you gently toward the doors, toward quiet and conversation and something simple.

But you felt it — that familiar weight pressing between your shoulder blades. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Wooyoung noticed you.

And for the first time, it actually seemed to bother him.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

is it greedy to ask for max 📸 and max ⚫? if yes, then you pick! and of course, thank you so much for sharing so much of your writing!

Not at all! Thank you!

500 for 📸:

---

Chris cuts him off. “No, Dad. You have to fix it. I don’t care. You don't want to break up with him, and he doesn’t want to break up with you. I don’t want to go another six years without him being in our life.”

He’s upset. He’s really upset. Eddie feels sick.

“I will,” Eddie jumps to promise. He has no idea how, but he will. He’ll figure it out. “I'll apologize tomorrow. I’ll fix it.”

Chris looks away from Eddie, out the passenger side window. His jaw is tight. 

“Chris, I promise. I’ll try,” Eddie reiterates. “I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll try.”

Chris shrugs. 

Eddie wants to sob.

“Chris, there’s nothing more I can promise you right now,” he says, pleadingly. 

“You always wait too long to fix things,” Chris mumbles. 

And it strikes Eddie like a punch to the stomach. It’s true. He knows it’s true the moment he hears it. He does always wait too long to fix things. He waited too long to go after Shannon, and then Chris only got a few more months with her before she died. He waited too long to come after Chris, to a point where he couldn’t bring him back to LA, he had to sacrifice the home they both loved there. He never fixed things with Buck. He never would have, if fate hadn’t intervened. If Buck hadn’t insisted. 

So what now? Is waiting even until the morning too long? Does he give Buck the space he asked for? Does he let him go to sleep tonight, thinking Eddie doesn’t forgive him for the mistakes they both made six years ago, when the truth is, this is all about Eddie? It’s that Eddie has never been able to forgive himself. He’s become an accumulation of mistakes he cannot forgive, and he has let them dictate all his actions. 

Maybe, if nothing else, Buck deserves to hear that as soon as possible. 

▪️▪️▪️

When Eddie pulls up at his house, he doesn’t get out of the car. He stays seated. Buckled. If he gets out, he’ll lose his courage. 

“Dad?” Chris asks, when he realizes Eddie hasn’t even turned off the Prius. 

“Are you okay on your own for a few hours?” Eddie asks. “You can get yourself to bed?”

Christopher’s eyebrows raise, surprised. “You’re going to Buck’s?”

Eddie nods. “You’re right. I wait too long. Even if I can’t fix it tonight, he deserves to hear my apology right away.”

Chris looks hopeful. He nods. 

“I’m okay on my own for a while. I’ll be sixteen this year.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “In over half a year. Don’t push it. But thank you. I’ll keep you updated. Lock the door.”

“I will,” Chris assures him. “Good luck.”

---

500 for ⚫:

---

Buck will admit, it feels nice. But he doesn’t think he needed it quite as much as Eddie.

“Okay,” Bobby instructs. “Cold showers for everyone. We’re going offline afterwards. I think we all need rest.”

“Wait!” Hen says. “Wait, wait. I had to drive the ambulance back, so I didn’t get to ask.”

“No,” Buck shakes his head. “Please, no. Shower and naps first.”

“No way!” Hen argues. “You two don’t get to recreate a soap opera out in the tar pits, drop that it’s about reality TV, and then pretend nothing happened. We are owed our tea. Iced today, maybe, but still. Spill it, Buckley.”

“You know what?” Ravi adds. “Yeah. I feel entitled to that, too. That was messy as hell.”

Chim nods. “I’m just nosy.”

Bobby sighs. “I told you not to let it be a problem, Eddie. Now you have to spill. Sorry.”

Buck looks at him, betrayed. Bobby’s supposed to be on his side. And his side is decidedly not interested in recounting this ridiculous fight. 

Eddie groans. “Can I play the heat stroke card?”

“No,” Hen says. “The longer you take, the longer until you hit the showers. Go.”

Buck huffs. “Fine. Fine. We’ve been watching this new show together.”

“Buck is making me watch it,” Eddie corrects.

Great. Great start. 

“What show?” Ravi asks, eyes lighting up. Buck knows he’s a trash TV appreciator, like himself. 

“Tropical Trysts,” Buck sighs. “It’s like a rip off of Love Island, with less budget and fewer episodes.”

“And somehow, it’s worse,” Eddie adds. 

“Oh, I know,” Ravi nods. “Believe me. My roommate and I have a drinking game for it.”

Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t judge, Cap,” Ravi says.

“I’m not…” He sighs. “Athena tweets about it.”

“Karen loves it,” Hen admits. 

“Maddie and I have been known to peruse it, on occasion,” Chim adds. 

“Okay, so we’re all familiar!” Eddie scowls. “We all know what Emmy award winning material we’re dealing with here.”

“Yeah,” Ravi nods. “Hot garbage. How on earth did it cause a fight?”

“So, we participate in the online voting,” Buck says.

“He makes me,” Eddie corrects.

Buck is going to drive back to La Brea and push him in the tar pit head first. He’ll really do it. 

“Now we were voting to keep Emmy and Bruce safe,” Buck says. “Because that’s who we discussed rooting for when we were watching together.”

“What kind of twenty-five year-old is named Bruce?” Chim whispers. 

“Heir to the Wayne fortunes, I’d presume,” Bobby replies.

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 5

chapter 5. running the same line

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 8.6k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and share and tell me your thoughts this fic is by far the most difficult for me to write xoxoxox

The kitchen hums with warmth and quiet activity. The wooden countertop is lightly dusted with flour, and bowls of ingredients sit neatly arranged as you knead the dough, hands moving with ease as your muscle memory takes over. Across the counter, Ara and Iseul work on peeling apples, the rhythmic sound of knives gliding over the fruit filling the space.

“You’ve got a good hand for this, Miss Y/N,” Iseul says, her tone soft but teasing. “You’re working like someone who knows their way around dough.”

Ara glances over, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I hope so,” you reply, her smile light as her hands move steadily. “My café wouldn’t have lasted long if I didn’t know how to bake.”

Iseul dusts the surface with a bit more flour. “Ah, a café. That makes sense. You’re good.”

“Lots of practice,” you chuckle.

“What was it like? Your café?” Ara asks, curiosity evident in her tone.

You pause briefly as you roll out the dough, a smile playing on your lips. “Busy, but I loved it. The mornings were my favourite — setting up before the rush, the smell of fresh bread and coffee, the regulars who’d come in for the same thing every day… It felt like I was a character in Gilmore Girls or something.”

“Sounds like hard work, but the good kind,” Iseul says thoughtfully, slicing another apple. “You must miss it.”

“I do, sometimes.”

Ara exchanges a glance with Iseul but doesn’t press further. Straightening, you dust your hands on your apron. “Since it’s autumn, I thought we could use some seasonal flavours. Maybe apple and pumpkin pastries?”

“Good choice,” Iseul says with a soft smile. “They’ll bring a little warmth as the air cools.”

They settle into a steady rhythm — Ara mashing the pumpkin filling, Iseul peeling and slicing apples, and you shaping the pastry dough. As some time passees , the kitchen fills with the quiet clatter of utensils and light conversation.

Ara wipes her hands on a towel, smiling as she watches. “I’ll leave you two to finish up. There’s some work I need to check on.”

“Thanks for helping, Ara,” you say, glancing up.

“It was a pleasure,” Ara replies with a small nod. “I’ll come back to try one later.”

After Ara leaves, Iseul heads to the drawer to fetch some cinnamon.

“I think everyone will be very happy with your choice,” she says as she returns. “Jungkook was in here a while ago, asking about the pastries I’ve been buying for breakfast.”

“I hope so,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I should probably ask them what they want. It’d be nice to try new things.”

“It’s good to see you enjoying this,” Iseul says after a moment, her tone warm but reflective. “You seem at ease here in the kitchen.”

“It’s familiar,” you say with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I started baking again.”

Iseul nods slowly, continuing her work. “There’s something grounding about it, isn’t there? The rhythm, the smells… It makes everything feel a bit more settled.”

“Exactly. Back at the cafe, I used to say baking felt like a kind of therapy. No matter what was happening, I could lose myself in it for a little while.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve found your way back to it, even if just for a moment,” Iseul says with a thoughtful sigh. “Things feel tense around here lately, more than usual.”

You glance at her, curious but silent, prompting Iseul to continue.

“Even the boys… they're usually always laughing, full of energy. But lately, they’ve been different. A bit more serious, more on edge,” Iseul says quietly.

Your brows furrow slightly. You haven't been here that long but even you can tell how sometimes everyone seems tense, falling silent the second someone's phone rings and exchanging concerned glances at any new updates.

Iseul notices the change in your own mood now and she smiles. "But that’s why moments like these matter. They remind us there’s still a little sweetness in life, even when things get rough. “Besides,” Iseul says with a playful glint in her eye, “who’s going to keep these boys fed if we don’t?”

You laugh softly. "That's true. Maybe we should get them to help us sometimes."

"Now that's actually not a bad idea," she agrees,  before glancing at the pastries in the oven, their edges beginning to turn golden as the scent of warm apples and spices fills the air.

The warm, buttery aroma of freshly baked pastries fills the lounge as Jungkook leans back on the couch, a blissful expression spreading across his face. “These are insane,” he mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, holding up another piece to inspect it. “I could eat these forever.”

Hoseok grins, reaching for a second one. “Right? It’s like heaven in your mouth.”

Namjoon, who is chewing thoughtfully, nods in agreement. “You’ve got a gift, Y/N. These are unreal.”

You smile, pretty chuffed as you lean against the arm of the couch. “Glad you like them. I can make them again, it didn’t take too long and Iseul helped me.”

Hoseok laughs. “You make it sound so casual. These are next-level.”

Jungkook nods enthusiastically, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, I could eat these all day.”

Namjoon leans forward, tapping his chin. “You know what might be an interesting flavour? Mango and white chocolate. You should try that sometime.”

You tilt your head, considering it. “Hmm, mango and white chocolate? I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m already sold,” Jin says, reaching for another pastry.

Just then, the door opens, and Yoongi strolls in, hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes take in the scene of the boys lounging with plates of pastries. “Hey,” he says, his tone casual. “What’s going on in here?”

“Yoongi, you’ve gotta try these,” Hoseok says, holding up a pastry like a prize. 

Yoongi wanders over, plucking one from the plate and taking a small bite. His expression remains neutral as he chews, nodding slightly. “Not bad,” he says, his voice cool.

The room erupts in laughter.

“Not bad?” Namjoon repeats, chuckling as he shakes his head. “You just can’t give a compliment, can you?”

Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Don’t want anyone getting a big head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m immune to your backhanded praise.”

The boys laugh, still devouring the pastries. You turn to Yoongi, your tone softening. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Yoongi’s brow rises slightly, but he nods. “Alright.”

He gestures toward the veranda, and the two of you make your way outside. The cool air greets you as you step onto the wide stone terrace, the estate gardens stretching out before you. You ease into one of the cushioned outdoor sofas, Yoongi settling across from you.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone low and steady.

“Yeah, all good.” You look at him, hesitating for a moment. “I want to see Jaeho.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “Jaeho?”

You nod. “He was my dad’s friend and trainer. He trained me, too, when I was younger. After my parents died and we moved to Namwon, he’d still cpme by every week to keep training me. I haven’t seen him since I came back to Seoul.”

Yoongi leans back, studying you. “Sure, but why now?”

You glance out at the gardens, watching the distant figure of a gardener pushing a mower across the vast lawn. “Honestly, I kind of miss him.” Your voice softens as you continue, “Over the years, he started to feel like family. And being here, it just reminds me a lot of my dad, of how things were when I was a kid.”

Yoongi nods slowly, following your gaze. “Makes sense.”

You look back at him, relieved by his understanding. “I don’t know if that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” he says simply, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We can go, whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I also want to go back home—I have some things I need.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows. “We cleared everything out for you.”

“I know, but there are some things I kept locked away — personal stuff, my ID, some firearms. I didn’t want to go back until it was safe. It should be okay now, right?”

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, and he seems hesitant. “I’m not sure, Y/N.”

“Please,” you say softly, your eyes searching his.

He sighs, giving in. “Fine. But at least wait until your leg is fully healed. If something happens, I’m not carrying you on my back.”

You smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Good. I don’t trust you not to drop me.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “We’ll take someone with us anyway, just to be safe.”

“Good idea.”

“How are you finding everything?” he asks, his tone more sincere now.

You pause, thinking carefully. “It’s... fine. It’s not like it’s completely new, but at the same time, it is.”

He nods in understanding. “It’s nice having you here, though. You’ve definitely joined the family easily.”

You smile, the warmth in his voice making you feel lighter. “It does feel like a family.” Your gaze drifts to the garden again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

The distant hum of the gardener’s mower is the only sound as you lean back, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to bask in the unfamiliar sense of belonging.

The gravel crunches softly beneath your shoes as you walk through the garden, testing the weight on your injured leg. There’s still a pull in the muscle, but it’s better than it was. You exhale slowly, determined to get back to full strength.

You’re itching to feel normal again. To move without thinking. To fight without hesitation.

The sun hangs low in the sky, brushing the estate in soft amber light. It’s peaceful, but not quiet — birds call from the trees, and off in the distance, the steady hum of a lawn mower breaks the silence. You’re not tired, not after the long nap you took earlier.

“Side effect of the meds,” Jin had told you with a wave of his hand. “You’ll be drifting in and out.”

You turn a corner, walking slower now, careful of the strain on your leg. Ahead, you spot Ara walking side by side with the gardener, chatting quietly as he guides the mower along a strip of lawn. She notices you and pauses, offering a kind smile as she approaches.

“Y/N,” she says gently. “Out for a walk?”

 “Figured I’d test out the leg,”  you say with a small smile.

She nods, eyes flicking down briefly. “How is it feeling?”

“Better,” you answer honestly. “Still healing, but a lot better.” Your eyes drift past her to the familiar wooden arch a few feet away, wrapped in ivy and faded by time.

“It’s not locked anymore?” you ask, gesturing toward it.

She follows your gaze and shakes her head. “No. It's been open for a couple of years now. Jimin didn’t want it locked.”

You glance back at her. “Can I go in?”

“Of course,” she says gently. “It’s always open now.”

You smile at her. “Thanks, Ara.”

She gives you a warm nod before turning to rejoin the gardener, her voice fading as she walks away.

You take a step toward the arch, fingers brushing over the vine-covered handle. The ivy resists slightly, but the gate swings open with a soft creak, and you step inside.

The stone path beneath your feet winds between half-wild rose bushes and lilies, their petals faded but holding on. The grass has grown a little long. A weathered bench rests beneath a fruit tree, its bark worn from time but everything in here is still alive. Though it’s imperfect, it still feels peersonal, like a memory.

You move slowly, your hand trailing along the leaves and low-hanging branches. You remember the few times you came here with Jimin and his mother. It looks almost exactly the same. And yet somehow, it feels heavier.

You stop in front of the fountain. Just as you remember, though time seems to have passed here too. The statue in the centre is draped in stone cloth, one hand resting over her chest, her face tilted downward, sorrow etched into every line, looking wearier.

She always reminded you of Jimin’s mother. Quiet, elegant, and always carrying the burden of something you couldn’t name.

You never knew what happened to her, not really. But you could tell — she’d suffered. And Jimin had, too.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You think back to your own childhood. Even when you were in school, you weren’t allowed to go out much. Friends were limited. Schedules were strict. The walls around you weren’t physical, but they may as well have been.

It made you distant. Guarded.

After Jimin, you didn’t let anyone else get too close. Not until Yoongi.

Meeting him in your late teens felt like stepping out of a shadow, a release. Not comfort exactly, but a sense that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

You imagine Jimin must’ve felt something similar. Being home-schooled was worse, under constant scrutiny. Taemin was all he had, but that must’ve been its own kind of pressure -- living up to a friend who existed only to please his father.

You sigh and look away, a dull ache settling behind your ribs. The sky is deeper now, streaked with purples and soft blue, the last of the light sinking behind the trees.

You turn back toward the path, still feeling the weight of something you can’t name, and oddly, you find yourself quietly hoping Jimin might be somewhere nearby.

You make your way toward the house, past the hedges and across the back lawn. The estate feels still, hushed. You pass through the door and into the hallway, where only the occasional housekeeping staff move quietly from room to room.

You figure Jimin’s probably in his office, you’d rather not disturb him.

Still not tired, you make your way downstairs, down the long corridor and into the basement.

Time to run through what Jungkook and Taehyung taught you.

The ache spreading from your shoulder is familiar, even comforting, compared to the sharper pain in your leg. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin as you raise another knife, exhale slowly, and let it fly.

The blade slices through the air and lands with a soft, satisfying thud — right in the centre. A slow smile pulls at your lips. It’s not perfect, but it's clean. Focused. Precise.

That clean landing sends a wave of satisfaction rolling through you, so much so that you want to do it again, and again, and again. You love this. Always have. Sparring, shooting, training —  there’s something in it that balances you.

With each throw or pull of the trigger, the chaos in your head quiets. Every blow empties you of everything that weighs you down — anger, grief, guilt. All of it dissolves into the echo of metal and gunpowder.

It’s the closest thing you have to peace. Your own kind of equilibrium.

You move through another set — throw, land, breathe. It isn’t perfect, but it’s progress. Taehyung says it’s your leg slowing you down, that once you’re back to full mobility your stance will sharpen again. You believe him. Still, your frustration has kept you in this room more than usual.

You've also spent time getting comfortable with unfamiliar firearms, pushing your recovery with everything you've got. It's not about speed right now. It's about control.

When you finally glance at the clock, you blink. It's almost midnight.

Sighing, you cross the empty range and begin collecting your knives one by one, pulling them from the targets and feeling the growing stiffness in your arm.

The range usually empties out after 11 pm, but before that, there's always someone around, whether it's Hoseok, Jungkook, Namjoon, or any of the many loyal enforcers Jimin has. You don't mind their presence, nor do you mind your own quiet conpany.

You finish gathering the blades, wipe your face and neck with a towel, and sling it over your shoulder. The walk back upstairs sends a dull ache pulsing through your leg. You’ll need to take your meds soon, though you’re relieved at how fast the healing has come. Seokjin’s care, the endless home-cooked meals, the forced rest — it’s all helped.

You pass through the corridor toward the kitchen, doors creaking slightly as you ease open the one leading to the pantry. It's dark. All the lights are off — except one.

A soft white glow spills out from the fridge.

The doors click shut behind you, and the fridge door closes at the same time.

Someone steps out from behind it.

A woman — strikingly beautiful, with dark hair tucked loosely behind her ears, and round eyes that seem to carry some kind of weight. She's holding a jar of jam. For a moment, she looks startled to see you, but her expression quickly relaxes into something quieter as she studies you.

She doesn't seem like a stranger here, which puts you at ease. You sense no threat, just curiosity. Still, the silence stretches, so you speak first.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replies, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a sadness there, buried but present. She shuts the fridge, holding the jar in one hand. “You must be Y/N, right?”

She steps toward the counter where an open jar of peanut butter already waits.

“Yes,” you say, brows gently pulling together.

She places the jam next to it and steps a little closer, her voice soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Yeona.”

Oh.

Yeona.

Seojun’s girlfriend.

Seojun — the man who died trying to protect you.

A knot of guilt tightens in your chest, sharp and immediate. It twists through your stomach like something rotten waking up. You remember the blood, the gunshot, his glassy eyes as he took his last breath.

“You too,” you manage to say, forcing a small smile. It feels awkward on your face, almost like a mask that doesn’t fit. You’ve never been good at situations like this — comforting someone, facing someone you might have failed.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been on the other side of comfort too many times. Or maybe it's just that the more pain you’ve seen, the less sure you are of how to soothe anyone else's.

She turns back to the counter. “I’m making a sandwich, want one?”

You smile again, and this time, it feels a little more real. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Sure.”

Still, you hover there awkwardly, unsure if you should stay or give her space. She seems to sense it, glancing over as she slices the sandwich in half.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I just…” You trail off again, unsure where you were going with that sentence.

Yeona watches you quietly, then says what you’re thinking.

“You weren’t sure if you should stay.”

Her voice is gentle, without accusation. You meet her eyes and nod, just slightly.

Her expression softens. “I know.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. You were there when Seojun was killed. She knows it. You know it.

“It’s okay,” she adds, voice almost a whisper. “You can stay. I wouldn’t mind the company. Or you can go, I honestly don’t mind either way.”

You feel comfortingly disarmed by her candour.

Earlier in the garden, you thought about how you never really learned to be close with people. How being a friend didn’t always come naturally to you. But right now, it feels simple… you should stay. So you do.

Your eyes flick to the sandwich. “I’m actually kinda hungry right now.”

She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not surprised. You look like you were working up a sweat.”

You shrug, easing yourself into the seat at the island. “As much as I can with this thing slowing me down.”

Her eyes flick to your bandaged leg showing beneath the baggy shorts. She winces sympathetically. “Sit. I’ll make you one.”

“Thanks."

You nod your thanks and watch her work quietly for a moment. Despite everything, it’s easy. Surprisingly easy. No tension. No expectations.

“How long have you been staying here?” you ask eventually.

She spreads the jam slowly, then glances at you. “Since Seojun’s mom passed. Jimin didn’t want us living alone. Said it wasn’t safe.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur.

She gives a small, wry smile. “I don’t know how much it actually helped.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just a little sad.

“I’ve been thinking about moving back in with my mom soon,” she adds, slicing the sandwich in half. “Not far from here, but... still.”

You nod, unsure what to say. Instead, you offer a small smile.

Yeona slides the plate toward you and leans against the counter across from you. “So… how’d you get into baking?”

That surprises you a little, but you're grateful for the question. It’s safe.

“I started when I was at uni,” you say, relaxing into your seat. “It was something I did to de-stress while I was studying. Eventually, it became this comforting thing, you know? After I graduated, I opened up a little place."

“Until you ended up here?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head, curious. “Do you live with your grandma?”

That catches you off guard for a second. If she knows it’s just you and your grandma, she definitely knows who you are.

“No,” you say. “She lives in Namwon. It’s quieter there. Safer.”

Yeona nods, and there’s a faint pause before she asks, “Your dad… he was Han Sehun, right?”

You nod again, slower this time. “He was.”

She doesn’t ask anything else about it. Just presses her lips together and offers a small nod of understanding.

“I’d love to try your baking sometime,” she says, her voice light again.

You smile. “I actually made some this morning. I think it’s all gone, though.”

She chuckles, grabbing a glass of water. “Probably." She takes a bite of her sandwich, then asks, “Do you train often?”

 “Yeah. I’ve always liked it — sparring, shooting, throwing knives. There’s something about it that calms me. Keeps my head quiet.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Calms you?”

“Yeah,” you say, resting your arms on the counter. “When I’m training, I don’t think about anything else. It’s like… everything slows down. The more I move, the more I breathe, the less noise there is in my head. It’s kind of the only time I feel balanced.”

Yeona smiles. “That sounds nice. I can’t relate — I've never been into all that — but I get it. We all have something that helps.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Exactly.”

She glances at the clock on the oven. “It’s late.”

You sigh, pushing back your stool. “I should go shower. Try to get some sleep.”

“Me too. Thanks for the company.”

“Thanks for the sandwich.”

She smiles, and this time it feels real.

You stand in the centre of the garden, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the neatly pruned hedges and vibrant flowerbeds. The scent of blooming jasmine lingers in the warm air, carried by a lazy breeze. The soft trickle of water from the fountain drifts through the quiet, and your eyes settle on it.

You always remember her here – Jimin’s mother. And somehow the statue has always reminded you of her.

“Hi.”

You startle, turning slightly.

Jimin stands beside you, hands in his pockets, his eyes distant as he looks ahead. 

“Hi,” you reply, softly.

He doesn’t look at you, not yet. His expression is… reminiscent, maybe. Shadowed with memory.

“It’s exactly as I remember it,” you murmur, glancing around. The ivy-covered walls. The faint crunch of gravel. The quiet hush of a place rarely touched.

He nods. “It is. I’m glad you remember it. No one really comes in here anymore. Just Ara and me, sometimes.”

“Oh.” You pause, suddenly self-conscious. “Ara said the door’s always unlocked now, so I thought—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts in gently, finally turning toward you. “Really.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” he says. “On your first day, I told you to make yourself at home. I meant it.”

Hesitantly, you smile.

He returns it, barely – but enough. Then his eyes flick to your leg.

“You’ve been walking a while. Come on. Sit down.”

You nod gratefully, letting him guide you toward the weathered stone bench tucked beneath the flowering trellis. Your leg hums with a low ache you’ve been ignoring all day. You glance at the space next to you, then up at him.

“Will you sit with me?” you ask, softer than intended – almost tentative. It makes you cringe slightly.

His brow lifts slightly, amused. “You sure?”

Again, you feel self-conscious around him. It’s not something you’re used to. And it’s strange, how natural it feels to be unsure with Jimin.

“I mean, unless you’re busy,” you add quickly, trying to play it off.

“I’m not,” he says, sitting beside you. “I have time.”

For a while, the two of you just sit in the quiet. The sun dips low, turning everything a deep gold. The soft murmur of the fountain plays in the background, steady and calm.

You glance over at him. The breeze ruffles the collar of his shirt, and for the first time since the medical room, you remember the bandage.

“How’s your arm?” you ask softly.

Jimin’s eyes flick down to it briefly before returning to your face. “It’s healing.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “That’s not really an answer.”

He breathes out a quiet laugh, the sound low and rough. “Fine, then – it still stings like hell sometimes, but Jin says I’ll live.”

You smile faintly. “That’s something.”

There’s a pause.

“Thank you for noticing,” he adds, voice quieter this time.

You nod, but your eyes linger on him a moment longer – on the way he hides pain, even the small kinds.

Then, carefully, you speak. “The other day, in the medical room… you were about to say something. I reminded you of something?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jimin gives a faint smile. “It reminded me of when we were younger.”

“I always imagined I’d changed since then.”

“You have,” he says. “Just maybe not as much as you think.”

With a hum, you face the garden again. “Everything feels different now.”

“It is different.”

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask. “Being young?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

You keep going. “It all felt easier then. Carefree.”

“I don’t miss it,” he says at last.

You turn toward him, surprised. “Never?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever felt carefree then.”

That ache again – familiar. You felt it even when you were kids. That quiet sense that Jimin carried more than he let on.

“Not even once?” you ask softly.

His voice is quieter now. “Except… maybe when I was with you.”

A small laugh escapes you. “I didn’t exactly leave you alone. That must’ve been annoying.”

He laughs – and it’s full, warm, slightly caught off guard. It rumbles low in his chest, the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“True,” he says. “But I’m glad you didn’t. You were always a welcome change.”

You look back out at the flowers, noting how the shadows stretch long now. Evening is swallowing the garden slowly.

“Is that why you unlocked it?” you ask. “A change from when you were younger?”

He nods. “When my mom was here, she was happiest in this garden. But the moment she left it… she shut everything else out. Like she couldn’t bring herself to hold onto good things for too long.”

You glance at him. “And you didn’t want to be like that.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I didn’t.”

You’re both quiet again. And then:

“You remember a lot,” he says.

You glance at him. “How could I not? You were the only person I could really be myself with.”

His eyes soften. 

“And your mom?” you ask gently. “Did she know how much you loved her?”

Jimin nods, but it’s slow – like the answer costs him something. “I think so. But… I don’t think she ever really loved herself.”

You exhale slowly, your eyes drifting toward the ground. There's a weight in his voice, but it isn’t heavy -- it’s open, like something he doesn’t often let out.

And for a moment, it reminds you of how he used to be. Quiet, guarded. But now there’s a difference -- an ease to the way he sits beside you, a steadiness in his tone. You hadn’t expected it, and you realise, quietly, how much you’ve missed it.

You glance at him. “You’ve changed too.”

He looks over, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You offer a small smile. “You’re… quieter in a different way now. Not distant. Just... more certain.”

Jimin blinks at that, then huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Well,” you shrug lightly, “maybe they weren’t paying attention.”

He’s watching you again. Thoughtfully this time. You look away, suddenly conscious of the quiet between you.

Jimin shifts slightly, resting an arm on the back of the bench -- not quite touching you, but close enough to feel the warmth between you both.

“I’m not really used to this,” he admits.

“To what?”

“To… talking like this.”

You tilt your head. “Is that your way of saying I talk too much?”

That earns a real smile from him, small but easy. “Not at all. It’s like you said, everything is different now. But this” — he looks at you — “being back here with you, it feels familiar. I think for the first time, familiar feels nice.”

Your smile grows. This time under his gaze, you don’t feel self conscious. “Same.”

You look away again, but your smile lingers. The quiet returns -- but now, it feels companionable. Like something held gently between you, not needing to be filled.

The breeze begins to cool as the sky deepens into dusk, the soft hum of the fountain still bubbling behind you.

You sit together a little longer, words trailing off into silence again, but it doesn’t feel strange, it feels settled. The way the garden smells like memory. The way he hasn’t moved far from your side since he arrived.

You stifle a yawn before you can catch it.

Jimin glances at you. “Tired?”

“A little,” you murmur, stretching your leg slightly as you prepare to stand. “I think the meds are still making me drowsy.”

He doesn’t say anything —  just rises when you do, falling into step beside you as you begin to walk back across the lawn.  Your leg twinges with each step, but nothing unmanageable.

The walk is slow, quiet. Despite your leg healing well, Jimin stays close to your side, a hand hovering behind your back, just in case. 

Halfway toward the main house, you glance over at him. “Any updates on the plan?”

Jimin keeps his gaze ahead. “Some. We’re finalising a few pieces tonight.” A pause. “I was hoping to talk to you about it tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay.”

That’s all you say. You don’t press, and he doesn’t elaborate. You trust him to tell you when it’s time.

By the time you reach the veranda, the lights inside are low and warm, casting a soft glow through the windows. The house is quiet. Most of the others have likely gone to bed or retreated to their corners of the estate.

He walks with you until you reach your door.

You glance at him again, hand on the knob. “Thanks for the company.”

Jimin gives a slight nod, hands in his pockets again. “Anytime.”

You smile faintly, and open the door.

He waits until you’ve stepped inside before turning to leave.

And for a brief moment, you watch him walk away through the crack in the door. Then you close it gently behind you.

The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs faintly in the air as you sit on the padded medical table, your leg stretched out ahead of you. Seokjin stands, brows furrowed in focus as he examines the healing wound wrapped neatly beneath gauze, while Yoongi leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Good news,” Seokjin says, patting the bandage gently. “Your leg’s healing really well. No signs of infection and inflammation has gone down. You should be back to full strength in about two weeks — maybe sooner if you stop being stubborn.”

You smirk. “Two weeks is too long. I’m useless without my legs.”

“Useless?” Seokjin scoffs, rising to his feet. “Please. You’ve been hobbling around threatening grown men and throwing knives better than Jungkook on a bad day. And he’ll cry if I say that out loud.”

You chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Yoongi glances at Seokjn.

He shrugs dramatically. “Well, we’re currently stuck in a Cold War with the Lee's, and this clinic is the Switzerland of the estate.”

You raise a brow. “A Cold War?”

Seokjin sighs. “It’s mostly passive-aggressive kitchen notes and carefully timed door slams. Ara's keeping score.”

“Sounds serious,” you shake your head, laughing lightly. “But really,” you add, glancing between the two of them, “what’s going on with the Lee family? Jimin mentioned we

Yoongi pushes off the wall, folding his arms tighter. “I was about to tell you right after this check up. I think Jimin wants to speak to you about that. Tonight — after dinner.”

Seokjin checks his watch, then raises his eyebrows. “Speaking of which… it’s dinner now.”

Your stomach growls right on cue. “Great. I’m starving. Let’s go.”

You, Seokjin, and Yoongi walk together down the quiet hallway, your limp barely noticeable now. Just before you reach the dining room doors, Yoongi’s phone buzzes. He answers, voice low.

After a beat, he lowers the phone. “Jimin wants us to meet him in the east wing. Says it won’t take long.”

You change direction easily, and soon you’re walking toward the quieter, more secluded part of the estate. The air there feels heavier — more private.

When you step through the door into Jimin's office, she's the first person you notice.

Byun Jiyoung stands near one of the arched windows, the soft golden light of the evening casting a glow across her features. She turns at the sound of the door and smiles, walking toward you with quiet grace.

She’s just as you remember — sharp, elegant, composed. There’s something about the way she moves, like every gesture is intentional. She crosses the room and, without hesitation, pulls you into a hug.

You’re caught off guard. You freeze, not quite sure how to respond — until you glance past her and see Jimin standing nearby. His posture is relaxed, and for a moment, he watches the interaction closely.

There’s a very small smile on his face -- a quiet smile. Almost like reassurance.

And somehow, you relax into the hug.

When Jiyoung pulls back, she gives you a warm, assessing look. “I’ve been wanting to meet you properly. How have you been? This must have all been such a horrible reintroduction to the past."

“I’ve been okay,” you say honestly. It's nothing unfamiliar but it still feels different, if that makes sense?”

She nods with gentle understanding.

"How have you been?" you ask, genuinely curious.

“I’ve been living in the States,” she says, moving to sit gracefully on the sofa, gesturing for you to join. “Finished law school there, passed the bar, and I’ve been working at a firm in Manhattan. Corporate litigation.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s impressive. So, you’re a top lawyer now?”

She chuckles modestly. “Something like that. But I’m not staying in it long. Jimin reached out, and well… I’ve got a few scores to help settle.”

“That’s amazing. I mean… if anyone can help bring the Lees down legally, I guess it’s you.”

Jiyoung smiles, tilting her head. “That’s the plan. Jimin and I have been in touch for a while. Quietly, of course.”

Yoongi slips into a chair in the corner beside Hoseok, listening silently while you and Jiyoung chat. Jimin stands beside a nearby cabinet, arms loosely crossed, letting you speak but visibly present.

Jiyoung sips from a water glass. “I heard you opened a bakery. That’s such a contrast from… all this.” She gestures around the room, amused.

You laugh. “Yeah. It was my safe space. I started baking while studying — something about it helped keep me sane. After uni, I opened the shop and just… never looked back. Until recently.”

Jiyoung nods. “I get it. We all had to find our corners of peace, even if they didn’t last.”

There’s a moment of quiet. Then, she glances toward Jimin. “And look at you two. Still standing. Still here.”

You meet Jimin’s eyes again. There’s something in the air — soft, reflective. You both smile.

“You were cheeky kids,” Jiyoung says warmly. “Always whispering during dinners, disappearing before bedtime. I’m glad you two found your way back.”

You nod. “Me too.”

Jiyoung’s expression turns more serious as she faces you again. “Your father… Han Sehun… he once saved my life. When I was just a teenager and my life would have been changd forever, if not for your dad. I’ve never forgotten it.”

Her voice is quiet, her eyes steady. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure what happened to him doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

A lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. You nod, smiling, but you don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to — but because speaking right now might crack something open you’re not ready to face.

Jiyoung must sense it. She pulls you into another hug — this time slower, firmer.

You let yourself melt into it, eyes fluttering shut. There’s warmth in it you haven’t felt in a long time.

As you pull back, you notice Jimin watching again. His eyes are softer now, brow faintly creased in something like concern. Or care.

You give him a small smile, letting him know you’re okay.

He returns it with a quiet nod.

Then his voice is low, steady. “If you’re okay to do this now, Y/N, we wanted to tell you what we were thinking.”

You glance between them, grounding yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Let’s talk.”

 Jimin sits across from you and Jiyoung, with Hoseok and Yoongi sitting on the sofa adjacent to yours. Once they’re both sat, Jimin starts.

“A few months ago, the Serious Crimes Unit intercepted a weapons shipment I’d arranged… for the Lees.”

You glance up. “Yeah. Yoongi mentioned it. He said that’s what got Seojun’s mom killed.”

Jimin’s jaw shifts. He nods. “Seojun started disappearing after that. I knew he was up to something, but I let him work. He was one of the best men I had.”

He pauses, and for a moment, the air in the room tightens.

“I never knew what it was until the day he died. When he gave it to you.”

You blink. “Gave it to me?”

Then it hits you.

The flash drive.

Yoongi moves quietly and places it on the desk between you. You stare at it. Something so small, so ordinary-looking — and yet it feels like it’s pulsing with weight.

Yoongi glances at Jimin, who nods.

“The Lees are meticulous,” Yoongi says. “Every deal, every payment, every name—they keep records. Not just backups. Archives. Redundancy on top of redundancy.”

You look down at the drive. “Seojun was going after them.”

Yoongi nods once. “He infiltrated one of their secondary hubs. A front company they use for laundering. He found access to a node of their internal data network — small, isolated, but clean. Copied what he could.”

You raise your eyes. “So… can we use it?”

Jimin exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “Not exactly. The files Seojun got… they’re tied to us.”

He hesitates, then meets your gaze.

“Tied to the Parks. And to your family.”

A slow, hollow tension leaks through your chest. You sit back slightly in your chair, your shoulders finally sagging under the truth you didn’t know you were bracing for.

Of course they’d do this. Of course they’d use Jimin's name. And yours? It's a deliberate move against the only two families who would have any reason to go against them.

There’s a beat of silence.

You remember the day Seojun died —  his panic, his urgency, the way he made you promise to get it to Jimin.

You speak again, voice quieter. “So how did they know? That Seojun had taken it?”

Yoongi answers. “The Lees run everything through embedded encryption markers. Watermarks, pings – any time one of their protected files is accessed outside their net, it sends a signal. They knew almost immediately. It’s how they tracked the breach and retaliated.”

You look at the drive. “There’s no way to clean it? To extract something?”

“That’s why I brought Jinyoung in,” Jimin says, turning toward her. “She’s top of her field in international corporate law. She understands how they’d use legal framing to protect themselves — and how we could counter it.”

Jinyoung gives you a nod, all calm certainty. “I combed through the data. If we tried to hand this to authorities as is, it would backfire. Every file in there is cross-referenced. Every ledger, every transaction, there’s an intentional trail that loops back to Park accounts and dormant Han assets.”

Your brows pull together. “So... it looks like we’re working together?”

“Exactly,” Jinyoung says. “On paper, it frames your family and Jimin’s as partners. Silent, maybe, but complicit. If this came out now, they’d bury us, not the Lees.”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment. “So it’s all linked? There’s nothing clean we can extract?”

Jimin shakes his head. “They’ve been smart. Seojun got a clean data sample — but the ones he accessed were deliberately masked to include us. We think they expected someone to make a move eventually.”

You frown. “Then someone has tried this before. Why else plant evidence to implicate us?”

A flicker passes through Jimin’s face — something restrained, regretful. He doesn’t speak at first. Then, simply, “Yes. We believe so.”

Jinyoung leans forward slightly. “That’s why if we’re going to bring them down, it has to happen from inside. A collapse, not exposure. Something real. Not just one leaked drive.”

“That’s where the Kimura’s come in. Jinyoung put me in contact with them – Japan’s top syndicate.”

You raise a brow. You've only heard of the Kimura's from the many night trails you've run for Yoongi. There's usually a link and the Kimura's are at the top every time. “And they’re just… helping us?”

 “They don’t like the Lees,” Yoongi says, voice low. “Never have. The Lees have tried to push into their ports for years. Quietly. Consistently.”

You look between them. “And they’ve agreed to help?”

Jimin nods. “Not out of loyalty. But out of strategy. The Kimuras hate interference. And the Lees’ newest operation? It crosses every line.”

Yoongi continues. “The Benitoite. It’s a luxury hotel, built off laundered money, sitting right on reclaimed land in Seoul. Above ground, it’s clean. Below?”

“A speakeasy,” Jinyoung finishes. “And beneath that, a hub for trafficking, arms, and encrypted servers. It’s the core of their expansion model.”

"It's been three years since they opened the Benitoite, and this year they want to expand, so they're hosting a gala of sorts,” Jimin says. “Everyone will be there — politicians, overseas mafia reps, investors. We’ll get them to lock in a smuggling route with the Kimuras that night. It’s their biggest play yet.”

Your eyes narrow, and Hoseok says what you’re thinking. 

“That’s the night.” 

Jinyoung nods. “Exactly. The Kimuras agreed to play along. They’ll go as if the deal is legitimate. They’ll provoke the Lees into laying everything out — documents, people, money.”

“Then all we need is someone to be the bait,” Jimin says, his voice low, measured. “If it looks like someone’s trying to expose the deal — stealing the files — the Kimuras can use that to demand everything for themselves. It gives them the upper hand to justify pulling the plug, and the Lees won’t be able to refuse.”

“I’ll do it,” you say immediately.

Jimin’s gaze sharpens. “No.”

You blink. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe.”

“I can handle it.”

“That’s not the point.” His tone hardens — not angry, just controlled. “They’ll be watching everyone, but they’ll be watching you the most. You’re not anonymous anymore. You’re a threat.”

“I know what I’m walking into.”

Jimin's eyes are fixed on you now. “Y/N… you came into this house injured -- because of me. I can’t --  won’t -- put you at that kind of risk again.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” you say quietly. “I’m offering to do it. I knew what I was getting into the moment Seojun found me again. This is something I can do and you know that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches. “You think I’m questioning your ability?”

“You’re clearly not trusting it.”

“I do trust you,” he says, sharper now — but there’s something raw under the surface. “You think I’d let just anyone near this if I didn’t? But this isn’t a test. This is their core network. If they even suspect you… there won’t be a second chance.”

You hold his stare. “Then I won’t give them one.”

A pause. The tension between you hums like a held breath.

“I want to do this,” you add, quieter now. “Let me.”

There’s a long silence. Jimin’s eyes search yours again — scanning not for strength, but for finality. Conviction.

Finally, he exhales.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Then we do it your way.”

For a moment, nothing moves.

Yoongi exchanges a glance with Jinyoung. Then his eyes flick between the two of you — but neither you nor Jimin notice. You’re still looking at each other.

And in that stillness, you feel something shift. You’ve only seen the side of Jimin you remember from when you were younger — quiet and restrained. But this was different. There was something far more commanding beneath it now. 

Something unapologetically in control. 

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face -- reluctance, yes, but beneath it, trust. “I’ll make sure you’re not alone in there.”

Yoongi gives a small nod of approval, murmuring, “We’ll be everywhere they don’t expect.”

Jimin’s eyes settle back on you. “But the second something feels off… we pull you out.”

You nod. “Deal.”

Hoseok leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Well, it’s a good plan,” he says, his voice low but assured. “Dangerous as hell, but it’s smart.”

He glances toward the flash drive. “Let’s just hope it works.”

“So what’s left?”

Jimin leans forward. “The one thing they can’t fake. A live deal. Audio, video, biometric data — things we can prove in real-time. The Kimuras will wear wiretaps. Their legal consultant is working with Jinyoung to prepare evidence protocols. Our team will record from inside the speakeasy once it starts.”

“And you,” Yoongi says, “will get inside close enough to confirm the drop — the briefcase, the sign-off, the handover. That’s when we move.”

You nod, swallowing the tension rising in your chest. “And what happens after we get the proof?”

Jimin’s jaw tightens. “We take them down. Publicly, and permanently. There’s no second chance after this. Either we win... or we fall with them.”

The weight in the room shifts. The air sharpens. You feel it now -- not just strategy, but the start of something final.

Ara appears at the door. “Jinyoung’s room is ready.”

She rises, smooth and graceful, giving you a soft look. “Get some rest, Y/N. We’ve got a hell of a week ahead.”

She exits with Ara and Hoseok. The door clicks softly shut behind them.

You remain seated.

For a moment, silence settles over the room.

It’s only now that you really look around Jimin’s office -- spacious, clean, intentional. A large antique clock ticks quietly on a sideboard. A collection of small, sharp blades rest in a shadowbox on the far wall. A photo on the desk frame catches your eye — Jimin, younger, smiling beside Seojun, Yoongi and Namjoon.

You inhale slowly, a flicker of warmth curling beneath your ribs.

Yoongi lingers by the door, gaze flicking between you and Jimin. Then, without a word, he gives a quiet nod — to no one in particular — and steps out, closing the door gently behind him.

 You’re alone.

Jimin remains seated across from you. His posture is relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t quite left — something taut just beneath the surface, like he’s still replaying the last few minutes in his head.

“I haven’t had anyone argue with me like that in a while,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the grain of the table before slowly lifting to meet yours.

You tilt your head. “Is that a complaint?”

His lips twitch-- almost a smile. “No. It’s… grounding.”

He leans back slightly, gaze still steady. “I didn’t expect you to offer like that. Not so quickly.”

You shrug, voice soft but certain. “I didn’t need to think about it. It felt right.”

He watches you for a moment, then nods slowly. “I know what it means to carry something alone. I’m glad you’re here with us, and if we’re doing this… I don’t want you to feel alone.”

The quiet honesty in his tone catches you off guard – not the words themselves, but how easily he says them.

You hold his gaze. “I don’t,” you say. “Not anymore.”

Silence settles between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s full. Weighted. The kind that could bend either toward intimacy or distance –  one word in the wrong direction, and it could vanish. But it doesn’t.

After a moment, you add quietly, “When I asked Yoongi about my dad’s death, I knew I wanted to do something about it. But whatever it was, I thought I would have to do it alone. Now I’m not.”

Jimin smiles, his gaze soft. “First time in a long time.”

You nod, chuckling. “Yeah.”

“Like I said, I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance at him and realise something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge until now:

This version of Jimin is different.

Not just sharper, older – he carries more weight. A quiet dominance in the way he moves, speaks, decides. It's steadier than you remember. And somewhere in you, something stirs – a small desire to understand him the way you once thought you already did. 

Just as he starts to lean into another conversation, a knock breaks the moment and the door opens a crack.

Iseul peeks her head in gently. “Sorry, dinner’s ready.”

You straighten up in your seat, the spell of the silence broken. Jimin doesn't move immediately; he just watches you as you rise.

You glance over your shoulder with a faint smile. “Come on. We don’t want Jin lecturing us about timing.”

That draws a low chuckle from him. He stands a beat later, slower, like part of him hasn’t quite let go of whatever had just begun to unfold.

As you leave, he remains behind for a few seconds longer, his eyes falling to your empty seat. The space feels warmer now. More personal.

And for the first time in a long time, he finds himself wanting to keep a conversation going – not for clarity… for something else.

thank you for reading <33333 taglist is open x

[cravinganotherworld]

Dangerous inspiration - Part 2 (REQUEST) Frontman x reader

WARNINGS: Mention of death and guns

Notes: Hi! This is part 2 to the request I received. There will of course be further parts to this! Despair part 3 will be out tomorrow!

See Dangerous Inspiration part 1: Here

Wordcount: 1.5k

After the game you and Young-il were practically inseparable, until you had to cast your votes of course. During the last game you came closer to death then you would’ve liked, and you didn’t want to admit it but you were terrified. So, this time you voted to leave, you couldn’t stand another second in this hell hole. The ‘X’s cheered as you’re handed an X badge before walking over to join Young-Il who had also voted to leave. As you walk over and stand beside him he smiles down at you before moving his attention to the next voter. As more player voted the ‘O’s kept gaining more and more players, and as it got down to the last few Young-il left your side. You tried to reach for him but he was gone too quick.

“Think about what you’re doing” he shouts to everyone. “You are condemning innocent people to die, no one knows what tomorrows game will be, it could be you that dies next, or you” he speaks, pointing out people in the crowd. “This is our chance to leave, our chance to get out with what we’ve earnt, our chance to survive this…please think about what you’re doing” he pleads.

“Player 415, please make your vote” Young-il looks around defeated and slowly walks back towards you with his head hung low. You gently place your hand on his arm.

“Hey…at least you tried” He hesitates before nodding and turning his back to you. Your heart dropped but you didn’t take it too personally.

“Down to a majority vote, the game tomorrow will go ahead, we thank you for your participation” The guards leave the room and everyone returns to their bunks.

“Hey, you oka-“  You try and speak to Young-il but instead he takes no notice and walks straight past you. “Oh…okay” you whisper to yourself, trying not to let the tears fill your eyes. You nod gently to yourself and walk to a spare bunk on the opposite side of the room to Young-il, thoughts racing through your mind about what turned him so cold towards you. Slowly you sit down and cross your legs, playing with the hem of your jacket when suddenly a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hey, it’s y/n right?” You look up and see Gi-hun. Politely you nod. “May i?” he gestures to the stop in front of you. Once again you nod, and he takes a seat. “You did great in the games today, Young-il said you were feeling like it was your fault we almost didn’t make it, I just want you to know that it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault” He takes your hand gently to reassure you.

“Thank you Gi-hun”

“You don’t need to thank me, why don’t you come and sit with us? We have space?” You smile gently at him and follow him, rising to your feet and walking over to where the rest of the group sits. As you walk over Young-il looks up at you from his conversation, his heart faltering slightly as he takes in your messy bun and oversized jacket. He hadn’t noticed he was staring until you stood in front of him, cheeks flushed, holding the arms of your jacket in your hands.

“Young-il, she asked if she could sit next to you” Gi-hun spoke in the absence of your words.

“Oh uh…yes of course” he shuffles to the side allowing space for you to sit. As you sit down your thigh briefly presses against his, and flurries of electricity ran through you. For the remainder of the night you sat with Gi-hun, Young-il and the rest of your group until it was time for lights out.

“Attention players, lights out will be in 30 minutes, I will now repeat the instructions” You rise to your feet, saying goodnight to everyone as you walk towards your bunk your mind infiltrated with the feeling of Young-Ils thigh on yours. As you walk your gaze is stuck to the floor, until you bump into someone walking in the opposite direction causing you to stumble down. You look up to see Player 100 staring down at you as if he were about to kill you.

“Watch where you’re going will you, it’s not hard to open your eyes in here you know it’s not even dark yet!” he yells at you, tears start to fill your eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, I was distracted” He bends down, now closer to your face.

“I don’t want your bullshit apologies, stupid girl…” he reaches down and grabs your jacket were the ‘x’ badge sits. “Oh, poor girl, you want to leave? That’s a shame, isn’t it? This place is gonna eat you up alive, I don’t imagine you’ll be seeing the sun again” Suddenly a shadow eclipses player 100.

“That’s enough” his voice sends shivers down your spine. Player 100 stands, pushing you slightly towards the ground and walks around you, scurrying off to his bunk. You look up to see Young-il reaching his hand out for you to take. Gently you take his hand, and he pulls you up, your hand landing on his chest as he does.

“What happened?” he questions, you blush.

“Oh nothing, I just wasn’t looking where I was going that’s all”, he looks at you, clearly unconvinced.

“you’re one of the most observant people I know, somethings on your mind, what is it?”

“It’s nothing Young-il” you whisper and look down at your feet. He gently places his finger beneath your chin and lifts your head up. As your eyes meet everything else fades into the background and suddenly it’s just you two in the room.

“you can talk to me you know” he whispers, you nod gently

“I know” you reply

“Attention players, lights out will be in 2 minutes, attention player lights out will be in 2 minutes”

“I should go, don’t want to run into anymore people” you joke, Young-il doesn’t laugh.

“Stay with us” you look up at him in shock

“No..i don’t want to impose.

“Oh, stop being so modest, come on we’ll find a bed for you” before you could reply to Young-il takes your hand, dragging you across to his side of the room.

“Hey guys, do we have a spare bed for y/n?” Gi-hun looks around.

“We can swap a few people around so the one beside yours is free?” he speaks, looking down at your interlocked hands. A blush creeps up onto your face as Young-il nods and leads you to two beds beside each other.

“Here, now no one can bother you” he lets go of your hand so you could take a seat on the bed, he follows sitting opposite you.

“Thank you Young-il” you speak gently. He nods in acknowledgement and the lights switch off. You turn onto your back and lay looking at the bunk above you, a nightly routine in this place.

Hours had passed and still you couldn’t find peace enough to sleep, and no amount of tossing and turning was helping that.

“Can’t sleep?” you hear from beside you. You look over in surprise and see Young-il looking at you softly.

“Me either, it’s almost impossible in here, you never know what’s going to happen” you laugh a little in response.

“What do you think tomorrows game will be?” you whisper

“I don’t know…Gi-hun thought he knew what the last game was but they changed it” you look at him confused.

“What did he think it was going to be?

“Dalgona, when he played his games, the second game they played was Dalgona” you nod in understanding.

“All I do know is that the games seem to be getting harder the more people die, they’ll take out as any as they can in the first few” A moment of silence falls between you.

“I’m scared Young-il” you whisper. He gets up slowly, careful not to make any noise and sits beside you on your bed.

“You don’t need to be scared sweetheart” you scoff

“Of course I do, I’m the clumsiest person I know, if it weren’t for Gi-hun in the first game I would’ve died tripping over my own foot”

“I’ll protect you” your eyes widen slightly

“What…why would you protect me? You have yourself to protect”

“Because…. because…” your heartbeat quickens as he struggles to find the words “Someone needs to look out for you right? Someone needs to catch you if you’re going to fall all over the place” he responds with a quiet laugh.

“Oh…right yeah of course” you laugh lightly, disappointment evident in your tone. “I should try and sleep, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring” Young-il smiles down at you, his hand stroking yours gently.

“Of course, get some rest…I’ll see you in the morning” He bring your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss on it causing a blush to creep onto your cheeks. Letting your hand go, he returns to his bunk, letting you both try and find enough peace to rest.

[yvoi]

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