#she likes to wait at each step of my routine

[thrassisfras]

She had Thoughts about how long my routine was taking me this morning.

[d1stalker]

All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of. 

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart. 

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it. 

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory. 

Logan was never the same after that.

 —

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back. 

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted. 

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life. 

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward. 

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over. 

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.  

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another? 

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again. 

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone. 

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction. 

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him. 

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office. 

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does. 

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered. 

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts. 

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist. 

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it.  “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights. 

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions. 

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights. 

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react. 

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this. 

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care? 

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan. 

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown. 

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up. 

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak. 

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you. 

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall. 

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate? 

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock. 

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt. 

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection. 

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you. 

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start. 

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him. 

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

— 

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief. 

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze.  “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out. 

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze. 

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express. 

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport. 

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone. 

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost. 

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real. 

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back. 

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants. 

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak. 

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold. 

Location: Florence. 

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you. 

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room,  and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device. 

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement. 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink. 

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use. 

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving. 

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words. 

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit. 

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you. 

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown. 

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely. 

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[reiderwriter]

So obviously Spencer is iconic for his wide range of haircuts over the show, and I have this vision of a Spencer x hairdresser fic where he goes to the same hairdresser all the time because he likes the routine and it’s what he’s used to. So like they’re low-key friends bc he’s been her client so long, but then she notices he can’t come as usual and he tells her it’s because he’s always away or working late. So because they’re close she gives him private late appointments after she closes bc they’re more accessible for him, and then they’re always together late at night, and eventually they fall for each other!! And like she loves his curls and cringed when he wanted it cut short but loves it regardless AHH I JUST LOVE IT. Bonus points if Spencer gets to recommend his hairdresser girlfriend to his teammates just to brag about the fact he has a hot girlfriend lmao. I get it’s kinda long lol, if it’s too long a premise then no worries, just sharing it is nice :)

A/N: Hi! I love the idea of hair stylist reader, so I had a lot of fun writing this~♡ Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: implied Autistic Reid, brief mentions of sensory issues, writer does not care for the shows Canon hair continuity and does basically whatever she wants.

Masterlist

The first time you'd met Spencer Reid, you hadn't been able to cut his hair. Which was a damn shame because it really did need cutting. 

Sweeping up the floors of the hair salon you worked at, you had noticed the man lingering outside, wringing his hands together and pushing them awkwardly through his hair, approaching and retreating every few seconds. 

You watched him through the mirrors, and let him dance around like that for five minutes before deciding that the evening breeze would be a boon during the hot summer night that was about to set in on you. 

Opening the salon door, you stepped outside and soaked in the fresh air before turning to the now frozen, slightly awkward man. 

“Can I help you?” You tried to put a welcoming smile on your face, but the salon was past closing and empty beside you. You should've been heading home by now, but something in the man's posture had you dawdling.

“The barber shop down the road closed down,” he said quickly, as if the words were practised on his to guess moments before. 

“Yes, that's true. It's been six months now.”

“Six months?” he squeaked out, running a hand through his hair as he turned inwards. 

“Do you… need a haircut?” 

“Yes. Yes, are there any other barber shops in the area?” 

You rolled your eyes and walked back into the salon, picking up a robe and a shoulder cover and spinning around the closest chair to welcome him. 

“Well, are you coming in?” 

“But you're closed. Your sign says you're closed.” 

“And I'm still here, aren't I?” 

He didn't argue any further and hesitantly stepped into the salon. 

You helped him out of his bag and put it away before helping him into the robe and shoulder pad. 

He awkwardly stood around as you prepared your scissors and station again, switching on the mirror light so you could fully see his face and hair. 

And damn was he attractive. As you smoothed his hair out of his face, you were met with warm brown eyes, open and anxious, like a deer caught in headlights. Or, more accurately, a dear caught in a hair salon. 

You had to blink and look away as you remembered what you were about, standing up and leading him over to the sink. 

“I'm… I'm a little bit sensitive about my hair,” he admitted quite meekly as you tested the temperature of the water. 

“Okay. Is there anything specific?” 

He sat himself in the chair but didn't lower his head to the bowl, so you waited. 

After a minute or two, he gently lowered his head to the bowl, and you helped his progress, making sure he was comfortably settled. He didn't speak, just let his shoulders relax and closed his eyes as you turned the water on his locks. 

You enjoyed the simple repetitions of your job. Everyone's hair was different, that was true, but there were really only so many ways to wash hair. 

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, keeping the water away from his face and ears with a face guard before beginning to lather it up. 

For a man who hadn't seen the inside of a salon in six months and likely a hairbrush in the same length of time, his hair was healthy. 

De-tangling as you went, you ran your hands through the lengths of his hair, taking note of how it fell, which parts were healthy, and which had developed split ends. Then you began massaging his head, working the shampoo into his roots, making sure his scalp was free from any possible dirt or dry skin. 

This was the best part of the haircut for you, and you knew your regular clients enjoyed it greatly as well. Which is why you probably shouldn't have been too surprised when the man fell asleep. 

It took you a few minutes to realize that was what happened, the face guard obscuring his face from your vision. When you squeezed the water from his hair, patted it dry, and twisted it into a towel so the water wouldn't run down his back, you had no clue that he was away with the fairies. 

It wasn't until you asked him to stand, and he didn't even move that you moved around the sink and lifted the face guard. 

If he seemed anxious awake, it had melted away now. He looked younger asleep, more calm and confident somehow. His eyelashes were long, a fact you only noticed when you leaned in to get a better look at him. 

It was your hand unconsciously tracing a hand along his jaw that woke him back up, and for a second, you just stared at each other, faces inches apart. 

“I'm.. I'm so sorry, I should go. Thank you for… I should go,” he said hurriedly, pulling the robes and towels off and snatching his bag up, running out the door. 

“Wait, your hair,” you called after him, but he was gone. 

And he hadn't paid. 

It took a week for you to collect the payment, though you couldn't care less about the money anyway. 

But a week thinking about the man's delicate features, his shy smile and stutter, and you were very distracted. 

Thinking about him had become your full-time job, as much as cutting hair had, and you'd had a few close encounters with the scissors when you were lost in thought. 

You'd been thinking up back stories for the man ranging from the romantic to the obscure to the downright realistic. So, a week later, you found yourself behind on work and needing to stay late, just as he stepped into the shop a second time. 

“Hello?” You shouted from the backroom, hearing the doorbell jingle as it opened. “We're actually closed right now, so- oh.” 

He stood awkwardly in the door, his face already flushed slightly. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” you said, trying to stop the grin spreading across your face. You didn't want to scare him off a second time. 

“Last time, I… kinda ran away. I was… I'm not the best with-” 

“With haircuts?” 

“With change.” You both nodded at that, awkwardly staring at each other. 

“So…?” You lead, trying to encourage him to introduce himself, hoping he would reveal something you didn't already know. 

“You're closed again, but could you cut my hair?” He asked, pushing the long locks back on his head as he stood a little taller. 

“It would be my pleasure…” you trailed off as a question, needing to know his name. 

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor… just Spencer is fine if you'd prefer.” 

“I'm Y/N. Come and take a seat.” 

You slid him into the robes once again and got through a hair wash without any accidental naps this time. Though you did notice that he seemed to be enjoying it just as much. 

His sighs left you feeling hot, your heart beating as you focused on his hair to draw your gaze from his lips. 

When he was back I'm front of the mirror, he again looked like a scared cat that had been backed into the corner. 

“So, what'll it be, Spencer?” You asked cheerily, combing your hand through his locks to detangle them. 

“Hmm? Oh, a water would be nice.” 

“For your hair, Spencer. What haircut do you want?” 

“Oh! Oh, um, just a…just a haircut.” 

Your face scrunched up in confusion as he doubled down. 

“But what kind of haircut?” 

“What kind?” 

You pulled away from his chair for a minute and went to grab a cut reference book. 

“Okay, so we've got undercuts, or trims, I can do pompadour or bowl cut or-” 

You looked at Spencer's face again and saw that he looked more than confused. 

“How about I just cut your hair and after you tell me if you like it or not?” 

He nodded and gave you a weak smile as you grabbed your scissors. 

Twenty minutes of silence later, and you felt Spencer exhale in relief as you dusted off the back of his neck and pulled the robes off of his clothes. 

You'd gone for a shorter cut, but his curly hair had such a nice natural texture that you left it a bit longer on top. Without his hair in his face, his jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, and you were somehow more infatuated. 

He stood up shyly and you smiled at how good he looked. 

“Okay, perfect! Let me just-” You lifted your hand and smoothed out some of his hair, picking up some strands and pushing them back and forth until it was just right. 

He caught your hand just as you were about to pull away, and you suddenly realized how close he was. Or more accurately how close you had gotten. It was like you were breathing the same air. 

“D-Do you like it?” You asked, voice small and high as it battled your heartbeat to be heard. 

“Yeah. I like it. It looks… it looks like a haircut.” 

You giggled as his grip became gentler, and your hand fell down to your side, brushing his chest gently as it descended. 

“How much do I owe you?” He asked, and you led him over to the register to complete the payment. 

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed his bags to head out the door. 

“Just doing my job. I'll see you in six weeks,” you said, waving him off. 

“What for?” He asked, voice confused but bright. He sounded almost hopeful. 

“For your next haircut, Spencer.” 

He smiled and waved back as he walked back into the dark and disappeared down the street. 

No one could ever accuse Spencer Reid of being forgetful, and six weeks later, he was back in your chair. 

Except he didn't arrive at 11pm this time, but instead 11am. 

The other customers and stylists gawked at the man as he walked in, and you thanked the gods that your seat was free as he met your eyes. 

“Hi.” 

“Spencer! You're back.” 

He nodded shyly, head hanging a little as he ignored the many looks from the women in the room and the eruption of whispers and loud glances in his direction. 

“It's been six weeks. You said that's when I'd need another haircut.” 

You laughed a little as you pulled the robe around him. 

“You know, I say that every time, but most people ignore me. I love a man who can follow directions.” 

The eruption of red on his cheeks left you feeling suddenly tongue tied, and you carefully redirected the conversation back to the task at hand. 

“Same again, Doc?” You asked, readying your spray bottle and supplies. 

“Actually, could we, ah, go shorter this time?” Hesmiled sheepishly and watched as you ran your fingers through his tangled hair. 

“My boss, last time, said I looked like I joined a boyband, so…” 

“Your boss at the hospital?” You asked, clinging to every detail you could get from him. 

“The hospital?” 

“You said you were a Doctor, do you work in a lab instead or-”

“Oh. No, I work at the FBI. I'm not a medical doctor, I have a PhD. I have three, Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.” 

You whistled. “Impressive. You can't be older than 30.” 

“I'm 29.” He said, smiling at you in the mirror, and you smiled back, hands still running through his hair. 

“So, no boy band haircuts, okay. For what it's worth, though, you look totally hot.” 

The words cut the conversation short, and you tried your best to take the words back as you went off to the sides to grab your sheers. 

Half an hour later, and you could swear that half the salon had given up pretending to be doing their jobs and were just awkwardly ogling the man. If the shorter “boyband” hair was good, the undercut you'd done for him was even better. 

You turned him around to get a closer look, using the excuse of making sure his hair was symmetrical enough to stare at him some more as you got closer to finishing. 

“Okay,” you said with a sad sigh. “You're all finished, Spencer. Let's get you rung up.” 

He nodded and followed you quickly, pulling out his wallet as he paid quietly. 

“Okay. And I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, as he picked up his bags to leave. 

“Tomorrow? I thought you said it was six weeks between haircuts.” 

“It is. But it's also my day off tomorrow, so I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. With me.” 

He blinked at you once. Then twice, and another time before smiling and looking away. 

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and nearly walked into the door he was trying to walk through, but your heart still fluttered as you waved him out. 

[moonstruckme]

Okay I’ve been thinking of request ideas for Thawing Out all day while I was at work 😂 What about if something happened with her on the way to practice (nothing serious but maybe it shook her up a bit) and she was late and clearly acting off? Obviously her boys are going to notice…

Love you as always, hope you’re doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Thank you Amber my love!!! Hope you like it <3

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of harassment

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

You come into the rink with quick, determined steps, blitzing past every door in your path until you get to the bleachers. Sirius is already on the ice, Remus leaned against the boards while he watches. Both boys turn when you sit down. 

“Hello,” Sirius calls, clearly chuffed to have you here as a buffer between him and your bristly coach. “Where’s my latte?”

“No time today,” you say back. You jam your foot into a skate. 

Remus gives you a scrutinous look. “You alright?”

“Fine. Sorry I’m late.” 

You get your skates on in record time, laced up tight enough to hurt. Sirius is ready for you in your starting position, his hands firm on your shoulders. He gives a little squeeze, meant to coax a smile out of you, but you’re in no mood. 

“I was just fucking with you about the latte,” he says lowly. “I don’t need it to get through practice, though he has been especially insufferable this morning.” 

You glance at Remus. He looks the same as always, half relaxed and half watchful. He and Sirius have fallen into a routine of petty spats that you suspect don’t exactly make him look forward to practice every morning, and yet he seems to be getting used to the both of you. He’s less curt than he had been during your first few days together. 

“You only say that because you were here alone with him,” you say. 

“It didn’t help. Without you here he’s in his most unfiltered, fogey form.” 

Your skating is as near to flawless as it’s been in weeks. You throw yourself into each jump with everything you have, using the hot emotions simmering beneath your skin to your advantage. And it works. Remus looks caught offguard but directs several nods of approval your way, whereas Sirius is all untempered joy. His grin widens with each flawless landing, and when you finish your most difficult move in the routine he actually whoops. You think you see Remus’ lips twitch at that. 

“There she is!” Sirius grips your hand, squeezing tight as you go into a synchronized arabesque. His hair is pulled back into a bun, but a couple of loose pieces flutter around his face as he skates backwards. He looks so happy for you, and some of that tight feeling you’ve been carrying around all morning dissipates. You smile back at him. 

You both go into a lutz. It’s a jump you’ve done half a million times. It should be a given, perfect every time. And yet you catch your mistake in midair. 

You land on your hands and knees. 

You pant a couple of times, and your next breath scrapes on the way in. Tears press at your eyes horrifyingly fast, like they’ve only been waiting for their chance. You press your nose to the ice. 

Skates hiss until they’re next to you, Sirius’ hand on your back. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” 

You shake your head, humiliated by your fall and even more so by this fracturing, how easily it came on. You feel pathetic. 

“Where is it?” Sirius’ voice climbs, growing shrill with panic. “Let me see. How bad is it?” 

He’s trying to sit you up, hands cold and gentle and frantic, but his touch stills when a warmer one meets your shoulder. 

“Are you hurt?” Remus asks. 

“No.” You finally find your voice, but it’s pitchy and awful. “I’m sorry.” 

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” In the next second you’re smushed against Sirius, who hugs you tight as soon as he knows he doesn’t have to be delicate with you. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Your face feels hotter than hot in the cold rink. You push into your eyes with your fingertips. “God, what the fuck! I thought I fixed it. I don’t understand why this is still happening.” 

You’re sobbing now, tiny explosions that start in your chest and ricochet all the way through you, but fuming all the same. 

“You were both right, I’m holding myself back. I thought I could stop, but it just keeps happening, and I can’t do this. I’m so incompetent I can’t even do a fucking lutz. We need to find Sirius a new partner. I can’t hold us back anymore, I—” 

“Hey.” 

Remus’ voice is harsh, but not as harsh as Sirius’ grip on you turns at the sound of it. Your partner’s face goes sharp and cruel in an instant, an animal bearing its teeth. 

Remus pays him no mind. He keeps his eyes on yours, firm and unrelenting. “Don’t speak about yourself that way,” he says. 

You feel Sirius’ hold slacken in surprise. 

Another tear trudges down your face, and Remus’ expression gentles. “Everyone falls,” he tells you. “You have been improving, faster than I thought was possible, but you can’t expect it to happen all at once. You’re still going to fall sometimes. It’s alright. We’re working on it, yeah?” 

You sniff, wiping underneath your eyes. “Yeah,” you squeak out. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry. Just give yourself some grace, yeah?” His lips press together in a little grimace that’s likely meant to be a smile. “It’s my job to be hard on you, not yours. You’re allowed to fuck up. It doesn’t make you incompetent, or unworthy of competing with Sirius. You are the best person to be his partner. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, understand?” 

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath in. “Thank you.” It stutters a bit on the way out, catching on another tiny sob you can’t help. This one comes from a place of relief, but Sirius’ cold fingers dig into your arm anyway and Remus’ brows twitch slightly as though it hurts him, too. 

“No problem,” he says softly. “Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?” 

You nod, closing your eyes to will yourself calmer. 

“Good. Do you want to leave off early today?” 

You swallow and start to stand. “No. I’m okay.” 

“No.” Sirius’ voice is bemused enough to sound like a question. He rises beside you, looking at you like he’s trying to puzzle you out. “No, something’s up with you today. We should stop.” 

Remus seems to go along with him, starting back towards the opening in the boards, and you think wryly that if one good thing comes from all this it might be those two finally starting to get along. You also realize for the first time that Remus is out here with you on the ice. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so much as think about coming off of the bleachers, even if he is only in regular shoes and leaning heavily on his good hip as he makes his way back towards them. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat to Sirius. 

He shakes his head. “You’ve been weird since you got here. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” 

“Something did.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “Nothing relevant.” 

“But something did happen.” 

He’s steering you towards the exit now. It feels petulant to rip away and stay on the ice even if no one else will, though that’s what you’d really like to do. 

“Are you actively trying to piss me off?” you ask him. 

Sirius shrugs, stepping onto the floor. “If that’s what’s going to work. I only want to know what got you so upset.” 

“Nothing.” 

“Here we are again. Back to ‘nothing.’” 

Remus is watching you both like you’re a show his TV has randomly flipped to. Tentative of where he stands, but definitely entertained. 

You hate that this has become such a big thing. “It’s really nothing,” you say, planting yourself on the bench with a force that perhaps belies your claim. “It was just some git on the way here this morning.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows go up while Remus’ come down. 

“And what did this git have to say to you?” Sirius asks. 

You sigh, starting to unlace your skates since apparently practice is over. “It’s not what he said. He only asked me out, which is fine, but then he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He, like, grabbed onto my arm and wouldn’t let go for a bit.” 

Sirius’ expression goes stormy. It’s almost as bad as the look he’d given Remus earlier, only without a target to be directed at. “Are you fucking joking?” 

“It was fine,” you say. “I made it here, didn’t I? It just freaked me out a little. And pissed me off.” 

“Yeah, you should be pissed!” Sirius starts pacing, mindless of the indents his blades are putting into the rubber flooring. “Who does that? Did he think—what, you were just going to have to go out with him if he took you captive?” 

“I don’t know.” You give him a dead-eyed stare. “I didn’t ask him.” 

“God, you should be able to walk to fucking practice in the morning without being accosted by—by some—”

“Do you need someone to walk with you in the mornings?” Remus seems uninterested in waiting to hear what creative insult Sirius comes up with for the git. He looks at you steadily, his jaw tight but ready to accept whatever answer you give him. 

“No,” you say. “Like I said, it was really nothing.” 

“It upset you,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not nothing.” 

“I can walk you.” Sirius plonks down beside you on the bench, seeming to have come to a decision. “Just wait for me inside tomorrow morning, and I’ll come pick you up.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. “If I leave it to you, we’ll never get here. There’ll never be another morning practice again.” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek like he’s repressing a grin. 

“Wha—so little faith!” Sirius sputters, straightening before he’s so much as touched his laces. “I’ll be there, okay? We will be needing to pick up my coffee on the way here, though.” 

You give him a skeptical look. “You realize I wake up a half hour earlier to have time to get those?” 

“Fucking hell! Do you really?”

[coldfanbou]

Two Faced

A shorter fic, mostly because the request didn't have too much to go on, but it was the fic that was voted for.

Length 1.6K

Kazuha X Mreader

You watch your little troupe dance, keeping an eye on everyone. They go through their routine, ensuring everyone is in sync and positioned correctly. Nearing the end of it, you begin clapping, “Good job everyone! That’s enough for today; you can all head home. I’ll clean up around here today.” They thank you, patting your back as you pass them. “Thanks, Dad,” They joke, annoying you. “I’m like five years older than you guys,” The women take their time leaving, chatting amongst each other while you grab the cleaning supplies.

While most of the other women were talking to each other, one looked your way, Kazuha. The quiet dancer gripped her bag as it clung over her shoulder. She stepped forward, about to make her way to you when another student stopped her. “Kazuha, Do you have any plans today?” She asked; more students began to surround Kazuha, formulating a plan for all of them to go clubbing later. The others overshadowed her voice until she finally managed to catch their attention.

“I’m sorry, but I want to get some more practice in before our show,” Kazuha announced to the others, much to their disappointment. They understood Kazuha; they knew she was dedicated to ballet. Slowly, the other women filed out; Kazuha watched them leave, waving to them as she placed her bag back on the floor. While waiting until the room was empty, Kazuha gathered her courage and walked over to you. “Excuse me,”

You turn around to face her, “Yeah? Did you need something?”

“I-um,” Kazuha stumbles on her words, growing more embarrassed as time passes. She had practiced what she wanted to say at home, but nothing was coming out. 

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me when you can figure out what you want to say?” You drag a seat out of the closet and place it next to the door. Kazuha sits on it, trying to come up with the words while you mop the floor. You glance at her occasionally, gauging if she’s figured out what she wants to say. “You know you’re doing really well, Kazuha.”

Kazuha shakes her head, “No, I still have a lot of work to do.”

“You’re far too focused on ballet. Don’t get me wrong, Kazuha, I like your dedication to it, but sometimes you need to take a break and try something new. It can help you when you come back.” 

Kazuha sighs, her chest deflating as she lets out a long exhale. “There’s been one thing on my mind.”

“Oh, yeah? What?”

“I, um,” Kazuha’s face gets warmer as she tries again to explain herself. “I-it’s sex.”

“Oh, alright, that’s good.” You say that without realizing what Kazuah said. It takes a second, but the words register with you soon enough. “What?” You turn to Kazuha, who is leaning forward in her chair and gripping the edges of her seat.

“Teacher, I want you,” Kazuha admits, one of her hands shifting from her chair to her cunt, rubbing it through her leotard. She moves the straps of her leotard off her shoulders and stands slowly.

“Hold on there, Kazuha. I’m flattered, but-”

Kazuha kisses you, taking your hands and moving them to her waist as she wraps her arms around your neck, “I want you to ruin me, Daddy. I’m not the good girl everyone thinks I am.” She whispers, her lips lingering on yours before she presses her lips against yours. The flowery scent of her perfume floods your nostrils, and your grip grows stronger. Kazuha stumbles a few steps back; her back hits the wall. Kazuha’s breathy moan floats through the air as she feels your hands dig into her. She ran one hand down your body, reaching your crotch. Kazuha rubbed it slowly, feeling your bulge grow. Her fingers fumbled with your pants, and her breathing quickened. She was ready to be taken. Kazuha quickly pulled out your cock, stroking it. She could hardly keep her eyes off it; she licked her lips, desperate for it. Kazuha dropped to her knees, unable to resist it any longer. She opened her mouth wide, sticking her tongue out and rubbing it along the sides of your shaft. “It’s better than I imagined.” Kazuha groans, continuing to lap at it.

You look down at her; if someone had asked you if you could imagine Kazuha like this, you would’ve said no. She had a lustful look on her face as she wrapped her lips around your cock. She bobbed her head slowly, moaning as her tongue swirled around the tip. “You’re so big, Daddy.” Kazuha mumbles, beginning to take more of your cock. Kazuha opens her mouth wide, letting you push your length fully inside her. You struggled to resist Kazuha and began moving your hips. She could only moan as you ran your hands through her hair and began thrusting, moaning her name. Saliva ran down her chin as she took every thrust. Kazuha was enjoying your treatment of her. She moved her leotard to the side and began fingering herself, imagining your cock was fucking her instead of her fingers. She pulled down her leotard as much as she could with her other hand and toyed with her breasts, rolling her nipple between her thumb and finger. 

Your cock began to throb as you watched the angelic Kazuha act like nothing more than a slut. You couldn’t hold on, and came down her throat without warning her. Kazuha struggled at first, being caught off guard, but she recovered. The young woman swallowed every drop of your cum. She pulled her head back slowly, grabbing onto your shaft with both hands and kissing the tip before thanking you. She looked up at you with a pleased look on her face. She slowly rose to her feet and walked over to the bar the dancers used at the beginning of class. She bent over, shaking her hips from side to side and moving her leotard out of the way. “I need you to fuck me, Daddy. I want to feel you inside me.” Kazuha made sure to look at you as she said this. She arched her back and waited for you.

You moved behind her, staring at her reflection in the mirror as you pushed inside her tight cunt. Her lips formed an O, but no sound came out. As you continued to push deeper, her voice was finally heard; a loud moan filled the room as you filled her. Kazuha could feel your cock stretching her cunt, filling her better than any of the toys she had at home. “Shit, Daddy, keep going.” She cried, gripping the railing tightly as you continued to push deeper. Once you were finally buried inside her, Kazuha began moving, pressing her ass against you while calling your name. “Fuck me up, Daddy. Fuck me up.” She repeated. You didn’t resist and began thrusting into the young woman, having little care at this point.

You slam yourself deep into Kazuha, letting her fill the room with her moans. She looks at herself in the mirror, smiling as she sees the reflection. The sight of her small body being pounded further turned her on. She reaches down, playing with her clit as you continue your thrusts. You held onto Kazuha’s waist, pulling her back as you rammed your cock into her. Nearing your climax, you began moving faster; Kazuha’s legs began growing weak as you pushed her toward her climax. Kazuha’s cried out when she came, and you had to hold her up. 

Still not entirely done, you turned Kazuha over, having her face you. You moved one of her legs onto your shoulder before lifting the other and lifting her off the ground. Kazuah held onto the railing and leaned back against the mirror, eyeing you as you began to thrust again. 

Kazuha looked down, seeing a bulge move as you slid your cock in and out of her. She pressed down on it with one hand, moaning as she realized it was your cock. She continued to press down on it, reveling in the feeling of your cock inside her. “Daddy, I want you to cum inside me,” She moaned. You grunted, feeling her walls tighten around your cock. Kazuha repeated herself, her moans continuing to flow as she pleaded for your cum. You buried yourself inside Kazuha, moaning her name as you filled her cunt with your semen. You gripped her firmly, refusing to let go until you had finished dumping your load inside her. Kazuha shuts her eyes, focusing on the warmth in her womb as you pull out and put her down. Her legs are still weak, and Kazuha falls to the floor. 

“Shit, let me help you up.” Kazuha waves you off and grabs your softening shaft. She wraps her lips around it, her tongue gathering every drop of cum. Kazuha smiled, able to taste herself on your cock. She bobbed her head until she finally cleaned you off, letting your cock go with a pop. You help Kazuha get up on her feet afterward and help her to the chair. The young woman grabs your cock again, stroking it slowly.

“That was nice, Daddy, but I want you to really fuck me up.” Kazuha pauses, trying to figure out how to continue. “Why don’t we keep this between us? After every class, you get to fuck me as much as you want. You must be stressed watching us perform and try to get ready for our performances. You can let out all that stress on me.” Kazuha leans down, taking the head of your cock into her mouth. “Or in me.” She adds, swirling her tongue around the tip. 

You and Kazuha worked out the details but generally agreed. You would fuck her after every class, giving her exactly what she wanted. She kept her angelic and pure image to her classmates, but the moment they were gone, she let her slutty side out for you.

[faebled-stories]

The Weight of Approval

Kinkvember Day 19: Facesitting

(G)-IDLE Cho Miyeon x Gender Neutral reader

It’s just another shift at the café—a grind that blurs together with yesterday and all the days before. The worn counters, the hum of the coffee machine, the clink of mismatched mugs—it’s all routine. The same cracked tiles beneath your feet, the same smudged menu board hanging above the register. The café isn’t much, tucked into the corner of a busy street, frequented more for convenience than ambiance. It’s the kind of place that serves as a pit stop for hurried commuters, not somewhere anyone lingers.

You barely register the motions anymore. Each cup you fill, every polite smile you force, feels like another tick of the clock until your shift ends. But even then, that only means returning to your tiny apartment—three floors up in a creaky, aging building where the walls are thin, and the heater groans louder than it works. Inside, there’s a stack of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, a fridge that hums louder than it cools, and shelves lined with little more than ramen packets and canned soup. Payday is still a week away, and you’ve already done the math—it won’t stretch far enough.

Every month is the same. Rent looms like a guillotine, always just one mistake away from coming down. The café job was supposed to be temporary, just something to cover the basics until you landed something better. But “temporary” stretched into months, and now it feels like a trap, closing in around you as the bills keep piling higher. Nights at your other job—a late shift at a dingy convenience store—blur into exhaustion. Between the two jobs, sleep is a luxury, and dreams? Those have been shelved for “later,” though you’re no longer sure when “later” will come.

The bell above the door rings, jolting you from your thoughts. It’s automatic to glance up, expecting a regular with their usual small talk and routine order. Instead, she walks in.

The woman is striking, her presence undeniable from the moment she steps inside. Everything about her is sharp and precise, from the tailored fit of her sleek black suit to the effortless grace in her stride. The glint of her designer heels catches the dull light of the café, momentarily outshining the worn surroundings. Her dark sunglasses obscure her eyes, but you feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s sizing up the entire room in a single sweep. She’s out of place here, like a panther wandering into a pet shop.

She doesn’t wait in line. Instead, she glides directly to the counter, her movements fluid and purposeful, ignoring the subtle whispers and curious glances from the few other patrons.

“I’ll take my usual,” she says, her voice low and polished, each word perfectly enunciated.

You blink, caught off guard. There’s an air of expectation in her tone, as though her usual should be obvious. For a second, you feel like you’ve failed an unspoken test, unable to recall what she’s asking for. “I—uh—I’m not sure what your usual is…”

Her sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see her eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, a piercing gaze that seems to cut straight through you. “Is there a problem?” The question is more of a challenge than a clarification, her tone daring you to falter.

Before you can stammer out an apology, your coworker Minnie steps in, her movements quick and anxious. “I’ll take care of it,” she says, her voice soft and hurried. She doesn’t look at you as she nudges you aside, her trembling hands already reaching for the espresso machine.

The woman steps back, folding her arms as she waits. Her gaze, however, doesn’t leave you. It’s piercing and unrelenting, a quiet power that feels suffocating. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to—her presence alone commands the room.

Minnie works quickly, though her nervousness is evident. She fumbles slightly with the milk, spilling a few drops as she pours. When the drink is finally ready, she hesitates, glancing at the woman as if trying to gauge her mood. After a tense moment, Minnie takes a deep breath, picks up the cup, and walks it over.

You watch as she offers the drink, her posture stiff, like she’s bracing for something. The woman leans in slightly, inspecting the cup with the precision of a jeweler examining a diamond. She murmurs something, soft and deliberate, but her eyes remain locked on you.

Minnie freezes for a beat, her shoulders tightening before she nods and turns back toward you, her steps quick and unsteady. Her face is pale, her usual cheerful expression replaced with unease.

“She…” Minnie begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she sets the cup down on the counter in front of you. Her hands fidget with her apron. “She wants you to bring it to her.”

You glance at Minnie, confused. “Me? Why?”

Minnie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But you should just do it. Don’t… don’t upset her.”

The anxiety in Minnie’s voice sends a chill down your spine, but there’s no time to question it. The woman hasn’t moved. Her gaze is fixed on you, calm and unwavering, yet it carries a weight that feels oppressive, like a predator sizing up its prey.

You pick up the cup, its warmth doing little to steady your trembling hands, and step toward her. Each movement feels deliberate, exaggerated by the tension in the air. Her eyes track your every step, sharp and unrelenting, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The café’s noise—the hum of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of patrons—fades into a dull background buzz as all your focus narrows on her.

When you’re close enough, you extend the cup toward her, your pulse hammering in your ears. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, her touch cool and fleeting, yet it sends a shiver racing through you. Her lips curl into a faint smile—small, deliberate, and unsettling, like she’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, with just enough of an edge to leave you unsure if it’s a compliment or a taunt. Her gaze lingers on you, unhurried, peeling back invisible layers like she’s already learned more about you than you’d ever willingly share.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat as she tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting into something closer to curiosity—or is it calculation?

“How would you like to earn some extra money?” she asks, her tone casual yet deliberate, as if the question is part of a test.

The words land like a thunderclap, unexpected and disarming. You blink, caught off guard, the full weight of her presence pressing down on you as the question hangs in the air. The answer should be obvious—of course you do. You think of the bills piling up on your kitchen counter, the hollow ache in your stomach from skipping meals, and the rent looming over you like a storm cloud. But there’s something about the way she asks, something that makes your pulse race with more than just hope.

“I—uh…” Your voice wavers, and you hesitate, but the intensity of her gaze pushes you to nod, slowly at first, then more firmly. “Sure.”

Her smile deepens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead, there’s a flicker of satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew. She reaches into her purse with a deliberate, practiced motion and pulls out a business card. The action feels almost ceremonial as she hands it to you with a lazy grace. The card is pristine and minimalist: Ascend International. Cho Miyeon, CEO.

“Come to this address at 8 pm tonight,” she says, her tone smooth and unyielding. “Don’t be late.”

You glance down at the card in your hand, its edges crisp and cool against your fingertips. The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size, like it’s a key to a door you’re not sure you’re ready to open.

Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, and for a moment, she pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if an idea has just occurred to her. “Stick your tongue out,” she says suddenly.

The request catches you so off guard that you hesitate, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. But her expression remains unchanged—no humor, no patience, only expectation. The air between you feels heavy, charged, as if she’s testing you.

Against every instinct, you comply, your face heating as you stick out your tongue. You feel ridiculous, exposed, yet there’s a compulsion in her gaze that makes resistance impossible. She studies you for a beat, her smirk deepening in satisfaction before she straightens, her presence as composed and commanding as ever.

“Good,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning and striding out of the café, her movements fluid and unhurried, like someone who always gets exactly what they want.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minnie sidles up beside you, her voice low and shaky. “You… you have no idea who she is, do you?”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching the card tightly. “No. Should I?”

Minnie’s eyes widen, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something cautious, almost fearful. “Cho Miyeon,” she whispers, glancing toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in. “She owns half this city. If she wants something from you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Just don’t screw it up. People don’t usually get second chances with her.”

You look down at the card again, its elegant design somehow intimidating. It feels out of place in your hands, like it belongs in a world far removed from your own. Yet, as the weight of her gaze lingers in your mind, you think about your reality—your landlord’s last warning, the meals you’ve skipped, the endless grind of multiple jobs that never seem to be enough.

Maybe this is the kind of risk you need to take.

If you can survive it

-----

Stepping into Ascend International’s headquarters feels like stepping into another world. The building itself is a towering monolith of glass and steel, its sleek facade reflecting the city skyline with an almost arrogant perfection. The sheer scale of it is intimidating, a symbol of power that dominates the horizon, making everything around it feel insignificant by comparison.

The lobby is no less imposing. It’s cavernous, every surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. The pristine marble floors stretch out endlessly, their subtle veining shimmering under the soft, calculated lighting. Minimalist artwork, abstract yet commanding, adorns the high walls, while brushed metal accents catch the light in subtle, expensive flashes. It’s a space that whispers sophistication but demands reverence, as if even the air inside has been curated for those who belong.

The people moving through the lobby only add to the sense that you’re out of place. They stride with purpose, their designer suits immaculate, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if they’re always on the brink of something important. No one lingers. No one hesitates. Everyone here seems to belong, moving in seamless synchronization, like pieces in a machine that runs on ambition and authority.

Clutching the business card Miyeon gave you, you force yourself to breathe steadily as you approach the reception desk. It looms ahead of you, an enormous slab of black marble so flawless it seems to absorb the light around it. Its size and stark design make you feel even smaller, dwarfed not just by the desk but by the sheer magnitude of the world you’ve just stepped into.

Behind the desk sits a young woman, impeccably dressed and exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from being part of something this powerful. Her name tag reads Song Yuqi, but it’s her sharp eyes that capture your attention. They snap up the moment you approach, and in a single, sweeping glance, she seems to assess everything about you—your clothes, your posture, the nervous energy you can’t quite suppress. It’s a look that feels both brisk and invasive, as if she’s already reached a conclusion before you’ve even spoken.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview with Ms. Cho,” you manage to say, though your voice sounds smaller than you’d like. You straighten your posture, hoping it’ll help mask the nervous tension tightening in your chest.

Yuqi’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing her otherwise polished demeanor. “Oh, I know what this is about,” she says, her tone light and almost playful. Her gaze drifts over you again, slower this time, adding an unsettling layer of scrutiny. It’s as if she’s sizing you up for something you’re not privy to, enjoying a private joke at your expense.

Without another word, she opens a drawer with precise, practiced movements and pulls out a slim stack of papers. She hands them to you with a flick of her wrist, her smile deepening as though she’s waiting for your reaction. “Here,” she says, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You’ll need to sign this.”

You glance down at the papers, your breath catching as your eyes skim the first few lines. The text reads: Employment Contract. The words jump out at you—personal assistant, non-disclosure agreement, exclusive services—but most of the document is dense with legal jargon that blurs together as your eyes dart across the page. Then, a number leaps out at you—the salary.

It’s staggering. More money than you’ve ever made in your life. More than you’d even dared to dream of earning, even after years of grinding through multiple shifts and sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of it all hits you at once: no more overdue bills, no more rationing groceries or waking up in a cold sweat over rent. This could change everything.

You glance back at Yuqi, who’s watching you with that same faint smirk, her amusement sharpening as if she can read every thought racing through your mind. There’s something unnerving about how much she seems to know—like she’s been expecting you to react this way all along.

Your hand hesitates over the contract. Rationally, you know this is unusual. Signing a contract before even meeting with Miyeon feels strange, almost reckless. But the rational part of you is quickly drowned out by the sheer allure of the number staring back at you. Slowly, almost dreamlike, you pick up the pen and sign your name. It feels surreal, like you’re crossing an invisible threshold into a world you’re not sure you belong in.

When you look up, Yuqi’s smirk has widened, her amusement shifting into something sharper, almost predatory. She takes the papers from you with a practiced efficiency, her fingers grazing yours briefly before she sets them aside. “Top floor,” she says, her voice smooth and a little too cheerful. “Room 2601. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You nod, your throat too tight to respond, and turn toward the elevator bank. As you walk away, Yuqi’s voice trails after you, light and teasing but with a faint edge of something you can’t quite place. “Good luck,” she calls, her tone carrying a hint of pity that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you press the elevator button, the weight of what just happened settles over you. The sleek lobby, the polished marble, the silent power radiating from every corner of this place—it all feels like it’s pressing down on you, reminding you of how small and out of place you are. Yet, in your hand, the signed contract feels heavier than it should, a reminder of the door you’ve just opened.

After stepping into the elevator, the doors glide shut with a smooth finality, sealing you off from the world below. Yuqi’s soft chuckle lingers in your mind, faint yet cutting, like the echo of something you can’t quite grasp. Was she mocking you? Warning you? The question gnaws at you, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

The elevator begins its ascent, smoothly but at an unnerving speed, and each floor that flashes by on the display only amplifies your anxiety. By the time you reach the top floor, your heart is pounding, each beat echoing in your ears.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out into a long, dimly lit hallway. It’s strikingly different from the bright, bustling lobby below—quiet, almost unnaturally so, with thick carpeting that muffles your footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the hall, offering a sweeping view of Seoul’s glittering cityscape far below, the lights sprawling endlessly in the night. The silence is profound, almost oppressive, heightening the tension coiling within you.

At the end of the hallway, a single door waits: Room 2601. The numbers gleam in brushed silver, unassuming yet undeniably foreboding.

You approach the door slowly, each step making your breath come shorter, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on your shoulders. Reaching the door, you raise a hand, hesitate for just a moment, then knock. The sound is barely more than a whisper against the thick, quiet air. Then you wait, each second stretching out into tense silence, your mind racing as you imagine the woman behind the door—the woman who is already reshaping the course of your life with a single, strange offer.

Finally, the door opens. Miyeon stands there, poised and composed, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the tension you’ve built up in your mind. Her presence fills the room instantly, commanding and undeniable. The tailored lines of her outfit emphasize her power, every detail of her appearance deliberate, perfected. She doesn’t say anything at first; her cool, assessing eyes are enough to strip you of any lingering confidence.

“Did you sign the contract?” she cuts the silence, her tone calm but unyielding, the question landing with an air of finality. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she waits for your response, clearly expecting nothing less than the truth.

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you reply automatically, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous tightness in your chest.

A faint, almost predatory smile touches her lips, curving with just enough subtlety to unsettle you. “Good.” She takes a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The weight of her gaze feels unbearable, as though she’s deciding whether you’re even worth the moment she’s spending on you. “Let’s begin your orientation,” she says smoothly, though there’s something in her tone that makes it feel less like an introduction and more like a trial.

You nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the uncertainty tightening in your stomach. She watches you for a moment longer, as though savoring your discomfort, then parts her lips, her words delivered with meticulous precision.

“I need to know if you’re capable of handling my needs—whatever they may be,” she says, each syllable deliberately enunciated. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she takes another step forward, her voice low and unyielding. “This position demands complete obedience and total surrender. Is that clear?”

Her words hang in the air, their weight almost suffocating. You hesitate, the gravity of her demand pressing against you. “You…want me to surrender?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, exposing the crack in your resolve.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, quick and sharp, like a blade slicing through your hesitation. “Yes.” Her tone is calm, yet there’s an edge to it that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “If you want to work for me, I expect unquestioning compliance.”

She lets the silence stretch, forcing you to absorb the weight of her words, her gaze unrelenting. Then, her expression hardens slightly, and her voice lowers, smooth and controlled. “Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks. “Yes, Ms. Cho.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing further, as if testing your sincerity. Then, with a measured look, she speaks again. “Good. Fetch the bench from the corner.”

The command catches you off guard, but her tone leaves no room for hesitation. You glance around quickly, spotting the object she means. The bench’s design immediately captures your attention—sleek and purposeful, with polished steel legs and padded leather cushions. Its unique height and tilted headrest stand out, clearly crafted with precision, though its exact purpose escapes you. There’s an air of deliberate intent in its construction, as if it was made for something specific, yet unknown to you.

Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on you as you approach the bench. The weight of her stare makes you hyper-aware of your movements as you grip the sides of the bench and carefully drag it to the center of the room. The polished floor amplifies the sound of the legs sliding into place, each scrape making your pulse quicken. The act feels symbolic, a deliberate display of your compliance, and the tension between you thickens with every passing moment.

When you’ve positioned it where she wants, you glance back at her uncertainty. Her expression remains unreadable, but the faint quirk of her lips suggests satisfaction. She steps closer, her heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Lie down,” she commands, her voice calm yet leaving no room for doubt.

The words catch you again, and you hesitate for a brief moment, your body instinctively stiffening. “Ms. Cho, I—what exactly do you mean by…?”

Her gaze sharpens instantly, silencing you with a single look. Her voice, deceptively soft, cuts through the air like a blade. “Are you questioning me again?” she asks, her tone laced with challenge. “I thought you understood what surrender means. Lie down. Now.”

Her words land with finality, and you feel a flush of shame rise at your hesitation. Swallowing hard, you nod and lower yourself onto the bench, the cool leather pressing against your back as you settle in. The elevated headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward as though the bench itself is positioning you for her. The chill of the leather seeps into your skin, grounding you in the moment, while the faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that fills the room.

Miyeon steps closer, standing above you, her presence towering, her gaze unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches down and hikes her skirt up to her hips, revealing toned thighs and the delicate edge of lace. Her movements are smooth, calculated, as if every motion is part of a performance meant to remind you of your place. She slips her panties to the side with practiced ease, her poise never faltering, and positions herself above you.

Her movements are deliberate as she lowers herself onto the bench, aligning her body perfectly with yours. The height of the bench leaves her perfectly positioned—not too low, ensuring her weight presses against you with satisfying firmness, yet not so high that she feels unsupported. The angle of your head allows her to settle fully, her thighs bracketing your face as her warmth and presence close in around you. The air feels thick with her scent—rich, musky, and faintly floral—flooding your senses and leaving your head spinning before she’s even settled fully.

Leaning forward, she braces herself on the bottom of the headrest, her hands naturally finding the spots perfectly molded for her grip. The design seems intentional, as if tailored for this very moment. Her fingers tighten briefly as she steadies herself, her gaze flicking down to meet yours. There’s no softness in her expression, only a sharp, expectant coolness that cuts through the haze clouding your mind.

“Stay still,” she murmurs, her voice calm but carrying the weight of command. The words feel like a seal on the moment, binding you to her expectations. Then, with deliberate ease, she presses down, enveloping you completely.

Your world narrows to her—the pressure, the weight, the intoxicating heat of her body as it moves against you. Tentatively, you extend your tongue, pressing it to her for the first time. Her taste floods your senses, earthy and rich, tinged with the saltiness of her skin. It’s overwhelming, disorienting, but also grounding, her presence completely consuming every thought, every breath. Encouraged by the faint shift of her hips, you try again, moving with more intention. You let your tongue trace slow, deliberate strokes, convinced you’re finding the rhythm she expects.

Her thighs press firmly against your head, creating a perfect seal that traps you beneath her. The leather of the bench beneath you feels immovable, your position leaving you utterly at her mercy. With her weight pressing down, each inhale becomes a struggle, your breaths reduced to shallow pulls of air through your nose—and every one of them is filled with her. Her scent is heady, musky, and floral, a potent blend that seeps into your senses and clouds your thoughts. It feels like you’re breathing her in completely, your lungs filled with nothing but her presence.

Her body feels warm, responsive, as though she’s relaxing against you, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate rolls. The grind of her pelvis against your face is measured, controlled, and demanding, and you adjust your movements instinctively, matching her pace. Her thighs tighten subtly around your head, holding you even more firmly in place, leaving no room for error, no room for escape. You feel every shift, every slight increase in pressure, and interpret it as a signal that you’re doing something right.

The faint tension in her breathing seems to deepen, her exhalations growing slightly louder, and you take it as a sign to focus more, to give her exactly what she needs. You adjust your tongue, letting it trace patterns you think she’ll enjoy, responding to the subtle cues in the way her hips shift. Her warmth spreads against you, slick and inviting, and you press more firmly, convinced you’re making progress, that she’s responding to your efforts.

Her scent grows stronger, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin, and you lose yourself in the rhythm she’s setting. Each movement feels purposeful, deliberate, as if you’re aligning perfectly with her desires. Her faint exhalations become the only sound you can hear, soft and measured, a quiet reward that urges you to keep going, to match her pace with precision. Her thighs flex against your head, squeezing slightly, and her hips grind down harder, forcing you to adjust to her increasing demands.

Trapped between her thighs, the pressure becomes all-encompassing, the weight of her pressing down leaving you barely able to think beyond her. Each inhale feels heavier, as though her scent is suffocating you in the most intoxicating way. You pour everything into your movements, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, convinced that her silence is approval, that the steady roll of her hips means you’ve found exactly what she wants.

The seconds stretch into minutes, your efforts intensifying as her body shifts with increasing deliberation. The grind of her hips becomes more insistent, demanding, and you press harder, moving your tongue with more purpose. The pressure of her weight feels all-encompassing, her thighs gripping your head tightly, leaving you immobile, entirely at her mercy. You focus entirely on her, responding to her every movement, certain that you’re meeting her expectations.

Then, you feel it—a subtle, unmistakable slickness spreading against your tongue. It’s warm, intoxicating, and sends a jolt of confidence through you. Her arousal feels like confirmation, a silent acknowledgment that you’re doing something right. You match her movements with renewed focus, interpreting the growing wetness as proof of your success.

But then, without warning, her weight lifts.

The sudden loss of pressure is startling, disorienting, and you blink against the light as your eyes flutter open. The brightness of the room feels blinding, a harsh contrast to the cocoon of warmth and scent you’d been engulfed in. Her essence still lingers heavily in the air, clinging to you, intoxicating, making your head spin like you’ve been drinking something far too strong.

“Wait…” you murmur, the word slipping out unbidden as she rises fully. Without thinking, you push upward, your body instinctively trying to follow hers, desperate to maintain the contact, to hold onto the sensation. You feel drunk, untethered, and you try to lift your head toward her, as if that alone could pull her back down.

But Miyeon moves with calm, dismissive ease, pulling her skirt down and smoothing it into place with the same practiced precision she began with. She steps off the bench, her movements steady and composed, as though what just happened was a passing thought, nothing more than a fleeting interruption.

Her expression remains untouched by the moment, her gaze sharp and appraising as she looks down at you. The cool detachment in her eyes feels like a splash of cold water, banishing the haze that had clouded your mind. The confidence you felt just moments ago evaporates as she folds her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Time’s up,” she says smoothly, her tone businesslike, almost bored. There’s no emotion, no warmth in her voice, as though she’s closing a meeting rather than commenting on your performance.

You sit up slowly, your body unsteady, your breath uneven as you try to process what just happened. The remnants of her scent and taste cling to you, making your head feel light, dizzy, as though you’re still intoxicated by her presence. Your mind clings desperately to the moments when you thought she was responding—the subtle shifts, the pressing weight of her hips, the slick warmth of her against you. You were so sure you’d succeeded, but the cold finality of her words shatters that illusion.

Miyeon steps back, her expression unchanging as she watches you. Her gaze remains fixed, cool and detached, giving nothing away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for her to say something, anything, that might redeem the moment.

But she doesn’t. Her stance, her tone, her movements—all of it makes one thing clear: you’ve fallen short.

Her silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, before she finally speaks.

“You get a C,” she says, her voice unhurried, calm, and somehow all the more cutting for it. Each word lands with surgical precision, slicing through the hope you’d just started to build. Her tone is devoid of emotion, her expression cold and detached, as though grading a forgettable report. “You missed the mark entirely.”

The words feel like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare at her, struggling to process, grappling with the sudden weight of failure. “You’re giving me a…C? But I thought—I felt you get wet, Ms. Cho. I thought…”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, enough to silence you before you can finish. The room feels colder as her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place.

“Did you?” she replies, her tone so detached it feels clinical. “Just because my body has natural reactions doesn’t mean you were doing anything remarkable. Don’t confuse basic biological responses with skill.”

Her words hit like ice water, cutting through the fog of your confusion and hope. She takes a step closer, her presence looming, her expression hardening as she begins to dissect your performance with brutal precision.

“Your efforts lacked strength,” she begins, her voice carrying a steely edge. “Your tongue was weak—unfocused. No rhythm, no consistency. I set a pace for you, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

She pauses, letting the words sink in, her critical gaze sweeping over you as though she’s already dismissed you. The weight of her disappointment presses down harder than her thighs ever did.

“And you completely ignored my clit,” she continues, her tone growing colder, harsher, each syllable cutting deeper. “I practically guided you there, made it obvious, yet somehow, you missed the most important part.” Her lips curl into a faint smirk, but there’s no humor in it, only a razor-sharp derision. “I even grinded myself against you, practically handing you the answer, and still, you failed to deliver.”

Her words are relentless, brutal. Each one dissects a flaw you hadn’t even realized, exposing every weak point you thought you’d hidden. It’s as if she’s stripping you down to the core, piece by piece, revealing everything you couldn’t see in yourself.

She takes a measured step back, her voice dropping lower, colder. “The bare minimum,” she says, enunciating each word with icy precision, “is to make me cum. And you couldn’t even come close to doing that.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the silence that follows. The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument, no possibility for redemption. Her gaze remains fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, her disappointment so palpable it feels like it’s physically crushing you.

“I don’t need someone who merely tries,” she continues, her tone growing colder still, like frost spreading across the room. “I need someone who performs, who instinctively understands what I require without me having to spell it out. Excellence isn’t negotiable in this position.

The words leave you hollow, your confidence shattered under the force of her critique. Each syllable lands with precision, tearing apart every scrap of pride or hope you’d felt during the act. The air feels suffocating, thick with the weight of her disappointment.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing the words out even as a lump rises in your throat. “Give me another chance. I can do better—I’ll work on everything you said, I’ll improve if you just—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off, her expression turning to stone. The gesture alone silences you, her gaze cold and unrelenting.

“There won’t be another chance,” she states, the words cold and final. “Not here. I don’t invest my time in mediocrity.”

Her dismissal feels absolute. Her attention shifts away from you, as though you’re no longer worth a moment of her time. She steps back to her desk, picking up a pen with the same calm precision she’s shown all evening, and resumes her work without so much as a glance in your direction. The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels deafening in the silence.

“You may leave,” she says coolly, her tone as unyielding as stone. “This position requires skill, precision, instinct—and you’ve shown none of those.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence like a gavel. Your body feels frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of her judgment presses down on you. Slowly, numbly, you rise, your legs unsteady beneath you, your chest tight with the sting of failure.

Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, your mind replaying her critique with relentless clarity. The sharpness of her dismissal leaves you feeling stripped bare, your confidence shattered completely. You’d thought you’d done well, thought you’d sensed her responding, but her cold, clinical analysis has left no room for doubt. You fell short—entirely.

As you reach the door, you glance back once, hoping for even a flicker of warmth or reconsideration in her expression. But Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on her paperwork, her focus already shifted, as though you’ve ceased to exist in her world.

You leave, her scent and the weight of her words lingering heavily in the air around you, each step away from her office feeling like another layer of failure pressing down.

The weight of her words settles heavily in the silence that follows, each one lingering in the air like a closing door. You stand, feeling hollow, the sting of failure biting deep. Each step toward the door feels impossibly heavy, as if you’re dragging your very sense of self along with you. Her critique replays in your mind, each cutting line driving the shame and disappointment deeper. By the time you reach the door, her dismissal has stripped you of whatever pride you had left, leaving you exposed and aching with the sting of her judgment.

As you step out of the building, the scent of her perfume still clings to the air around you, subtle but intoxicating. Her taste lingers on your lips, and her piercing gaze haunts your thoughts, replaying again and again with relentless clarity. You can’t stop thinking about every moment, every mistake, every opportunity you missed. Her words echo in your mind, each replay stinging more than the last, but beneath the pain and disappointment, something else lingers—a pull, an inexplicable need.

There’s something magnetic about her, something that refuses to let go. The effortless authority she carried, the way she dismissed you without a second glance—it’s intoxicating, a force that leaves you restless, unsettled. The intensity of her presence lingers, drawing you back even as the humiliation burns. Somehow, you want another chance, not to prove yourself to anyone else but to her—to earn her approval, to be exactly what she demanded.

-----

The morning after that unforgettable Monday encounter with Miyeon, you wake with her still lingering in your mind—her voice, her scent, the calm precision with which she had dismissed you. The memory of her critique, her unyielding detachment, plays over and over, cutting deeper each time. Somehow, she has taken root in your thoughts, filling them in a way you can’t ignore. Her essence lingers—not just a memory but something that feels alive, woven into every corner of your mind, unrelenting and impossible to shake.

The café where you usually spend your mornings feels miles away, though it’s just down the block. Instead of showing up to your shift, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, staring blankly at your phone, waiting for something—anything—that might offer a way forward. The thought of pouring coffee, of going through the motions while she dominates your thoughts, feels unbearable.

By late morning, desperation pushes you to try a respectful, measured call to her office. Yuqi’s voice is professional, polite, and painfully impersonal. You introduce yourself, forcing your tone to stay steady even as urgency tinges every word.

“I wanted to see if Ms. Cho might be open to reconsidering…” you begin, your heart pounding with every syllable. “I know I didn’t meet her expectations, but if I could just speak with her, I’m sure I could—”

“She’s made her decision,” Yuqi replies with finality, her words cool and unyielding. “Ms. Cho has a very clear standard.”

The line goes silent, and you’re left holding the phone, the emptiness pressing down on you like a weight. Your heart sinks, but the idea of giving up feels unbearable. That night, you sit down at your desk, composing an email that takes far longer than it should. Every word feels inadequate, yet you pour your sincerity into each sentence. You admit your mistakes, express your deep respect for her, and humbly ask for another chance. As you hit send, you close your eyes and release a shaky breath, hoping your words will reach her, that she’ll sense your sincerity.

By the next morning, there’s no reply. The café calls to ask if you’re coming in, but you barely register the message. You can’t go back—not yet. The silence from Miyeon feels sharper now, amplifying your anxiety. Without thinking twice, you call her office again. This time, your tone carries a quiet urgency, though you fight to keep it professional.

“I understand Ms. Cho’s standards are high,” you say softly, your voice earnest, almost pleading. “But I know I can meet them. I just need a chance to show her.”

The rest of the day drags, heavy with unanswered questions. As evening falls, you find yourself composing another email, this time rawer, more vulnerable. You lay everything bare—your mistakes, your desire to improve, and just how much this opportunity means to you. With trembling hands, you hit send, feeling both exposed and hopeful.

By midweek, the desperation gnaws at you like a dull ache that refuses to leave. Miyeon has somehow consumed your every thought. Her presence is no longer just a memory—it feels like she’s there, looming in the edges of your mind, controlling your every emotion. Her scent, her voice, her unyielding control—they haunt you in the quiet moments, filling your chest with a weight that grows heavier with each passing day.

You’ve stopped checking your work schedule entirely. The thought of being surrounded by noise and chatter while Miyeon’s critique echoes in your mind is unbearable. It’s as if nothing else matters but reaching her, proving yourself worthy of her attention, her approval.

That afternoon, you decide to go in person. Nerves buzz under your skin as you step into the sleek lobby of Ascend International, the company’s towering headquarters. Yuqi greets you at the desk with a polite but distant smile, her practiced professionalism impossible to crack.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here to leave a message for Ms. Cho. I’d like to speak with her if she’s available.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, though there’s a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I’ll be sure she receives your message,” she says with polite finality.

As you walk away, hope mingles with dread. You tell yourself she must know—must feel—how far you’re willing to go to prove yourself. It’s impossible to imagine her being unaware of your persistence, of how deeply she’s embedded herself into your thoughts. Yet the silence continues to gnaw at you, relentless in its clarity.

Thursday passes in a haze. You leave another voicemail, your voice trembling with the weight of your growing need.

“Please,” you say softly, almost whispering into the receiver. “I know I fell short. But if she would just allow me one more chance, I won’t disappoint her.”

The intensity of your plea surprises even you, but at this point, pride is irrelevant. You’d give anything just for the chance to redeem yourself. As you leave the office, you find yourself in the lobby once more, hoping for even the faintest sign of acknowledgment. Yuqi looks at you with that same polite sympathy, her small kindness like a bitter reminder that you’re clinging to something fragile.

By Friday morning, the week’s silence feels unbearable. Every unanswered call, every unread email, weighs on you like a sentence passed. Miyeon’s critique plays in your mind with brutal clarity, her voice sharp and cutting as she dismisses you. It’s as if she left a part of herself with you, tethering you to her, drawing you back no matter how much it stings. You can’t let her go, and yet you fear that every effort has been futile.

Then, just when your resolve begins to waver, your phone rings. The unknown number on the screen sends your pulse racing, and you answer with shaky hands.

“Ms. Cho has agreed to see you,” Yuqi announces, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tonight at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late.”

Relief crashes over you like a wave, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. You’ve been granted another chance—a chance to prove yourself, to rise to her impossible standards. As you hang up, the tension that has consumed you all week begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination. Tonight, everything will change

-----

By 7:30 p.m., you’re pacing in the sleek lobby of Ascend International, nerves thrumming under your skin like a live wire. The building’s towering glass walls reflect the city’s lights, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floor. Yuqi sits at her desk, her posture casual yet poised, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking up to you as you move restlessly.

When the clock hits 7:40, you finally gather the courage to approach her desk. Yuqi’s gaze snaps to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she leans forward slightly, her tone light and teasing. “Nervous?” she asks, though it’s clear she already knows the answer.

You nod, swallowing hard. “She’s expecting me,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracks slightly under the weight of your nerves.

Yuqi doesn’t hide her amusement. “Oh, I know,” she replies, her tone bordering on playful, though there’s something sharp beneath it. She taps a perfectly manicured nail against her desk before gesturing toward the elevator. “Same room. You’re cutting it close, so I’d suggest moving quickly. Miyeon’s not known for her patience.”

Her words make your pulse quicken, and you nod quickly, stepping toward the elevator. But just as the doors slide open, Yuqi calls out, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Good luck,” she says, a hint of mock pity in her tone. “You’ll need it.”

The elevator ride feels endless, the quiet hum of the machinery doing nothing to calm your racing thoughts. By the time you reach the top floor, your hands are trembling, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You step out into a long, dimly lit hallway, its polished floors gleaming beneath your shoes. The door to Miyeon’s office looms at the end, imposing and unyielding, and you force yourself to move forward, each step heavier than the last.

At exactly 7:45, you’re standing outside Miyeon’s office. The weight of the moment presses down on you, suffocating, as you glance at the sleek double doors. This is it—the culmination of a week spent consumed by thoughts of her, by desperation, by the need to redeem yourself. Her dismissal on Monday has been looping in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, and you’ve been preparing for this moment every second since.

Taking a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push it open.

The atmosphere inside Miyeon’s office is heavy, almost oppressive. Everything about the space exudes power, from the minimalist decor to the sharp angles of her desk.

Miyeon is seated behind it, her posture as precise as ever, her face unreadable. Tonight, though, there’s a sharpness to her expression, a tension in the way her hands rest on the desk. Her gaze lands on you the moment you step inside, freezing you in place. Her eyes are piercing, cutting straight through any pretense of confidence you’ve tried to muster.

“You’re back,” she says, her voice sharper than you remember, each word clipped and deliberate. The skepticism in her tone slices through the air, leaving no room for pretense. She lets the silence linger, her gaze unrelenting, before she adds, “I suppose you’re here to prove something.”

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing yourself to stand taller, to appear more confident than you feel. Your voice is steady, but inside, you’re unraveling under her scrutiny. “I’m ready to meet your standards.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk, though it holds no warmth. If anything, it feels like a challenge, an unspoken test to see if you’ll falter. She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she rounds the desk. Every step feels measured, calculated, as if she’s sizing you up all over again.

When she reaches you, her gaze doesn’t waver. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. “You’ve had an entire week to think about Monday,” she says, her tone cool, almost conversational. “Tell me—what makes you think this time will be any different?”

You swallow hard, the question hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I’ve… I’ve thought about everything you said, Ms. Cho,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I know I fell short, but I’ve prepared. I’m ready to prove that I can meet your expectations.”

Her eyes flicker, the faintest glimmer of something unreadable passing through them. She doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until your nerves feel like they’re about to snap. Then, with a brisk motion, she gestures toward the center of the room.

“Then show me,” she says simply, her voice low but charged with authority. “And don’t waste my time.”

Without needing further instruction, you step toward the corner of the room where the bench waits, sleek and polished under the dim office lights. You retrieve it carefully, its weight familiar in your hands, and position it in the center of the room. The leather gleams, the elevated headrest perfectly angled for what you know is to come, designed to cradle you in place beneath her.

You lower yourself onto the bench, the leather cool and firm beneath you, grounding you as you settle into position. The headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward in a way that leaves you open, exposed, perfectly aligned beneath her. Your breath quickens as Miyeon steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Each step feels deliberate, each sound echoing the weight of your expectations.

She stops just in front of you, her sharp gaze sweeping over you, calm and detached, as though calculating every detail. Without a word, she slips off her heels and sets them aside. Her fingers move to the hem of her skirt, gathering the fabric upward with fluid grace. Her thighs come into view, smooth and commanding, a contrast of elegance and strength. The edge of her lace panties teases at your vision before she moves them aside with a simple, routine motion.

Her scent—muskier, richer than you remembered—immediately fills the air. It’s overwhelming, a heady blend of something primal and intimate, saturating your senses as she steps forward and positions herself above you. It’s a smell that haunted you this entire week, lingering like an ache in the back of your mind. You’d tried to forget, to push it aside, but nothing could dull the memory of her—the way she consumed you so entirely, only to dismiss you without a second thought. Now, as her warmth radiates above you, it feels like you’re being granted water in a desert, but only if you can prove you’re worthy to drink.

When she lowers herself, her weight presses down fully, engulfing you in her presence. Her thighs press against your cheeks, trapping you completely beneath her. Each shallow breath you manage is filled entirely with her scent, and for a moment, you’re paralyzed by how familiar it feels, how much you’d been craving this. It’s as though the week of rejection, of begging for this chance, has only amplified your hunger. Nothing else could satisfy you but her.

Tentatively, you begin, pressing your tongue to her with slow, cautious strokes. Her taste fills your senses—earthy and rich, tinged with saltiness, intensely familiar and utterly consuming. The longing you’ve carried for days surges forward, and you push past your hesitation, tracing deliberate patterns as you adjust to the faint shifts of her body. Her warmth grows against you, and you focus entirely on her, on the faint signals she gives—the flex of her thighs, the subtle tilt of her hips.

Her breathing remains steady, restrained, and her body feels poised, in control, as if she’s still testing you. You move with more purpose, pressing your tongue more firmly, hoping to draw a reaction, to prove you’ve learned. Her hips begin to move slightly, setting a measured rhythm, and you match it, your tongue tracing careful circles in time with her movements.

Her thighs tighten slightly, holding you in place, and her warmth presses against you more firmly. For a fleeting moment, you think you’re succeeding, that you’re drawing her into the moment. But then, her weight begins to lift.

The change is subtle at first—the brief press of her thighs as they shift upward—but it’s enough to make your heart drop. Her warmth pulls away, leaving a sudden void that feels unbearable. Her expression is faintly impatient as she rises, her movements deliberate, as though confirming what she already suspected: that you’ve failed her again.

A horrible sense of déjà vu washes over you, sharp and unrelenting. The rejection from your first evaluation, the cold detachment in her voice, all come rushing back, amplifying the ache in your chest. The memory of that moment has haunted you all week, and now it feels as though it’s happening all over again. Panic claws at you, raw and immediate.

Her voice cuts through the silence, low and unimpressed. “I see you haven’t learned anything.”

The words slice through you, sharp and final, and desperation surges in their wake. You can’t let her leave—not again. Before she can move further, you reach up, your hands trembling as they find her hips, gently but firmly holding her in place. Your lips brush against her folds, pressing soft, pleading kisses that linger just a moment longer than they should.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you whisper against her, your voice breaking. “Don’t leave. I know I can do better. Please—just let me try.”

She doesn’t move. You press another kiss to her, slower this time, the desperation in you mounting. “Please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I need this. I need to show you. I won’t fail you.”

Another kiss. She doesn’t lower herself, doesn’t speak, and the silence feels crushing. Your kisses grow more frantic, more desperate, your lips trembling as you pour every ounce of pleading into them.

“Don’t go,” you whisper between kisses, your voice cracking with emotion. “Please, Ms. Cho. I’ll do anything—just give me this chance. Let me prove I can please you.”

You press another kiss, and this time it lingers, your lips soft and reverent against her warmth. “Please…” you murmur again, the word barely audible, carrying the weight of everything you’ve felt this past week—the sleepless nights, the ache in your chest, the obsessive need to have this moment again.

For a moment, the air is suffocatingly still. Her body remains poised above you, her thighs tense, her piercing gaze boring into yours, unreadable and unwavering. You’re left hanging, each second dragging painfully as you wait for her to decide if your pleading, your desperation, is enough.

Finally, she shifts, lowering herself back down slowly, deliberately. Her weight settles on you again with a quiet finality, her thighs bracketing your face and trapping you completely beneath her warmth. Her presence floods your senses again, her scent, her taste, her closeness—more consuming now, more intense after nearly losing it.

“Continue,” she says, her tone clipped and cold, leaving no room for hesitation. “This is your last chance.”

Her words settle heavily in the air, fueling your determination. She lowers herself slowly, her weight pressing down on you with deliberate command. Her warmth engulfs you completely, her thighs framing your head, trapping you in place. Her scent surrounds you—intense, musky, and deeply familiar, stirring the longing that had haunted you since her rejection. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself, and you won’t squander it.

You press your tongue to her carefully at first, savoring the sensation. Her taste floods your senses—earthy, slightly salty, and utterly her. It’s overwhelming, a reminder of everything you’ve been craving since that first evaluation. You move cautiously, tracing along her in slow, deliberate strokes, letting her subtle shifts guide you.

As you work, her hips begin to move slightly, a faint rhythm that you match immediately. You focus entirely on her clit, finding it with purpose and letting your tongue trace precise circles over the sensitive spot. Her body responds subtly at first—a slight flex of her thighs, a faint deepening of her breathing—but then she begins to grind against you, her movements deliberate, setting a demanding pace.

Her thighs tighten around your head, holding you firmly, and her warmth spreads against you as her arousal builds. The faint scent of her grows stronger, more intoxicating with each passing moment. The low sounds that escape her—soft, unrestrained moans—cut through the silence, quiet but impossible to miss. The sound of her pleasure fills you with renewed purpose, driving you to push harder, to make her lose the control she clings to so tightly.

You adjust seamlessly to her movements, your tongue pressing more firmly as her hips set a rhythm that grows more demanding with each passing second. The warmth of her envelops you completely, her scent thick and intoxicating, saturating your senses until nothing else exists. Her thighs flex around your head, tightening their hold, as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Every inhale you take is filled with her, each shallow breath a reminder of the position she holds over you.

Her soft moans slip past her lips, each one slightly louder than the last, their restrained nature fraying at the edges. The controlled grace she carried moments ago begins to falter, her movements sharpening as her hips grind against your tongue with increasing insistence. You respond instinctively, letting your tongue trace circles that align perfectly with her pace, adjusting to every subtle cue her body gives.

Her thighs tremble against your cheeks, their strength faltering as the tension in her body builds. The moans grow breathier, tinged with urgency, and her weight presses down more fully, holding you in place beneath her. Her breathing becomes uneven, hitching with every deliberate motion of your tongue as you follow her lead, unrelenting in your efforts to meet her every need.

Suddenly, her movements grow erratic, the control she held so tightly slipping entirely. Her body tenses above you, her thighs clenching tightly around your head, cutting off your world to everything but her. A sharp, shuddering moan escapes her lips, low and unrestrained, the sound raw and involuntary. Her hips press down fully, grinding against your tongue with forceful, almost frantic motions, riding the crest of her climax.

Her body tightens completely, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes her. You remain steady beneath her, your tongue moving with careful persistence, guiding her through every pulse, drawing out each lingering sensation. Her knuckles whiten as her grip on the head rest tighten, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, she remains like that—tense, trembling, pressing herself fully against you as the final shudders of release course through her. Only when her body begins to relax does her grip loosen, her thighs softening their hold on your head. Even then, you don’t stop entirely, your movements gentle now, offering a last, tender caress as her breathing begins to steady once more.

Her breathing slows as her movements begin to still, her weight easing slightly as she lifts herself just enough to create space. But as her warmth pulls away, a thought flashes through your mind: this isn’t enough. You can’t just meet her expectations—you need to surpass them.

Sliding your hands up, you let your palms glide over the curve of her hips, steadying her as you adjust her position slightly. Your fingers trail downward, curling firmly to grab handfuls of her cheeks. The sensation of her soft skin under your hands is electrifying, and you feel the tension in her body shift as you grip her firmly. You spread her open with care, creating the perfect angle to access her most sensitive, tightest spot. It’s a bold move—one she hasn’t guided you to, one she hasn’t even hinted at—but you know you need to take this risk. You have to make yourself unforgettable.

With deliberate intent, your tongue traces lower, teasing the sensitive curve of her entrance before pressing further, exploring the tight ring of her ass. The sensation is new, unexpected, and her reaction is immediate.

Her body jolts slightly, her hips lifting momentarily in surprise as a sharp, breathy gasp escapes her lips. For a split second, your heart races, unsure if you’ve overstepped. But then her hips press back down against you, a reflexive movement that tells you everything you need to know. Her thighs tremble against your cheeks as her weight shifts fully onto your face, and the tension in her body gives way to something rawer, more unrestrained.

Her moans begin to spill freely now, soft and breathy at first, slipping past the tight control she holds so carefully. The sound fuels you, driving you to press deeper, to let your tongue move in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive areas. Her grip on the desk falters as her hips grind harder against you, her movements growing more erratic, more demanding.

You alternate between her ass and her folds, moving with seamless precision. Your tongue delves deeply, savoring her, while your nose brushes against her slick warmth with each shift. Her hips jerk, grinding against your face as though her body can’t decide which sensation to crave more. The weight of her bears down heavily, leaving you struggling for air, but all you can think about is her. Every detail—the way her thighs tighten around your head, the faint tremble in her muscles, the unrestrained sounds spilling from her lips—it consumes you entirely.

Her thighs shift slightly, and then, with a deliberate motion, she lifts her legs off the floor, letting her entire weight press fully onto you. The headrest beneath you creaks slightly, adjusting to the added pressure as she settles in, trapping you completely beneath her. The shift is overwhelming, her body sinking into yours entirely, her warmth and slickness engulfing your senses. Each shallow breath you manage is filled with her scent, and the sensation is intoxicating.

Your hands tighten on her cheeks, spreading her wider as you focus entirely on her ass. You let your tongue explore deeply, pressing into her with slow, deliberate strokes, circling and teasing the sensitive area with unrelenting purpose. Her body tenses above you, her thighs trembling violently as her breathing turns ragged and uneven. Each exhale is sharp, shaky, and punctuated by guttural moans that grow louder and less restrained as she begins to lose control.

Her hips grind down against your face, her rhythm faltering, her movements desperate. Her breathing becomes erratic, catching with each flick of your tongue, until the sounds spilling from her lips dissolve into broken gasps. The pressure of her weight presses down harder, and her thighs clamp around your head with such force that it feels like she’s grounding herself entirely in you, refusing to let you go.

Her body begins to quake above you, losing all rhythm as her hips move erratically, chasing the sensations building within her. Her breathing stutters sharply, and then, with one raw, unrestrained cry—the loudest, most primal moan you’ve ever heard from her—her climax overtakes her.

Her entire body shudders violently, her hips grinding down fully, pressing you deeper into the headrest as she rides out wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her slick wetness spills onto your face, warm and undeniable, marking the raw power of her release. The sensation spurs you on, your tongue moving with soft but purposeful strokes, coaxing every last tremor from her body.

Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, gripping your head like a vice as she rides through the overwhelming storm of her climax. Each moan spills from her lips in sharp, uneven bursts, her control shattered entirely. Her grip on the headrest tightens, her knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the intensity of the moment.

You can feel her unraveling completely, her body vibrating with aftershocks that seem to go on forever. Her weight remains heavy on you, holding you in place as she takes in shallow, ragged breaths, her body still trembling with the echoes of her release. Even as her movements begin to slow, her thighs remain locked around you, as though she’s reluctant to let go of the sensation. Every ounce of her focus is still on you, every ounce of yours entirely on her.

Finally, her body begins to relax. Her breathing slows, and her thighs loosen their hold, trembling slightly as she lifts herself off you with deliberate care. Her legs are unsteady as she straightens, smoothing her skirt with the practiced precision you’ve come to expect. Her breathing is still uneven, her chest rising and falling as she regains her composure.

For a moment, she stands there silently, her gaze heavy and unreadable as it lingers on you. The scent of her, the taste of her, clings to you, saturating your senses entirely. The room feels charged, her presence commanding even in stillness. You dare not assume anything—she’s still the one in control, and any sign of approval must come from her. Yet, in the weight of her silence, you can’t help but feel that you’ve done something right.

Her chest rises and falls evenly as she regains her composure, her expression remaining as poised and inscrutable as ever. You think you’ve proven yourself, think you’ve risen to her exacting standards, but the thought lingers, unspoken, as you wait. Every second stretches, heavy with anticipation, until finally, she speaks.

“Well done,” she murmurs, her tone softer than usual but still carrying that commanding edge. The weight of her approval lands squarely on you, and a quiet sense of pride begins to unfurl in your chest. Then, with a slight glance back at you, her lips curve in what could almost be a smile—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Bold,” she says, her tone as measured as ever, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—impressed. “Unexpected, but… effective.”

The words hit you like a wave, filling your chest with pride, though you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the satisfaction show too openly. Still, the acknowledgment lingers, affirming that your risk wasn’t just noticed but appreciated.

“Report here Monday morning,” she continues briskly, her tone returning to business. “You’ve earned your place.”

Her words hang in the air, settling over you like a blanket of relief. You don’t let the triumph show too openly, knowing she’s still watching you, but a quiet sense of accomplishment blooms within. She turns away, stepping back toward her desk with deliberate, unhurried movements, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The sound carries finality, a subtle dismissal, but also an acknowledgment of what you’ve achieved.

You remain where you are for a moment, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath, her scent and taste still vivid, still clinging to you. The weight of her words settles warmly over you—a victory hard won, a moment of validation you’ll carry with you. You’ve proven yourself tonight, but you know better than to assume it’s enough. This is only the beginning.

A faint trace of satisfaction flickers across her face as she glances at you one last time, her gaze lingering briefly before returning to her work. With an elegant nod, she dismisses you, her attention already shifting back to her desk.

Carefully, you rise, your legs unsteady from the intensity of the moment. Before leaving, you reach for the bench, the familiar weight grounding you as you lift it and carry it back to its original place in the corner of the room. The small act feels significant, almost ceremonial, as though returning it to its spot closes this chapter of the evening. Once it’s in place, you step back, sparing a glance at Miyeon, who is already engrossed in her work, her demeanor as composed as ever.

Each step toward the door feels deliberate, carrying the weight of everything it took to earn this moment. As you leave her office, the memory of her words—and her body—lingers in your mind, a reminder of what you’ve achieved and what’s still expected of you.

The quiet buzz of the building greets you as you exit, a stark contrast to the intensity of the room you just left. The evening air feels cooler, crisper, as you step outside, but the warmth of her approval stays with you. Miyeon’s words echo in your mind, solidifying the pride swelling in your chest.

“Bold. Unexpected, but effective.”

Those words, more than anything, stay with you, reminding you of the risks you took and the reward you earned. Monday will bring new challenges, but for the first time, you feel fully prepared to meet them. You’ve been given a chance to prove yourself again, and you’re determined to exceed every expectation.

-----

Back in the office, after the door softly clicks shut, Yuqi steps inside and leans against the frame, arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. “Alright, spill,” she teases. “What’s the deal? You actually allowed a second chance? I thought that wasn’t your thing.”

Miyeon glances up from her desk, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, please. I knew from the start I was going to,” she says smoothly. “There was potential. I just needed to see it under the right conditions.”

Yuqi raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “So the whole week of calls and emails? You’re telling me that wasn’t just for your entertainment?”

A faint smile curves Miyeon’s lips as she leans back in her chair. “Maybe I enjoyed it,” she admits. “But desperation does something extraordinary—it strips away everything unnecessary. What’s left is either weakness or strength.”

“You and your tests,” Yuqi mutters, shaking her head with a laugh. “You could’ve just brought it up on Monday.”

“That wouldn’t have shown me what I needed to see,” Miyeon replies with a knowing glance. “Pressure reveals everything. It’s like a diamond—only the right conditions bring it out.”

“Wow,” Yuqi says, stepping forward to nudge Miyeon’s shoulder lightly. “Soft-hearted Cho strikes again. Admit it, you like a little drama.”

Miyeon chuckles, her tone turning playful. “Only when the effort is worth watching.”

“Noted,” Yuqi replies, heading for the door with an exaggerated wave. “Don’t worry, I’ll mark this historic event down. Second chances with Miyeon Cho—they’re like spotting Bigfoot. Rare and highly debated.”

Miyeon shakes her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “Get out of here, Yuqi.”

Yuqi grins, pausing at the door. “Hey, if you get bored over the weekend, you know where to find me. Or maybe I’ll just swing by Monday with popcorn to watch the show.”

Miyeon points to the door, her expression feigned exasperation. “Out.”

“Fine, fine,” Yuqi says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender before slipping through the door with a grin. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, boss.”

As the door closes behind her, Miyeon’s smile lingers. Her gaze drifts back to the now-empty space, thoughtful yet satisfied. She had known all along what could be achieved, but sometimes the right kind of desperation was the key. Pressure, determination, and grit—it all had to surface naturally, and it had.

With a quiet exhale, she turns back to her desk, already contemplating the days ahead with a sense of certainty.

[thedensworld]

Stay Supple | Y. Jh

Genre: fluff, humour, smut

Summary: two ordinary worker have to deal with a baby. What should they do? Stay supple!

Missing Yoon Jeonghan hour:( but having so much fun writing this?

The weather was perfect, the sun shining just enough to complement the mood. Both you and Jeonghan waved as you split from the elevator—like clockwork. You headed left towards the design team, while he turned right to finance. Just another day as two regular employees at a food label under a large South Korean company.

"What's your relationship with Ji Y/N?" Jeonghan was first asked this after the two of you were seen leaving work together.

"She's my friend," he'd answer, as simply as possible, before walking off, leaving behind a trail of curious colleagues.

But when your coworkers found out you actually knew "the pretty guy from finance," their questions were relentless: “Is he single?” “Are you two dating?”

"He's my roommate," you revealed one day, much to their shock. "And, believe me, he looks way better than he actually is."

Exposing Jeonghan's less-than-angelic personality to his adoring fans became your daily amusement. It was a shock to everyone when they realized the two of you shared a flat. You’d known each other since junior high, moving to Seoul together in pursuit of better education, career prospects, and, maybe, love. But living in the capital wasn’t some dreamy K-drama. Everything was overpriced, especially rent. So, with some initial hesitation, you two decided to share an apartment.

"You failed your test?" Jeonghan mocked you years ago, when you returned from your architecture exam. He wasn’t surprised—you were hopeless at STEM subjects, and he loved to rub it in.

"I told you she was a snake," you reminded him when he came home heartbroken after his three-month relationship in university went up in flames. She'd used him to get through finals. Classic.

There was an ongoing joke between you two: "There are two types of people in this world—smart but evil, and kind but dumb." It didn’t take much guessing which label each of you wore.

“How was work?” Jeonghan asked as you both trudged home from the bus stop, a routine you had grown used to. The walk was long, so you filled the time with idle chat, unless you'd had an argument the night before, then it was all awkward silence.

You beamed at him, barely containing your excitement. "Amazing! The project I pitched was a hit! I can practically smell a promotion coming."

Jeonghan chuckled, amused by your enthusiasm. "Good for you. Finance was a bit of chaotic today. Did you know the production costs are getting cut by 2% next month?"

Your excitement dimmed. "Wait, what?"

Jeonghan laughed at your panicked expression. "Don’t worry. We're trying to keep it from affecting your department—maybe even that project of yours."

You sighed dramatically. "You finance people really hold the whole company together, huh?"

As you reached your floor and walked down the hallway, the sound of a baby crying echoed. You grimaced and commented on how loud it was, while Jeonghan mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

“Jeonghan,” you stopped just a few feet from your door, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.

Jeonghan turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, eyes still on his phone.

You pointed toward your apartment door. He finally looked up and saw what had rendered you speechless.

A baby box was sitting right there, in front of your door.

“Well, that's... unexpected,” Jeonghan quipped, scratching his head.

*

You stepped out of the police station, practically fuming, your brows knit together in frustration. Whatever happened inside had clearly pushed you to the edge.

"Do I look like a mother? Do I look old?" you snapped at Jeonghan, still seething over the way the officers had assumed things about you and the baby. You were taking it personally—way too personally.

"We need to investigate this situation further. There’s no CCTV on your apartment floor, so it’s hard for us to confirm whether the baby was really left there or if it’s, well... yours,” one of the officers had said, completely indifferent to your rising anger.

Jeonghan sighed, still holding the baby box as if it weighed a ton. His day had been chaotic enough at work, and now this? He just wanted to take a nap, but instead, he found himself standing in front of the police station, accused of something as wild as fathering a baby outside of marriage.

Yet, somehow, he wasn’t as furious as you.

"So, what do we do with this creature?" Jeonghan gestured at the baby, still sounding far too calm for your liking.

"It's a baby," you muttered.

"I know it’s a baby. But what are we supposed to do? The police won’t take it without more evidence, and we can’t exactly keep it," he said, his voice getting louder, almost desperate. His raised tone startled the baby, who began to cry—loudly.

Jeonghan sighed deeply, the sound of the wailing infant pushing him to his limit. He shot you a pleading look, as if expecting you to pull some miracle solution out of thin air. "You’ve never thought about being in a situation like this before?" he asked, clinging to the hope that you might have a plan.

You shook your head, helpless. "I don’t know... I want to cry too," you mumbled, your frustration bubbling over.

Jeonghan groaned. "Great. That’s exactly what we need—two people crying."

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, resigning himself to the situation. "Let’s just... take it home first. Then we can figure out what to do."

The two of you exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes about how absurd your day had become—before heading back to your shared apartment, a tiny, crying bundle now in tow.

You and Jeonghan sat on the floor of your living room, the baby box placed carefully between the two of you. The baby was still crying, its tiny wails echoing off the walls, and neither of you had the faintest clue how to make it stop.

"Do you think it's hungry? Or maybe... the diaper’s full?" you asked, throwing out the first guesses that came to mind.

Jeonghan instantly grabbed his phone and started Googling. "Yeah, uh, let me just... get some baby stuff," he mumbled, still scrolling as he stood up. He made it a few steps toward the door before turning back to point at you, with a smirk. "And don't do anything dumb while I’m gone. It may be a baby, but trust me—it’s judging you."

You glared at him. "Shut up!" you snapped, though there was a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You had never felt so out of your depth in your own apartment before.

Jeonghan laughed softly under his breath and hurried out the door, leaving you alone with the crying bundle. You sighed, looking down at the baby, and for a second, you swore it was staring back at you, its cries growing more impatient as if it really was judging your lack of maternal instincts.

“Okay, okay, I get it... I’m not cut out for this,” you muttered, feeling a tiny bit of guilt, though mostly stress, wash over you.

When Jeonghan returned home, the sight that greeted him was the last thing he expected. You were sitting on the couch, cradling the baby in your arms, swaying gently as if you'd been doing it for years. The baby was finally quiet, its tiny face peaceful for the first time since you’d found it.

“What did you get?” you asked in a whisper, your voice barely above a breath, as if any louder might undo your newfound peace.

Jeonghan held up a bag and gestured to its contents. "Baby milk, diapers, and... these," he said, showing you a bottle and a baby-sized nipple.

You raised an eyebrow, a little amused. "You got the essentials. How’d that go?"

Jeonghan sighed, a bit sheepish. "The staff asked me how old the baby was. I panicked and just said, 'Uh, it’s a baby... like, you know, baby.’ She gave me the weirdest look because I kept calling it it.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, careful not to disturb the baby. “Good job,” you said, offering him a sarcastic thumbs-up before handing the baby over.

Jeonghan, now holding the baby with a mix of terror and curiosity, watched as you headed to the kitchen to prepare the formula. He could hear you from the other room, opening a tutorial video on YouTube, the sounds of "how to make baby formula" echoing faintly through the apartment.

“Will it be too hot?” you called out once you’d finished preparing the milk, holding up the bottle and inspecting it like you were conducting a science experiment.

Jeonghan smirked, bouncing the baby a little in his arms. "If it can handle my hotness, I think it'll be fine."

You shot him a withering look and promptly kicked his leg, just enough to make him grunt in pain.

“Ow,” he grumbled, trying to keep his voice low, but the baby squirmed in his arms, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed quickly, gently rocking the baby back and forth. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—a rare sight, Jeonghan being careful and gentle, though his usual antics weren’t too far behind.

"Careful, 'hot stuff,'" you teased, handing him the bottle. "You wouldn’t want to disturb your new fan."

Jeonghan gave you a mock glare before turning his attention back to the baby, slowly offering the bottle. "Let’s see if this works."

*

Neither of you had gotten a wink of sleep. And for once, the reason wasn't work—it was a baby. A very fresh, very loud baby. After fumbling through the process of changing a diaper and discovering the baby was a boy, you immediately passed him over to Jeonghan, wincing.

“I feel like I violated his privacy,” you mumbled, shoving the squirming infant into Jeonghan’s arms. “I didn’t have his consent.”

Jeonghan just rolled his eyes at your dramatic excuse to get out of diaper duty. “Right. Smart-dumb way to avoid the work.”

The next morning, utterly exhausted and desperate for some relief, you two were saved by an unexpected visitor. Your neighbor, a sweet woman in her 50s, knocked on the door, her face full of concern. She’d heard the crying all night and was curious about the sudden arrival of a baby in your apartment.

You and Jeonghan immediately launched into a frantic explanation, stumbling over your words as you described how you’d found the baby on your doorstep. To your immense relief, she offered to help babysit while the two of you went to work.

Now, finally, there was a moment of peace as you both leaned back in the bus seat, your heads resting against the windows. You shared a glance, silently hoping the short 10-minute bus ride would somehow erase the exhaustion weighing you down.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“She raised four kids. She’s more qualified than we are,” Jeonghan muttered, closing his eyes, the weariness catching up with him.

You sighed in agreement, sinking deeper into your seat. For now, all you could do was hope for the best and enjoy the few minutes of quiet before diving back into the chaos of your day.

"You should boil the bottle before using it, to kill the bacteria. Otherwise, the baby could get a stomachache and won't stop crying," your neighbor advised, her tone gentle but firm, as though the two of you were first-time parents instead of accidental babysitters.

Jeonghan and you stood there, nodding along, taking in her wisdom with wide eyes. "And don’t forget, after feeding, make sure he burps by patting his back gently. It’ll help him feel comfortable and sleep better."

With the baby in Jeonghan's arms, you both returned to the apartment, the weight of her advice hanging over you. You dropped everything you were carrying onto the floor, grateful when you noticed she’d even given you a small container of side dishes. You quickly stored them in the fridge while Jeonghan sat down, still rocking the baby gently in his arms.

"You should sleep," Jeonghan said after a few minutes. "I’ll watch the baby for now."

Without a second thought, you hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You leaned over and gave Jeonghan a quick, tired kiss on the cheek as thanks before dashing off to your bedroom, ready to collapse. Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a smirk, though the small gesture made him chuckle.

As the door to your bedroom clicked shut, Jeonghan looked down at the baby, who had finally stopped fussing. “Well, it’s just you and me now, little guy,” he muttered, gently swaying from side to side. Exhaustion pulled at him, too, but the baby’s small face, now peaceful, kept him focused.

He yawned. "I need sleep as much as you do, buddy," he said softly, but continued rocking the baby, hoping the rhythmic motion would send him—and maybe himself—into a peaceful sleep.

*

Days of raising a baby you didn’t make—a running joke between you and Jeonghan to keep your sanity—were slowly becoming more manageable. The sleeping schedule was still a mess, but somehow, the two of you had adapted. You had even begun to master it. The real hero in your eyes, though, was Mrs. Moon, your neighbor, who had not only been babysitting but also offering wisdom, keeping both of you sane as you navigated this new, unexpected life.

One night, after a week of taking care of “Baby”—what you’d both started calling the little one—you and Jeonghan collapsed onto the couch. Baby lay peacefully in the rocking bed Mrs. Moon had lent you, her granddaughter's old one.

As you both sat there, half-delirious from exhaustion, the conversation inevitably shifted to the cost of suddenly having a baby around—mentally, physically, and especially financially.

“No wonder people in Korea aren’t having kids anymore,” you mused aloud, running a hand through your hair. “It’s a lot.”

Jeonghan, sprawled on the couch beside you, hummed in agreement. “I mean, it’s not news. Everyone knows how hard it is.”

“I’m so tired,” he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. “Like, mentally drained. All I want is to down five bottles of soju and just... disappear for a bit.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “Right? I should be at a club right now, dancing, living my best life—maybe even finding someone to date,” you mumbled half-jokingly, staring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan turned his head to you, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to find the love of your life at a club?”

You shrugged, barely amused. “It doesn’t have to be love, you know... could just be, you know—distraction,” you said, hinting at something more casual.

Jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cheap,” he teased, his eyes wide in mock judgment.

You swatted his arm, your voice dropping to a whisper, trying not to wake Baby. “I lost my virginity at 22! I wasn’t that cheap,” you hissed, more amused than angry.

Jeonghan burst into soft laughter, knowing full well you were just messing around. He’d known you for too long to take any of this seriously. “I’m just saying... you don’t exactly scream ‘wild-child looking for a one-night stand.’”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah, well, I could surprise you.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied, still smiling. He glanced over at Baby, who remained peacefully asleep, and then back at you.

“When was the last time you had it? With Joshua?” Jeonghan asked, breaking into personal territory the two of you rarely ventured. He was referring to your ex, the American-Korean guy who had ended things when he had to leave the country.

You hummed thoughtfully, rubbing your face. “Honestly? I think I’ve forgotten how it even felt,” you admitted, casting a sideways glance at him. “What about you?”

Jeonghan leaned back, scoffing slightly. “With my last ex, obviously. I’m not some playboy, Y/N, no matter what you think,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed by the label you often teased him with.

You smirked, resting your chin on your hand. “Was it hard? You know, to only do it with a few people?”

He nodded, glancing at you seriously. “Yeah. I only ever do it when I’m emotionally attached to someone.”

Your eyebrow quirked up. “Like when you did it with me?” you asked, playfully hinting at that one time between you two.

Jeonghan’s gaze shifted toward you, a small, knowing smile forming as he nodded slowly. “Yup. Including you.”

For a brief moment, the air felt heavier between you, the shared history lingering in the silence. But then, as always, the familiarity between you and Jeonghan smoothed over any tension, settling the moment into a comfortable memory rather than an awkward one.

*

“You want me to what?” Jeonghan asked, his tone laced with disbelief as he stood frozen by the door, still in his campus jacket.

He had just returned from a long day filled with senior-year responsibilities, juggling group projects and graduation prep. Lately, the two of you had barely exchanged more than a few words, with both your schedules completely packed. You were interning at an American-Korean company, and by the time you got home, you’d make a beeline straight to your room, too exhausted for much interaction.

“Please, Jeonghan,” you pleaded, sitting on the couch with clasped hands. “I don’t know who else to ask. I only trust you.”

Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He always knew you could be impulsive, but this? This was next-level.

“It’s not something casual, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “It’s... complicated. You seriously want me to take your virginity?”

You pouted, your eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and resolve. “It’ll be a one-time thing,” you assured him. “I promise it won’t change anything between us. I won’t treat you differently.”

Jeonghan groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “We’ve been friends for eight years,” he reminded you, his voice soft but serious. “What if it doesn’t go well? What happens then? Where am I supposed to live? Are we just going to keep splitting rent and pretend nothing happened?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, amused that he was worried about the rent in such a moment. “It won’t change anything. I swear.”

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. He wanted to make sure you understood what you were asking for, that you were truly serious about this.

“I’m serious, Jeonghan,” you added softly, your voice more determined now.

He sighed again, his internal conflict clear. “You know this could get messy, right?”

You nodded, eyes unwavering. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan sat down beside you, still visibly unsure but also knowing that in all the years you had been friends, you had always been honest with each other.

After a long, tense pause, he finally spoke. “Alright. If you’re absolutely sure about this...”

*

The two of you took half a day off work, though the morning had started as any other. While you were still in your tank top, getting ready for the day, a knock on the door interrupted your routine. Thinking it was Mrs. Moon, you casually opened the door, only to be met by a police officer.

"Mr. Yoon? Are you Ms. Yoon?" the officer asked.

Caught off guard, you quickly excused yourself to change, leaving Jeonghan to greet the officer. When you rejoined them in the living room, the officer handed both of you a document.

"It's about the report you filed last week regarding the abandoned baby," the officer explained. "We apologize for the delay, but we've since received information about a missing person—a woman in her twenties who disappeared along with her infant."

You and Jeonghan exchanged looks, tension building in the room.

"So, we'd like you to bring the baby to the station. We'll meet with the family to confirm if the baby is theirs."

Later, at the police station, the baby was confirmed to be the missing woman's son, just two months old. The officer showed you and Jeonghan footage of a woman carrying the same baby box, wandering near your apartment complex before leaving it behind. While you weren’t given the full details about the mother, the footage left no doubt.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but also a relief.

“No more baby to babysit,” Jeonghan remarked on your way to work, a mix of exhaustion and amusement in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the last few days finally lifting. “We should get Mrs. Moon that apple mango she’s been wanting,” you said, your voice light. Jeonghan made a mental note, closing his eyes as he leaned back in the car seat.

Finally, peace was coming—real peace, and not just the brief moments of quiet between diaper changes and late-night feedings.

"I'm sorry to ask, but I just want to make sure—are you two married?" The officer's tone was polite but curious.

Both you and Jeonghan shook your heads simultaneously. "No, we're not. We're just roommates," Jeonghan replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced at you.

The officer nodded thoughtfully, taking in your response before offering a friendly smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any further questions or information, don’t hesitate to reach out."

As the officer turned to leave, you and Jeonghan stood in front of the company building, the bustling city life continuing around you. The weight of the past week was beginning to fade, replaced by a sense of relief.

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle, breaking the momentary silence. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had been married? The rumors would have been wild!"

You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. "Thank goodness for our status as roommates, then. At least it keeps things simple."

With a shared smile, you both stepped into the building, ready to face the day ahead—less burdened by the unexpected chaos and more in tune with each other than ever.

*

You arrived home a little later than usual, the warmth of the evening lingering around you. After a lively team dinner filled with laughter and a few glasses of soju, you decided to take a cab home, the comforting thought of Jeonghan waiting, to take care of the drunk you, made the ride feel shorter.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Jeonghan was slouched on the couch, drinking alone and engrossed in a variety show. The table in front of him was a chaotic scene of five bottles of soju and a box of fried chicken.

"You really have five bottles of soju?" you muttered, you sobered up from your own six glasses as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Hey, want to join?" Jeonghan offered, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he finally noticed your presence.

"You weren't joking when you said you would drink five bottles of soju," you replied, taking a seat beside him and pouring a shot of the clear liquid into a glass that had been left untouched, took in in one shot.

"Chill, girl. Did anyone bother you there?" Jeonghan asked, his words slightly slurred, yet still managing to express genuine concern.

You shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Not really. But some higher-ups still made me pour drinks for them."

Jeonghan furrowed his brow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. Though he was clearly drunk, he was fighting to stay focused. "Which man should oppa kick his ass today?" he asked, referring to himself with a playful tone.

You chuckled, knowing how much he enjoyed the title. "Jeong Kiha," you mentioned, naming the vice president, which caught him by surprise.

"He came to your team dinner? That's rare," Jeonghan said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can’t help you there; he’s my boss as well."

You leaned in, amused by the whole situation. "What would you even do if you could? Challenge him to a drinking contest?"

"Absolutely! I’d take him down for you," he declared with exaggerated bravado, raising his glass in a mock toast. “But let’s be honest, I might need more practice after five bottles.”

"But if he bothered you, I might just have to make it personal." He continued.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Personal, huh? What do you have in mind?"

With a playful glint in his eye, Jeonghan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could always take you out. Just the two of us. A more... intimate setting.”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, the alcohol fueling your boldness. "Intimate, you say? What would that look like, Jeonghan?"

"Maybe a cozy little restaurant where we can share more than just food and drinks," he teased, inching even closer. "I could help you unwind after your stuffy dinners with the higher-ups. Just you and me, no distractions."

A flutter of excitement surged through you. “And what else would we do, hmm?” you played along, your voice low and inviting.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning back slightly, eyes dancing with mischief. "I can think of a few ways to help you relieve some stress. You know, like teaching you how to really enjoy your drinks."

You laughed, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Is that your idea of a fun night? Getting me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “But only if you want it, too. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

His sincerity was disarming, and the tension hung in the air, electric. “You know, it’s tempting,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “Very tempting.”

Jeonghan grinned, raising his glass again. “Then let’s toast to temptation and see where the night takes us.”

You clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, both of you fully aware that this night could lead to something unexpected—and perhaps a little dangerous.

*

Jeonghan knew he was screwed the moment you asked him to take your virginity. The eight-year crush he had nurtured for you transformed into something much more profound once he kissed you for the first time. It felt right—like the universe had aligned in that single, electric moment. Your lips tasted sweet, like vanilla; maybe it was the chapstick you always used, or perhaps it was simply how you tasted. Either way, it was everything he had fantasized about.

He touched you with a gentleness that belied the whirlwind of emotions inside him, laying you down on his bed, because you didn't want to mess up your own. Watching your face shift through various expressions as he explored you sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t believe you were under him, something that the adolescent version of himself would have dreamt about while fantasizing in the dark, his hand working over his shaft as he thought of you.

The day after he took your virginity, you kept your promise, treating him as a friend and nothing more. And that, honestly, was the most disappointing part for him. While you moved on as if nothing had changed, his feelings remained steadfast, unwavering in their intensity. Eight years had passed since that night, yet his heart still raced at the thought of you.

Now, sitting beside you, he was acutely aware of the space that had grown between you, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. Jeonghan leaned in, cupping your cheeks in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his palms. His heart pounded as he captured your lips with his once more. After all these years, you were still as sweet as he remembered, and the taste sent him spiraling back to that first kiss, igniting the flame that had never truly faded.

In that moment, all the years of friendship, all the laughter and shared memories, faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the soft connection between your lips and the lingering sensation of what could be. He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of what you were feeling.

“Do you ever think about that night?” he whispered, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering with uncertainty. “I try not to,” you admitted, your tone light but edged with honesty. “I didn’t want things to change between us.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I never stopped wanting you.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, and you could feel the tension between you shifting. Jeonghan’s heart raced, hopeful yet anxious, waiting for your response. Would you finally see him for more than just a friend?

You met his gaze, a mix of emotions dancing in your eyes. “What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s figure it out together,” he replied, closing the distance again, this time with a sense of urgency and purpose.

Jeonghan pulled you onto his lap, his hands roaming over every contour of your body, exploring the soft curves he had admired for so long. You kissed him with a passion that felt life-altering, pouring every ounce of desire and longing into that moment. The heat radiating between you ignited something primal in him—the idea that you wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted you was intoxicating.

He carefully unbuttoned your blouse, mindful that you would scold him if he broke even one button. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers gliding over your bare skin, teasing your breast while his lips trailed kisses along your neck, igniting every nerve ending.

“J—Jeonghan…” A moan escaped your lips, and the sound sent shivers down his spine as he marked your neck with his lips, claiming you in ways that made his heart race. “I got you, baby. I got you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Your top lay discarded, and in a frenzy of desire, Jeonghan couldn’t even remember when he had removed it. He lifted your skirt, grabbing your ass as he kissed you deeply, pouring all his pent-up longing into that one kiss. He guided your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, encouraging you to strip him of his clothes. Your fingers traveled across his bare chest, and he let out a soft whimper at your touch, the sensation igniting a fire within him. This was the moment he had been waiting for—finally feeling your skin against his, a craving he had long held.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, thrusting his hips upward to let you feel how hard you made him. He noticed your cheeks tinting with a lovely blush at the revelation. “That’s how you make me, baby.”

He laid you back onto the couch, lifting your skirt higher until your thighs and underwear were fully exposed to him. One of his hands found its way to your breast, overwhelming you with sensations, while the other traveled lower, exploring your core beneath the thin, damp fabric that clung to you.

“You’re so wet, baby. And it’s all for me,” Jeonghan whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he nibbled on it playfully, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His tongue painted a path along your neck, igniting every nerve ending with desire.

“I need you, Jeonghan,” you whimpered under his skilled touch, desperation lacing your voice. But he hushed you with a passionate kiss, drowning your pleas in the heat of the moment.

“Be patient, baby… Just a little longer,” he replied, his voice a tantalizing promise as he continued to explore every inch of you, savoring the sweetness of your body and the thrill of this intimate connection.

He watched you gasp as he slid one of his fingers inside you, pulling it out slowly while your walls clenched around him. A smirk crept onto his face when you pleaded for more, and he was more than happy to oblige, moving his finger skillfully.

“Is it like the first time? When I fingered you, is it like what I did to you eight years ago?” Jeonghan teased, his voice low and sultry. You whimpered under him, craving everything he had to give.

“It feels amazing. Always.” You struggled to mutter the words, the pleasure overwhelming you as Jeonghan added another finger.

“You’re so tight, baby. I’m not sure you can take me well,” he breathed out, his fingers moving faster, each thrust eliciting a wince as you felt a pooling sensation deep in your tummy.

“I—I can, please… J—Jeonghan…” Your arms pulled him closer, your lips pouting for a kiss, and he obliged immediately, his lips capturing yours while his fingers continued their delicious torment.

“I want to cum,” you mumbled between kisses, and Jeonghan smirked against your lips. “Give it to me, baby.”

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, your body responding to him in a way that made his heart race. He pistoned his fingers with a brutal pace, feeling the pulsating tension building in your core. A loud moan escaped your lips, followed by your first orgasm with him after eight long years, and it was all for his fingers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him; he couldn’t wait to make you cum with everything he had.

Withdrawing his fingers, he licked them clean, his gaze locked onto your blissed-out expression, riding high from the waves of pleasure he had just given you.

Without a word, he scooped you up from the couch and carried you to his bedroom. In one swift motion, he threw you onto the bed, his desire palpable as he pulled down his pants and joined you.

With an impatient urgency, he hovered over you, lips meeting in a heated kiss that spoke volumes of the longing built up over the years. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as your bodies melted into one another, igniting the passion that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.

"You want me raw or…?" Jeonghan asked, his voice low and filled with anticipation. His question sent a jolt through you, darkening your gaze as you whispered, "Raw." It was a bold confession, one that set the stage for everything that followed. "Just so you know, I’m on the pill."

He swore he could have died right in your arms at your admission, the thrill of it igniting something primal within him. As your hand traveled down to his abs, you let your fingers tease his skin for a moment before they finally grasped his hardened cock.

“Oh my god—” Jeonghan choked at your touch, his breath hitching. The smirk on your lips told him you were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it only intensified his desire.

“Put it in, please,” you begged, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. Jeonghan nodded, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss before he positioned himself, rubbing the tip against your slick entrance, feeling the heat radiating from you.

“Don’t tease,” you urged, your hand playfully pinching his arm, and he chuckled softly, the sound filled with desire.

With a teasing smile, Jeonghan finally pushed his member into your tight heat. He gasped at the overwhelming sensation, feeling you envelop him completely. Every inch of you was warm and inviting, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he knew this was only the beginning.

He stilled inside of you, wanting you to adjust him for moment. You motioned him to move, a whimpered escaped his mouth as he pushed deeper to you slowly. Your walls clenching him tightly, pulling him deeper and making his head spinning. He pulled slowly before his hips thrusting, hitting you right, gaining a sensual moan from you.

"Keep it down, baby. Don’t want Mrs. Moon to hear us," Jeonghan murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pushed deeper inside you.

"Faster, Jeonghan…" you breathed out the words, your voice a desperate plea laced with urgency. The thrill of being so close, yet so vulnerable, sent your pulse racing.

He obeyed, quickening his pace as he filled you completely, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself amidst the intoxicating sensations.

The bed creaked beneath you. Jeonghan’s lips found yours again, silencing any sounds that threatened to escape, kissing you fiercely as if to drown out everything but the two of you.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched your expression morph from pleasure to pure ecstasy. "I’ve wanted this for so long."

You responded with a whimper, the sound echoing in the small space, and you felt the heat pooling in your core grow stronger with each thrust. "I want you to finish inside me, Jeonghan. Please," you begged, your words spilling out in a breathless rush.

His breath hitched at your request, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of control. "You’re going to make me lose it," he warned, voice thick with need. But the fire in your eyes only urged him on, driving him to give you everything he had.

"Then let go, baby. I’m ready," you encouraged, your body arching against him, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The world outside faded away as you lost yourselves in each other, the only sound filling the room being the rush of your breaths and the soft, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

With one final, deep thrust, Jeonghan buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he let go, the pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave. You followed right behind him, your body tightening around him as your climax hit, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy from both of you.

As you both came down from the high, he collapsed beside you, breathless and spent, while you curled into his side, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief at how far you had come.

“That was... Amazing?” you said, your voice breathless but filled with satisfaction. The choice of word earned a tired laugh from Jeonghan, who could sense your smile before you leaned against his chest, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.

Jeonghan, his heart still racing from the intensity of what had just happened, felt a wave of heat creep up his cheeks. He couldn’t hide the flush staining his skin, and in an attempt to conceal it, he covered his face with his arm, laughing softly. You shifted, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, clearly enjoying his sudden bashfulness.

“Where’s the confident, cocky Jeonghan I know?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shyness.

Without missing a beat, Jeonghan pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of your head, refusing to let you see just how red he had become. It was rare for him to feel this flustered, but there was something about being with you that turned his usual bravado into something far more vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your hair.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with curiosity. “Sorry? For what?”

“I just... I can’t help it,” Jeonghan confessed softly, his voice almost shy. “I—I really like you. It’s been driving me crazy for years, and now that it’s all out in the open... I’m still not sure how to act.”

His confession felt light, as if every action, every kiss, every touch was its own declaration of the feelings he had been holding onto for so long. Saying it aloud didn’t feel like it added anything new, but he needed you to hear it anyway.

You felt his heart beating faster under your palm, and instinctively, you tightened your hold on him. “I... I really like you too. Honestly, I don’t even know when it started, but after all these years, I finally have the courage to admit it. I don’t just like you, Jeonghan. I love you.”

Your words hung in the air between you, sweet and sincere, filling the room with a warmth that rivaled any physical closeness. Jeonghan’s heart soared at your confession, a feeling of complete contentment washing over him. He had dreamed of this moment for years, but nothing could have prepared him for how real and incredible it felt to finally hear you say it.

You chuckled softly, resting your head back against his chest. “You really should’ve told me earlier, you know,” you teased, playfully poking at his side. “Like... earlier earlier.”

*

You watched the football game on the field, your eyes catching a lanky boy with long hair, dribbling the ball as if his life depended on it. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, and it was hard not to be impressed.

"Who's that?" you asked one of your friends, pointing toward the boy, curiosity getting the better of you.

"That? Yoon Jeonghan," they replied casually, as though everyone already knew his name.

Days later, you found yourself standing in front of Jeonghan's desk, clutching your math homework nervously. He was deep in conversation with his friends, his usual calm demeanor unshaken by the chatter around him. Mustering up your courage, you pulled the book from your bag and held it out to him.

"Teach me math! I heard you're the best," you declared boldly, your heart racing, half-expecting him to brush you off.

[redroomreflections]

A Family of Her Own

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A Family of Her Own Series

1/7

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 3.8k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the small, run-down trailer. Natasha leaned casually against the counter, arms folded, her sharp eyes fixed on Ricky Mason. He was standing close, too close, but that was part of their routine. Banter, teasing, pushing each other’s limits. His lips curved into that familiar smirk as he crossed his arms, mimicking her stance.

"I hear things, you know. Something about the Avengers getting divorced."

Natasha let out a soft, dismissive chuckle, her gaze never wavering from his. Her lips pulled into a crooked smile, just enough to make him think he was getting somewhere. He wasn’t.

"Ugh, it’s fine. I’m actually better on my own."

She said it smoothly, confidently. No hesitation. Natasha Romanoff was always fine. She had to be. And if there was a flicker of something behind those green eyes, Mason wouldn’t see it. She wouldn’t let him.

“Are you sure?” Ricky titled his head slightly. Natasha was always a tough cookie to crack. Though he’s sure it came with the territory.

The question hung in the air for a moment, a challenge he tossed at her like it was nothing. Natasha shifted her weight slightly, stepping in just a little closer, closing the gap between them. She tilted her head, her eyes locking onto his with the kind of intensity that would’ve made anyone else back down. But not Mason.

"Yeah. I’m sure."

The way she said it left no room for doubt. Mason raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something about the way she held herself—too casual, too composed. He let out a breath, deciding to poke just a little more.

"Because you can tell me, you know. That’s the way the whole friends thing works."

Natasha's lips quirked into a smirk, amusement flickering in her eyes. She leaned back slightly, her gaze still locked onto his. She wasn’t going to let him see anything more than what she wanted him to see.

"I have friends."

"People who have friends don’t call me."

There was a beat of silence, a brief pause where something unspoken lingered between them. Natasha didn’t flinch. She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let her smile falter. This was the game they played. Mason might have been onto something, but if he thought he could crack her, he was wrong.

"Oh, come on. You’d miss me if I didn’t."

Her voice was smooth, light, almost teasing. Mason chuckled, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to push her any further. He knew better.

But there it was again—that subtle shift in her eyes, a flash of something deeper that she buried as quickly as it surfaced. Mason didn’t miss it, but he wasn’t going to call her out. Not today.

“If you ever get tired of being ‘better on your own,’ you know where to find me."

He turned to leave, but before stepping out, he paused, throwing her one last look over his shoulder. She met his gaze, still composed, still every bit the Black Widow.

******

The hot water poured over Natasha’s skin, steam filling the tiny bathroom. She kept her head down, eyes closed, letting the heat soak into her muscles, washing away the grime of the past few days. It was the only time she allowed herself to be still—moments like this, when no one was watching, no one was waiting.

Her mind drifted, not willingly, but out of habit. The sound of the water hitting the floor reminded her of something else, a smaller echo, lighter footsteps.

Stella.

She could almost hear the little girl's voice, high-pitched and insistent, always asking to jump in with her. Every time, Natasha would give in—how could she not?—and the same thing would happen. Stella would giggle, waddle in, and the moment the water hit her face, she’d screech like it was some big surprise.

Natasha’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through. The memory was sharp, vivid, but she pushed it away as quickly as it surfaced. She couldn’t linger on it. Couldn’t afford to.

The water rolled over her back, and she let out a slow breath. This was all temporary. The accords, the separation, the silence—she told herself it was necessary. That it was safer this way. Her family didn’t need to be tangled up in her mess, her enemies.

Stella didn’t need to know why her mama couldn’t always come home.

The thought hung in the air for a moment, but Natasha didn’t let it settle. She wiped a hand over her face, letting the heat pull her back into the present. She had more important things to focus on. Things that required her mind to be clear, her heart colder.

Still, as she turned off the water, the final hiss of the shower rang in her ears, and for just a second, she could hear that screech again, faint and far away. A small piece of her life, one she kept locked away, just out of reach.

She stepped out of the shower, shaking off the warmth like a soldier readying for battle.

It wasn’t time to go home yet.

*****

The low rumble of the movie filled the trailer, the worn-out speakers crackling slightly as the dialogue continued.

“You’re not a sportsman, Mr. Bond.” Hugo Drax recited his lines on screen.

Natasha smirked to herself, leaning back into the creaky couch, damp strands of hair still clinging to her neck. Her thermal t-shirt clung to her skin, and the grey sweatpants she’d pulled on after the shower felt too soft, almost unfamiliar after days of tactical gear and dirt.

Natasha muttered along. “Why did you break up the encounter with my pet python? Because I discovered he had a crush on me.”

She knew the lines by heart. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Moonraker a hundred times already. But sitting here, alone in the trailer, the dialogue fell flat, the empty space swallowing up the sound.

The movie flickered on, oblivious to the tension tightening in her chest.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to you. How you’d watch these same old movies together. The way you would stretch out on the couch, feet bare, legs sprawled across Natasha’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. She could almost feel it—the gentle press of toes against her thigh, the warmth that spread under her skin, grounding her in a way nothing else could.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Natasha’s lips, but it didn’t last. The memory was soft, fleeting, and the cold reality of the trailer in Norway wrapped around her like a shadow.

******

The air felt stifling as Natasha and Yelena sat across from each other, both nursing cheap beer and open wounds. Yelena’s eyes sparkled with a teasing grin, but Natasha wasn’t in the mood to play along.

“Did you ever look for your parents? Your real ones?” Yelena pried.

The question hit harder than Natasha expected, but she didn’t flinch. She rarely did. Years of training kept her from showing anything she didn’t want to reveal. Her response was sharp, automatic.

“Well, my mom abandoned me in the street like garbage. What about you?”

Yelena shrugged, almost too casual, her tone light as if they were discussing the weather.

“They destroyed my birth certificate, so I reinvented it. My parents still live in Ohio. My sister moved out west.”

Natasha leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Yelena was always full of stories.

“Is that right?”

“You’re a science teacher. You’re working part-time, though, especially after you had your son. Your husband, he renovates houses.”

The words tumbled out of Yelena’s mouth with a smirk, a fabricated life she was painting for Natasha like a twisted game of make-believe. But for just a second, a flash of something else flickered through Natasha’s mind.

Her son.

Nick, tiny and fussy, gnawing on her finger as another tooth threatened to come through. His chubby hands reaching up for her, his babbling filling the air as she cradled him close, the warmth of his little body against hers.

And Stella. Always loud, always full of energy, tugging at Natasha’s sleeve, begging her to play, to jump in the water with her. Stella's laugh, so bright it echoed in Natasha’s mind even now.

For a split second, she let herself feel it—the tug in her chest, the pull toward the life she kept hidden, buried under layers of secrets.

But it was only a second. She blinked, shutting it down, locking it away as quickly as it had surfaced. She couldn’t afford to let Yelena see it.

“That is not my story.”

Her voice was firm, steady, betraying nothing. Yelena laughed, clearly unconvinced but playing along.“What is your story?”

Natasha looked away, her gaze fixed on some far-off point, something Yelena couldn’t see.

“I never let myself be alone long enough to think about it.” She said.

And that was true. As much as her family—the real one—crossed her mind in these quiet moments, she never let herself dwell on it for too long. Never let herself fall into the temptation of the life she had with you. She couldn’t. Not here, not now. Not with Yelena looking at her like that, trying to pry open the parts of her Natasha wasn’t ready to share.

Her story was too dangerous. Too fragile. And if Yelena knew the truth, if anyone knew about her family it would unravel everything.

So, she kept it locked away, deep inside. She could protect you by keeping you invisible, untouchable.

*******

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the small house nestled in the middle of nowhere—a place that felt like home, yet remained a secret. The air was still, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees that surrounded the property. It wasn’t isolated, not by any means; there were neighbors close enough to wave at, but the land was expansive enough to feel like a world away.

Natasha stood on the front porch, her heart pounding in her chest. Behind her, Melina, Alexei, and Yelena lingered, uncertainty written on their faces.

“What is this place?”Alexei asked.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say she’s taking us to a secret family,” Yelena replied. Natasha’s eyes flickered between them. Melina’s face was knowing. She didn’t need answers.

“Just wait here for a moment.” She held up a hand. Her voice was soft but firm, and she didn’t turn to face them fully. Instead, she kept her gaze on the door. Her entire life behind it.

Melina stepped forward, concern etched on her features. “Natasha, are you sure about this?”

Natasha finally turned, meeting her mother’s gaze. There was warmth there, a flicker of understanding.

“I need to do this. I need to let you in.”

She felt a tug at her heart—a longing for connection she had kept at bay for so long. But this was different. This was her family, the ones who had fought with her and for her, the ones who understood the weight of their shared past.

It’s quiet in the house. Almost too quiet. Natasha steps inside to see her home immaculately cleaned. No sign of toys, no sign of people living here.

She swallows the lump in her throat and makes her way through the house into the kitchen. It’s there she finds you. All three of you.

It’s Stella that notices her first. She’s dressed in a princess costume with a crown on her head. When her eyes meet her Mama’s, she gasps and shouts,

"Mama!"

Your head snaps up, and for a moment, it's like everything is frozen. A look of surprise and confusion crosses your face, followed by a flicker of hurt. The room is silent, and then there's the sound of a baby's whimpering.

Natasha looks at the high chair sitting near the dining table. There's Nick, fussing and red-faced.

“Mama, you’re home?” The two-year old raced across the room, her crown shifting on her head, as she raised up her arms.

You move toward the high chair, wiping your hands on a dishtowel. Stella reaches her, and Natasha scoops her up.

"Hey, Stella, I missed you." Natasha places a gentle kiss on Stella’s hair. The two year old wraps her tiny arms around Natasha’s neck.

"You've been gone forever. Why don't you come home anymore? Did you miss me, mama?"

"Yes, I've missed you every second."

Stella leans back, her brows furrowing. “Did you change your hair? Not red anymore.”

Natasha smiles a soft chuckle leaving her. "Not exactly. I dyed it.”

"Oh, well, it's pretty. Can I dye mine? I want blue."

Natasha glances at the highchair where you're busy wiping Nick's face. There's no expression on your face, no hint of how you feel. She looks back at Stella.

"Let's talk about that later, okay?"

Stella nods. "Okay."

"Are you hungry?" You speak up.

"No, no,” Natasha shakes her head. “Can I see him?”

She walks over, and Stella wiggles in her arms. She wants to run to her brother, but Natasha is holding her close.

"Nick." Natasha gently nudges his cheek. His tiny lips pout, and his eyes widen as he stares at his mother. It seems that he looks to you for confirmation of whether or not Natasha is a safe person.

"He's grown," she says.

"He has," you reply, watching her.

"Hey, big guy." She kisses his chubby cheeks, and Stella giggles.

"He's soft, Mama." Stella reaches out and runs her fingers over her brother's arm. "Isn't he soft, Mom?"

"He is, sweetie."

Natasha puts Stella down.

“He has some teeth now,” Stella informs her. “He even bites Mommy’s boobies now when he’s eating. She always says ouch.”

You choke back a laugh and cover your mouth. You turn to the sink. Natasha grins and chuckles.

"Is that right? Are you biting your Mommy’s boobies, Nicky?"

Nick simply reaches his arms out much like his sister.

"He missed you, too," Stella says, her hand resting on Natasha's leg.

"I know, I'm sorry. Mama had to go away for a bit."

"Why do you have to leave all the time? Why can't you stay home?" Stella pouts.

Natasha crouches down. She takes Stella's hands in hers.

"I can't, not right now, but I'm here for a little bit, okay? And we're going to spend time together."

"Really? Will you take me swimming again? I really want to swim in the pool, but Mama won't let me. She says she's afraid I'll drown."

"Of course, I'll take you swimming."

"Can you bring a shark? Please?"

Natasha chuckles. "I'll see what I can do."

She stands and looks at Nick who is still reaching for her. He's babbling, his lips moving and his face getting redder.

"He wants you to hold him,” Stella reminds her.

"Oh, okay." Natasha lifts him up and holds him close. She's always careful, and she always loves the way her son feels in her arms. He snuggles close, his chubby arms wrapping around her.

You watch them for a second longer. Stella decides she’s had enough and leaves to her bedroom. No doubt to find something new to show Natasha. When Natasha puts Nicky back into his high chair, she has your attention again.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” She asks.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

"No. I'm not mad. Surprised."

"I shouldn't have left you hanging like that, though."

"It's okay." You say softly. She reaches out an arm to pull you in.

"How long are you staying?" You ask.

"Just two days. I promise. I want to spend some time with them."

You nod, and Natasha kisses your temple. "Thank you.” She says. “For keeping them safe.”

“It’s what we agreed on,” You say. “I was afraid they would find us. Ross. He seems to be on a witch hunt for you.”

“I’ve taken care of that for now,” Natasha shakes her head.

You frown and tilt your head.

"Taken care of it?"

"Yeah. We'll be okay. I'll explain everything. I have to tell them everything, too. But for now, I'm home.” She wraps her arms around your waist, hoping to get closer, hoping to feel you.

"Can we just forget about it, for a while, at least? Can we go back to the way things were?" She asks.

"I don’t know if that’s possible,” You mumble. You feel her hand run along your back soothingly. You’ve missed her touch.

"We'll figure it out. Okay?" She asks.

You nod and wrap your arms around her neck. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

She looks into your eyes, leaning forward, her lips resting against yours. It’s not a kiss. Not yet.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you." You respond.

She closes the distance, kissing you tenderly, holding you tightly. Your lips are soft, and she can taste the remnants of coffee on your tongue.

“Forgive me,” Natasha whispers. You want to ask her what for. Why would she need forgiveness? But the words are lost in the soft press of her lips against yours.

She pulls away, her forehead resting against yours.

"I'm sorry," She says. “I’ve been gone too long. He doesn’t remember me.” She’s referring to Nicky.

"He does. He will," You say. "You have time."

Natasha gives a small smile.

"I'm tired. Can we just...go to bed? Just lay with me for a bit."

“Mama, did you leave people on the porch?” Stella shouts in curiosity. It’s then you follow her voice. She’s standing with her face against the screen door, seemingly having a staring contest with a blonde woman.

Natasha laughs and turns toward the door.

"Oh, right." She steps outside and comes back with three people trailing behind her. Stella clings to her, tiny hands gripping her t-shirt, as they all walk back into the kitchen. “This is my family.” Neither of you know who she is referring to.

“You have a family?” Melina whispers in amazement. Though she’d guessed it the longer they waited outside.

"Who are they?" Stella asks.

"This is my mom, and dad, and my baby sister Yelena,” Natasha supplies. You look over at her curiously. “This is my wife, y/n and our children. Stella is two going on twenty five. Dominic, or Nick, is almost eight months.”

“Wife?” Yelena furrows her brow. “I was way off then.”

You glance between Natasha and the new arrivals, unsure what to make of it.

Natasha sighs.

"There's a lot to talk about."

"Clearly," Alexei says, his eyes wide as he takes in the small family before him.

"Why don't you sit down and get comfortable," You suggest, gesturing to the living room. "I'll get everyone something to drink and maybe a snack. Natasha can catch you up."

They all sit, Stella moving with them to sit upon the couch. She and Yelena end up in another staring contest.

"This is awkward," Yelena whispers.

"Just give it time," Melina says.

"I have so many Barbie’s upstairs,” Stella offers up small talk. “Do you play barbies?” She turns her head to Alexei.

"No, no. I don't," He says.

Stella nods and turns her gaze to Melina. "What about you?"

"No, no barbies," Melina responds.

“Uncle Steve plays Barbie’s when he comes,” Stella sighs.

"Steve plays Barbies?" Yelena's brow raises.

"Yes. Uncle Steve is really good at playing. He lets me have the car and the doll."

"Then I will play Barbie’s too,” Alexei gestures. “Bring them.” His one sided competition would never end. Not even when it came to playing Barbies.

“You don’t know what you just started,” Natasha helps you bring in the drinks and a few bags of chips. You don’t usually have guests.

Melina takes the drink from Natasha and watches the way the two of you interact. There's an ease, a comfort, and it makes her wonder just how much she really knew about her daughter.

"I’m sure there are things you want to know,” You sit with Nicky in your lap. He eyes the newcomers curiously.

"Like why we never met you, why this is the first time you are bringing us to this place," Yelena says, looking around. “Why no information is out there about you.

"I thought the house was a cover," Alexei speaks up.

"It is," Natasha says.

"But, it's real?" Melina asks.

Natasha looks around the room, and the smile on her face is genuine. It's full of warmth and love. “It is.”

“I’m sure I’m in a database somewhere,” You begin. “I’m former SHIELD.”

Yelena and Alexei share a look, and Melina looks at her daughter.

"What is your full name, y/n?" Melina asks.

You smile politely. "My name is y/n Romanoff-L/n. My maiden name was y/l/n. I was born in 1986. I'm 30. I have a degree in computer science. I met Natasha shortly after her defection but we didn’t start dating until years later.”

"And that's when you had Stella," Melina states.

"Yes," You smile.

"And when did you get married?"

"Four years ago," Natasha supplies.

"This is real news," Alexei states.

Natasha chuckles. "We've been together for a while. 8 years."

"It's not a traditional story," You say, bouncing Nicky in your lap.

“How does being hidden work for the kids?” Melina asks.

"It's not easy. We try to make it seem as normal as possible. Stella doesn't understand everything. She's not even 3 yet. But we're working on it."

"Mama, can you open this?” Stella asks as she passes Natasha a juice box as if it’s her normal thing.

"Natasha being a soccer mom was not on my list of things,” Yelena mumbles.

"I'm not a soccer mom," Natasha defends.

"You kind of are," You chuckle.

"Mama is a super-duper cool spy," Stella states.

"You've told her that?" Alexei asks.

"Not in detail," You say. "But, we've talked about it."

"Mama has to protect us from the bad guys," Stella adds, taking a sip of her juice. “And when I’m big enough I’m gonna do it too. Like Wanda.”

“She has the biggest crush on Wanda.” You elaborate.

"And how does Wanda fit into this?" Yelena asks.

"I work with Wanda," Natasha states.

"But the whole time you've been doing that, you've also been coming home to a wife and kids," Alexei points out.

It wasn't always easy," You admit.

"It's not," Natasha shakes her head.

"I'm going to get dinner started. If you'll excuse me."

Natasha looks over and watches as you get up. You're carrying Nicky and Stella is trailing behind you.

"You can join her if you'd like," Natasha suggests. "She's used to doing this on her own, but, the more help the better."

"Your life is so complicated," Yelena sighs.

"Tell me about it," Natasha laughs.

next part

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |1|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Killings and Murder

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Sam sighed as she put her key in the door, slowly unlocking each of the locks. She wanted to go to the gym after her shift, but she forgot her gym bag at the apartment. She really needed to look into renting one of the lockers the gym had. Her gym wasn’t too far away but coming home meant having to deal with Tara and her friends.

“Hey,” Sam greeted.

Tara was stretched out on the couch, Chad had his knees pulled close to him as he sat on the floor, watching whatever movie they had thrown on, Ethan was curled up on one of the chairs, and then Anika sat in the recliner with Mindy draped over her. Sam opened her mouth to ask about Quinn when she heard the usual noise coming from Quinn’s room.

“They’ve been at it since we got home,” Tara mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Sam chuckled with a shake of her head. The only downside to Quinn as a roommate was how loud she was with her various partners. Sam made her way across the living room and towards her room. She quickly threw on a tank top and some sweats before grabbing her gym bag. She did a quick check to make sure she had a change of clothes, just in case, before grabbing her water bottle and making her way into the kitchen. As she filled her water bottle the sound of Mindy and Tara got louder, arguing about whatever they were watching.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two,” Sam said.

“Wait,” Chad said, making Sam stop just as her hand rested on the doorknob. “You’re going to the gym?” Sam nodded. “Cool if I join?”

“I thought you preferred the one on campus.”

“I do, but I missed my usual workout time and now it’s crowded,” Chad wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want deal with all that.”

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t want Chad to come with her, she liked working out with Chad. Mindy and Tara never wanted to step foot in the gym, Chad was literally the only person who would ever workout with her anyway. Chad was also a football player and had a solid routine, he taught Sam plenty when she first started working out.

“Fine,” she said.

Chad instantly jumped up from his spot on the floor. He rifled through his backpack until he finally pulled out a little gym bag. Chad was pretty much always ready to go to the gym, but he had a habit of doing a pretty intense workout and would always need a change of clothes.

The two of them waved goodbye to the others and began the trek to the gym. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk before the little, locally owned, gym came into view. It was the only thing in an otherwise abandoned parking lot, it was small, it was dated, but it had its own community. Sam knew she was all over the news, her history was out there for everyone to see, but not a single person in the gym ever questioned her or gave her a dirty look. Everyone who went to the gym was there to work out, they were also friendly and willing to help each other out if needed, and the owner was the same way, the kindest old man Sam had ever met. It was also a 24-hour gym, meaning Sam could get there in the middle of the night after a late shift and not be disturbed or she could go earlier, like now, and have the regulars around.

When they finally got there Sam swiped her badge, unlocking the door. As soon as they stepped into the gym Sam took in the slightly crowded room. Chad rested his hands on his hips and took a big whiff of the air. Sam glanced at him out of the side of her eye, furrowing her brow slightly.

“What?” Chad asked. “This is why I love coming here,” he gestured with his hands. “You can smell the sweat, smell the workouts being done!” Sam shook her head; Chad didn’t come to the gym with her often but whenever he did, he was like an overly excited child. “The one at school has great equipment but it all smells new,” Chad wrinkled his nose. “No matter what…” he began rubbing his chin as if he was contemplating the deep question as to how the gym could always smell that good.

Sam lightly slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him towards the weights. She had never worked out in Chad’s gym, she wasn’t allowed to since she wasn’t a student, but she had seen it a few times and knew Chad was right, the school seemed to have all the new equipment. Her gym didn’t have much, just a couple of each of the standard pieces of machinery. The gym had enough to give whoever came in a full workout, but everything was clearly worn-down from years of use. Sam thought the used equipment just added to the gym’s character.

As Sam followed behind Chad towards the weights she caught sight of you over in the back corner of the gym, where you always were. She shook her head, she was there to workout, the sooner she finished her workout, the sooner she could get back home, and the sooner she could go to sleep. They each put in their respective earbuds then each grabbed a set of dumbbells and began their warmup before they could get started on the true workout.

After a quick warmup Sam and Chad both made their way to the chest press machine. Sam did everything in her power not to look at you and only focus on her workout. You were in her peripheral and it was taking all her focus not to turn her head just a little more to get a better visual. She tried to focus on just getting her reps in and that be that. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to listen to her music as she finished up her last few reps.

“Hey,” Chad said, tapping her on the arm. She looked up to see he had already finished his workout and was now on his feet and stretching. “Spot me?” he nodded at a bench press that was open.

Sam nodded, she didn’t use the bench press often because she usually didn’t have a spotter and as nice as everyone was in the gym she didn’t want to inconvenience any of them by asking. As much as she wanted to continue her workout, she didn’t mind the break if it meant helping Chad.

Sam stood behind the bench as Chad got the weights into place then laid down. She got her hands ready, holding them under the bar as Chad got ready to start lifting. Sam stayed behind Chad, watching as he started doing his reps, ready to grab the bar if he needed. At least that’s what she was supposed to be doing. The bench press was on the opposite side of the gym still, but it gave Sam the perfect view of you.

Her gaze was intense as she stared straight ahead, stared straight at you. You were across the way, hitting the punching bag, like you usually were. You were one of the regulars at the gym and you ran on almost the same schedule as Sam. Sam had never spoken to you, she couldn’t deny that you were quite attractive though. Though being on such a similar schedule as her made her suspicious.

There were times, like now, when you were there, training with a few of the others around in the gym. Then there were times where it was late at night, and no one was in the gym save for you and Sam. Sam had almost left the first time she got to the gym thinking she was alone, only to see you there. The only reason she didn’t leave then or any time after that was because you never did anything. You would sometimes acknowledge Sam with a simple nod, like a lot of the regulars, and that was it, otherwise you focused on your workout. You didn’t really talk to anyone, though neither did Sam, the only time you truly engaged with someone else was when one of your buddies was with you.

Whenever you were there Sam’s eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards you, even across the room. Maybe in another life, one where she wasn’t so paranoid, one where she was normal, she might have approached you, just over a year ago she would have even flirted with you, she might have even asked you out, but her life wasn’t normal. You were cute but you were mysterious, and a mysterious stranger was exactly what Sam’s life didn’t need.

“What are you looking at?” Chad asked, snapping her out of her daydream.

Sam looked down to see Chad had put the bar back up, even without her assistance. His hands still rested on the bar, but he was looking up at Sam curiously.

“Nothing,” Sam said, trying to brush him off.

This was exactly why she liked going to the gym alone. She liked to go to the gym and just get her workout done without any distractions, she also didn’t want the others to know about you. You were her little secret, her little crush, the first crush she had had since Richie. If any of the others had learned that she was even remotely attracted to you she’d never hear the end of it, especially not from Mindy or Tara. Despite hating the gym, if her sister and Mindy knew about you, they’d be begging her to come with her every day.

“Who is that?” Chad asked. He was now sitting up on the bench and looked back at Sam with a smirk.

Sam closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, she was just hoping she wasn’t blushing. Based on the way Chad’s eyes darted from her to you she knew Chad had figured out exactly what she was looking at. “Nobody,” she mumbled.

“That,” Chad pointed at you with a light chuckle. “Is not nobody.”

“They’re just a regular at the gym,” she tried waving it off again.

Sam walked off, making her way to the treadmill. She was silently begging for Chad to drop it, she hoped that if she didn’t acknowledge it then he’d forget about it, he wouldn’t say anything to Mindy or Tara. She hopped on the treadmill and began at a slow and steady speed, she liked to work her way up to a light jog.

She stared straight ahead, ignoring Chad as he leaned against the side of the machine. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I go say hi to them then,” he said. Sam stumbled, nearly tripping over her own feet as she snapped her head towards Chad.

“Don’t,” Sam warned.

“I’m just going to ask if they want to spar,” he held his hands up but was already walking away from Sam and in your direction. Sam didn’t miss the slight smirk on Chad’s face as he made his way towards you.

Sam let out a huff and started smacking her feet harder as she quickened her pace. If she finished her workout early then she had every intention of leaving Chad there, she might even lock the door and refuse to let him in the apartment for the rest of the night. She couldn’t help but glance out of the side of her eye every few seconds, catching sight of Chad as he approached you and tried striking up a conversation. It didn’t seem to be going as he intended based on the way you were shaking your head as he gestured from himself to you and then to the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

Most of the time Sam saw you alone at the punching bag. You would have your earbuds in and just focus on hitting the bag, as if the entire world disappeared and it was just you and the bag. At other times, like now, when the gym was busiest, Sam noticed that sometimes you’d get in the ring with one of the guys and spar a bit. You always used the same guys though, you didn’t randomly grab someone, and it seemed like you tended to deny anyone who just came up you, like she was sure Chad was about to find out.

After a few minutes of trying to convince you, Chad finally walked back over to Sam with his head hung low. Chad jumped onto the treadmill with a dramatic sigh and began a light walk. Sam rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Chad’s ridiculousness and focused on finishing her workout.

“What happened?” Sam finally asked, taking pity on Chad.

“They said no,” he mumbled, kicking his feet at the treadmill as he continued to pout.

“They don’t usually spar with random people.” Behind Chad Sam could see you getting in the ring with one of your buddies. Neither of you had on any sort of gear besides the tape on your hands. “And I think you’re about to see why.”

Chad scrunched his eyebrow then turned back to where you were in the boxing ring, you and your buddy already circling each other. You waited for your friend to throw the first punch, like you always did. You blocked your friends’ first few shots then you started throwing your own punches. The two of you went back and forth, dealing blow after blow, each of you landed a few hits, but both of you blocked most of them.

“Damn,” Chad whispered.

Sam smirked as she went back to focusing on her workout. Despite never looking back at you she could tell you and your buddy were still at it based on the way Chad never changed the speed of his treadmill, his entire focus seeming to be on you. She wouldn’t deny it, watching you spar was something else, you clearly knew what you were doing, it was obvious you had some sort of training. Sam never understood why you didn’t spar with others who were willing, until she saw you for the first time, everyone else here was an amateur compared to you.

Sam turned off the treadmill and slowed her pace until she came to a gradual stop. “You good?” Sam asked. She took a swig of her water while she waited for Chad to acknowledge her presence again.

“What?” Chad looked back at her before quickly looking back at you. You brought your knee up, nailing your buddy in the ribs, then didn’t hesitate to punch him in the face. Chad visibly winced at the hit before hopping off the treadmill. “Let’s go!” he waved at her as if he was the one waiting on her.

Sam rolled her eyes and followed Chad. Before she walked out the door, she met your gaze as you turned in the ring, the two of you probably only held eye contact for half a second but it was enough to make Sam hold her breath. The last thing she saw before the door closed was you and your buddy resetting your positions and getting ready for another spar session.

Sam had to listen to Chad ramble about you the entire walk home. She usually wouldn’t mind her thoughts being consumed by you but since it was Chad rambling, she knew Mindy and Tara would surely hear about it. She was just hoping she could get into the apartment and into her room before Chad started telling them all the details.

Sam put the key in the door, unlocking all the locks once again. “They’re just so badass!” Chad said, his eyes wide as he gestured crazily with his hands. “I can’t believe you tried to keep them from me!” Sam sighed, pushing the door open.

“Who are you talking about?” Tara asked with a chuckle as soon as the two of them stepped into the living room.

“Another one of your lovers?” Mindy snarked, laughing at her brother’s expense.

“Not mine,” Chad quickly denied. “Sam’s,” he pointed back at Sam, who instantly froze as she dropped her keys into the little bowl beside the door. She didn’t need to look to know Mindy and Tara’s full attention was now on hers.

“You’re seeing someone?” Tara said. She was already on her feet and in front of Sam by the time she turned around.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Sam sighed.

“Who is this mysterious stranger?” Mindy asked, coming up right behind Tara, leaving Anika to sit alone without a second thought.

“Y/N,” Chad happily supplied. All three girls whipped their heads around to see Chad placed at the dining table, popping open a yogurt. Sam tried to hide her smile, she hadn’t known your name, it was a nice name.

“Tell us everything!” Tara said, dragging Sam by the hand to the dining table.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Sam shrugged. “I don’t even-”

��They’re badass,” Chad interrupted, never looking up from his yogurt. “I asked them to spar, and they said no but then I learned why.” Chad looked up at the ceiling in a daydream like state, tapping his spoon against the yogurt cup. “I want to spar with them even more now.” Sam furrowed her brow, tilting her head at the comment.

“You’ve been holding out on us Sammy,” Mindy said, bumping her shoulder as she plopped down into the seat next to her. Sam flicked a glare at her, but Mindy’s attention was fully on Chad. “Spill,” she ordered, leaning half her body across the table.

Sam crossed her arms and slumped back in her chair. She had to sit there and just listen as Chad rambled on and on about you. She wasn’t sure how he could possibly have so much to say, he talked to you for not even ten minutes. He gave the girls a complete recap of their entire gym experience, Sam was definitely regretting allowing him to come with her. He gestured wildly with his hands, trying to mimic the same punches you had been doing.

“Wow,” Tara and Mindy said at the same time, both leaning back in their chairs once Chad was done.

“Are you sure you’re not in love with them?” Mindy asked, tilting her head at her brother.

“No!” Chad said quickly, a little too quickly. “I just think they’re amazing and I admire their workout routine, and I just want to get to know them and become their best friend…” Mindy nodded but gave her brother an unconvinced look.

“Can we go to the gym with you tomorrow?” Tara asked.

“They might not be there,” Sam mumbled without thinking.

“Oh!” Mindy screeched right in Sam’s ear. “You know their schedule.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she looked past Sam and at Tara who was giving her a knowing nod.

“We have a very similar schedule,” Sam defended.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Mindy sighed, leaning into Sam’s side.

“I’m not looking for a relationship!”

“Come on Sam,” Tara sighed, much more calm than before. “You deserve to be happy. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“My last boyfriend tried to kill all of us,” Sam deadpanned, looking her sister in the eye.

Tara opened and closed her mouth a few times as she nodded. “But what are the odds of that happening again?”

“Guys!” Anika called, interrupting whatever excuse Sam was going to come up with next. “You have to see this.”

Everyone got up from the kitchen table and moved to the living room just as Anika turned up the volume. Everyone remained silent as the news played, talking about the murder of two college students. Sam didn’t even react to Quinn coming out of her room and joining them.

“It’s got everyone asking, is this the work of Ghostface?” the news reported said, ending the broadcast before showing the picture of the two boys murdered.

“Holy shit,” Mindy said. “Those are the dudes from our film class,” she pointed at the screen.

“We have to leave, now.”

“What? No!” Tara said, instantly trying to fight Sam. “We don’t even know what this is!” she pointed to the TV. “It could be nothing; they were clearly freaks!”

“Are you really willing to take that risk?” Sam snapped.

“Quinn! Call your dad,” Tara whipped around to look at their roommate. “Let’s at least figure out what’s going on before you uproot my life.”

Sam held Tara’s glare but didn’t argue as Quinn called her dad. She understood where Tara was coming from, she knew Tara wanted things to go back to normal and just wanted a normal college experience. Sam wanted to just cut and run though, even if there was no proof that Ghostface was actually back, she didn’t want to take the risk. Sam couldn’t help the feeling that it was starting all over again.

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

[goldenstring6123]

This happen to my bestie last week ajsjsjsjsns

She came to school all moody instead of cheery and vibrant and it's not normal to see her like that– I asked what happened, at first she doesn't speaks and just shook her head. Like, 20 minutes later, she suddenly cried. I was there next to her and comfort her, (I literally get all concerned and panicked)

During break, I asked again why she is like that and she told me that her mom told her to die out of frustration (Like– girl, wth) it is all because her little sister overslept and make her late for school. And her mother also late for works.

So, can I ask how LaDS men comfort their partner when they're feeling down? 🥺🥺

Thanks ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

Lnds: Comfort for a crying heart

Warning: Comfort. GN!Reader

Author's note: I'm sorry to hear that about your bestie, no person should ever be told that especially by their mother. I'm sending my hugs to you, your bestie and everyone who's having a hard time! You have my full love and support!

Zayne: The Patient Comforter

Zayne never sensed the shift in your personality that day. He knew there was something different with you, but he didn't think much of it, considering it was morning time. When he got home after work, he found it odd that his house was very silent. It was as if it had gone back to the days when you hadn't moved in yet. He entered your shared bedroom and found you sleeping, but it was odd, too, because the room was too dark and the air was too dry.

He changed his clothes and tucked himself into bed, but unlike his usual routine, he wrapped his hand around your waist and buried his nose in your hair. You were running hot, and simply by that alone, he knew you had been crying. He hugged you while you sobbed quietly and tried to catch your breath.

"It will be alright, honey," he would whisper to you and rub your arms. When you rolled over to him, you immediately buried your face in his chest. There was nothing to say to him at all; it was just one of those bad days when all the bad things chose to be at the forefront of your mind. Zayne stroked your hair and pulled you in closer to his chest, not minding the snot and tear marks you were making on his gray shirt.

When you let go of him and scooted back a little, he went to the kitchen and brewed you tea. He came back and handed it to you while waiting to see if you wanted to tell him how you felt. You looked so tired in his eyes, so he was very, very patient with you. You both talked to each other for a good hour or two, and Zayne listened intently, asking you how you felt.

He wiped your tears for you and lent you his shoulder when you spoke. His hand held onto yours, and his thumb brushed the back of your palm while you cried again.

Rafayel: The Comforting Joker

Rafayel is more perceptive than you thought. The moment you stepped into his house, he could see that you were in a bad mood. He stared at you, and the first thing he asked was, "Why the long face?" which was pretty odd considering that you were smiling.

You thought you were holding it in so well, but when he asked that question, everything seemed to slowly topple down in an instant. You found a way to distract yourself in his home, but Rafayel was having none of it. He looked so serious about it, and not a single hint of teasing escaped his mouth.

His frown made you frown as well. You decided to give in and tell him what was wrong, how you felt heavy when you woke up in the morning, and how things seemed to go wrong the moment you got out of bed. The moment a single tear fell down your cheek, Rafayel pulled you into a tight, long hug. He said a lot of stuff to try and cheer you up, and he did his best to make you laugh even if it made him look stupid; he didn't mind doing it for you.

Along the way, he talked about how he'd rate bomb that rude store and punch that post you walked into, and as stupid as that sounded, you managed to let out a stupid laugh. When Rafayel saw that, he was more than glad to see you slowly getting back on your feet.

Throughout the whole day, he gave in to your whims, doing things that you liked and eating the food you wanted to eat at that moment. He acted all cutesy for you because he knew you liked that about him the most, but he didn't joke with you in return. Instead, he acted all romantic and such.

Xavier: The Silent Comforter

Xavier could sense that something was off. Everything was in its place, and you were acting practically the same as every day, but he couldn't help but be instinctively close to you as if the energy he was sensing was oozing out of your body. He was quiet beside you, tending to his own entertainment, but the moment he heard a sniff, all his suspicions were confirmed.

Xavier kept his lips shut and reached an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. He didn't say a word to you. You continued to sniffle and hiccup while watching the movie, but both of you knew you weren't actually paying attention to the show.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Xavier would pat your arm or your thigh to comfort you, placing a kiss every now and then. He listened intently to your rants and your concerns, nodding and asking the right questions. It was his strategy to get you to relax and let it all out naturally. Albeit he'd have a hard time trying to understand you through your sobbing, all he knew was that you needed him at that moment.

It didn't take long for you to calm down and doze off to sleep, feeling the emotional exhaustion weigh you down more than you'd like to admit. You always fell asleep on his lap because he would always comb through your hair while you spoke.

A few hours later, you would wake up next to Xavier on the bed, and on the night table was some convenience store food that he bought.

Sylus: The Kissing Comforter

Sylus didn't know you were having a bad day, even if you were going on and on about that small little thing that made you feel so infuriated. Although he was listening very, very intently, offering you some practical advice and partially suggesting that he could deal with it for you, it wasn't until you headed to the restroom that Luke and Kieran sneaked into his office after hearing the entire thing.

Sylus was confused when the twins told him that you were crying on the way to the bathroom. At that moment, Luke and Kieran thought that their boss was too…insensitive. Sylus knew the look on their faces.

When you headed back to his office after half an hour, Sylus was waiting for you by the door. He pulled you into his grasp and brushed his thumb under your puffy eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked, and you burst out crying ugly like you did in the bathroom. He frowned when you told him that you were just having a bad day, but Sylus could see right through you.

Your efforts in brushing your own misery aside were futile at best.

He picked you up and carried you to the couch, and he patted your back like a baby. You went on and on again about how you felt so bad and why everything was going in the wrong direction, and this time, Sylus was quiet, shushing you and telling you, "Don't cry; everything will be better tomorrow." When you had nothing left to say, Sylus slowly began to distract you by giving you kisses in between cries, touching you, and petting you until you couldn't think of anything else for a few minutes. He nibbled on your ear and whispered sweet nothings alongside comforting words.

Author footnotes: I'm more than sure that their way of comforting the reader/you would vary depending on how you particularly act when you're having a bad day so I decided to go generic and not specify anything... Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

[lecsainz]

May I request a Luke Castellan x reader who happens to be Annabeth’s older sister? They like each other, but they pretend they don’t. Thank you!

˒ ⌕ I THINK YOU’LL LIKE

parings: luke castellan x chase!reader

summary: that one where you're annabeth's older sister, and you and luke like each other but don't admit it.

an: YAY, I'M SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE! I think I might have lost my way in the writing 🤦🏼‍♀️. and if there are any grammar mistakes, forgive me 🙃

( last work || go to main masterlist )

You had woken up early that morning, expecting it to be like any other—getting up, getting ready, and heading to the arena to train the younger campers. You enjoyed the routine, especially passing by Hermes' cabin to catch a glimpse of Luke interacting so amiably with his half-siblings, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Determined to head to the training area, you were interrupted by a younger camper who needed help tying the laces of their worn-out sneakers.

"I thought you had this down, Claire," you said to the daughter of Hermes while expertly looping the shoelaces.

"I couldn't figure out what you did at the end," she murmured, glancing around as if expecting someone.

You eyed the younger girl suspiciously and proceeded to show her how to tie the knot. "Well, you just need to—"

"Hey, Y/N." Luke cut in as he jogged towards you.

Standing up, you turned to face Luke and saw him handing out sweets to Claire.

"I can't believe you just did that," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't set anything up." He raised his hands, laughing as if surrendering. "I like your braid." Luke approached, tucking away a loose strand of your hair. "Suits you."

Feeling your cheeks warm, you stepped back from the brunette and crossed your arms.

"What do you want, Luke?" You asked curiously, starting to walk as you noticed some kids from your cabin heading in the direction you were supposed to be going.

Luke matched your pace. "Can't a dear friend want to see you?" He asked, and you felt one of your hands brushing against his as you walked side by side. "Actually, I-I..." He was interrupted by Annabeth calling out to you.

You both stopped, and Luke stepped back, scratching his neck as if embarrassed.

"Luke! Y/N!" You watched your sister come towards you. "Come on, Y/N, I've got a new tactic I want you to try with the bow," Annabeth said excitedly, pulling you towards the arena.

"Go on, then!" Luke waved to you. "Mind not hitting any campers with your bow, Y/N/N." He teased.

"You're an idiot, Castellan," you teased back, running off with Annabeth while hearing Luke's laughter.

The journey to the arena was short, but Annabeth wouldn't stop discussing the idea she had for the next capture the flag.

"He likes you," Annabeth halted before the arena entrance and stared at you.

You stopped and laughed at her. "He doesn't."

"He does," she insisted. "And you like him too." She slung her arm around your shoulder, amused because you and Luke were obvious to everyone at camp except yourselves.

"He's just a friend, Annie," you said as you both entered the arena.

The morning passed swiftly, not because you dwelled on what Annabeth had told you earlier or because Luke wanted to talk to you earlier. Soon enough, you found yourself alone in the arena, searching for your broken bow and arrows, supposed to be where you always left them but nowhere to be found today. Determined to fix it, you murmured, "I'm sure I left it here," while scanning through various other campers' bows.

"You left it here," Luke appeared behind you.

"Gods!" You startled, placing a hand on your chest and turned to him, annoyed.

"I didn't know I was that ugly to startle you," Luke said, leaning against a table nearby.

"You're not ugly, Luke," you mumbled softly, looking at him. "Wait what do you have behind you?" You asked, approaching him.

"Nothing," he murmured, turning so you couldn't see what he was hiding.

"Let me see, Luke," you stepped closer, trying to grab whatever he was holding.

Luke stepped back, and you stepped forward, causing both of you to collide and end up almost face to face, except for the height difference.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Luke spoke softly, and you wondered if you heard that correctly.

Summoning courage, you looked at him and locked eyes with his mouth. Luke released what he was holding, brushing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. He looked at you, waiting for some sign of confirmation, and you stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Luke's hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Time seemed to stop as your lips met in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a mix of warmth and electricity passing between you.

When you pulled away, a gentle smile graced Luke's lips, and you were sure you were blushing. You rested your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head. "I have something for you," Luke suddenly spoke and moved away to where he had hidden something. "That's why I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Annie showed up, and..."

"So, you used Claire to delay me?!" You accused, laughing, then stopped when you realized what he was holding.

"Don't blame me; I wanted to surprise you." Luke explained, and you couldn't help but find it endearing that he sought help to surprise you. "I saw it broken yesterday." He extended your bow towards you. "I tried fixing it myself, but I don't have the skills of a Hephaestus kid," he chuckled nervously. "I think you’ll like."

You took your bow from him, amazed at Luke's gesture. "It's perfect, Luke," you ran your hand over the drawings - more like scribbles - that weren't there before. "I love it." Surprising him, you hugged him, and Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, truly."

Luke hugged you back, his arms enfolding you with a mixture of surprise and contentment. "Anytime, Y/N." he murmured, his voice soft.

You pulled away, holding the repaired bow with a newfound appreciation. "I can't believe you did this," you said, a smile lighting up your face. "You're more talented than you think, Luke."

He scratched the back of his head, a bashful grin spreading across his features. "Well, I had some inspiration." Luke's eyes met yours, holding a warmth that sent a rush of comfort through you.

"Thank you, Luke," you repeated, feeling genuinely grateful. "I owe you one."

He chuckled softly. "How about you owe me a rematch at capture the flag?"

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're on, Castellan."

[willsimpforanyone]

Hey! Hope you’re having a good day, Can your please do a smutty dom/sub, dom Percy jackson x sub female Zeus!reader where it's an enemies to lovers but readers been being a brat and teasing the hell outa' Percy so he decides to "teach her a lesson" so he takes her to his cabin and they fuck and she has a thing for choking. . . ?

hi hello sorry for taking so long uni is hell and im so tired but apparently i cant focus on revising so im doing this instead ty for being so patient luv u

tis made clear they're both adults like literally i say they're adults is all good

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

"What's the matter, Jackson?" I grinned as I landed a bullseye on the target and heard a grunt from next to me. "Not really your speed, it it?" My voice dripped with faux pity.

Percy's shot went wide and I laughed. He rolled his eyes and nocked another arrow. "How old are you? I thought we were adults, not fucking kids." He loosed the arrow and just barely struck the target.

I shrugged, following suit and doing better than he did, if not hitting where I was aiming. "Maybe, but you make it so easy to fuck with you, it's like you're into it." I winked at him.

This kind of banter was common- one of us would be better than the other at something, flaunt their skill unashamedly and piss each other off until one of us left or someone else came in to shut us up. It was a familiar routine; loathe I was to admit it, Percy was better than I was at a fair few things so when I got the upper hand, I relished it.

"Come on, Perce, just give in." I cocked my head to one side, looking up at him. "Sea Daddy didn't give you this skill and I'm up by 6 points, you can't beat me at this."

He barked a laugh. "Sea Daddy? I should strike you down where you stand."

I waited until he nocked his next arrow. About to shoot it, I stood on my tiptoes, as close to his ear as possible. "Is that a promise?"

Percy's arrow flew into the ground, a faint pink staining his cheeks. I backed off, cackling. "Aw, too far?"

He stood frozen for a second. I paused mentally. It wouldn't be the first time I flirted with him, teasing him like this was just one of the weapons in my arsenal- I always made sure not to do anything too bad, just enough to catch him off guard. Maybe today was just a bad day and I'd gone too far.

Instead, Percy lowered his bow to drop it on the ground, stepping over his quiver of arrows to move towards me. There was a wolfish grin on his lips. "Not close enough, princess."

My breath caught in my throat. That was a new one; nicknames were sometimes used, sure, to annoy the other but 'princess' was new. And effective, apparently.

Determined to stand my ground, I stayed still as Percy crossed the short distance between us. He was a good few inches taller than me. I caught myself looking into his eyes and tried to school my face into something resembling superiority.

He smelled really good.

"No retort? Nothing to say, hm?" Percy's tone was slightly condescending and I don't know if it was the proximity, the nickname or the fact that I suddenly realised I had this incredibly attractive man focusing all his attention on me, but I felt a little weak at the knees.

Now is not the time to be discovering kinks, dammit.

"I-I..." I sputtered. "...Princess?"

Smooth.

Percy grinned, tongue just sweeping over his lower lip. "If I knew a little pet name would shut you up, I'd have done this weeks ago."

Well. Shit. Guess I'm going all in, humiliation be damned.

"Kiss me."

Percy blinked. "...what?"

I twisted a hand in the front of his shirt. "You heard me, Jackson." That's right, I still have some words left. "You started this, what are you gonna do about it?"

There was no hesitation. Percy pressed closer to me and slammed his lips on mine, hands coming round my waist and fingers digging into my back. I inhaled sharply, instantly dizzy with the rush of arousal that flooded my system.

Time slowed for a moment, just enough so that all I knew was Percy, Percy and his lips and his hands and his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage.

We broke apart, panting slightly, eyes locked. I was the first to break.

"My place or yours?"

Percy growled something that might have been 'mine' and grabbed my hand, pulling me after him. I stumbled a few times but we made it to the Poseiden cabin; luckily there were very few people around, everyone either in their cabin or busy. No one to see me eagerly following Percy into his cabin and definitely no one to hear him push me up against the door and press his lips to mine again.

My fingers ran through his hair, his hands back on my hips pinning me against the wood. Damn, I forget how strong he is. I tried shifting my position slightly and he merely readjusted his grip, I couldn't even lift away from the door. The knowledge that he was using hardly any effort to keep me still sent a fresh wave of horniness through my brain and I fought to keep a whine from escaping my lungs.

Yeah, I know we fight and tease and try to annoy the fuck out of each other but holy Hades if this guy isn't gorgeous and currently all I can think about.

Percy tugged at my hair, pulling to expose my neck and licked a stripe up my skin. "You okay with this?"

I did my best to nod.

Immediately, he stepped back, letting go of me completely. "No, do better, princess, yes or no?"

Gorgeous and respectful of consent, the gods really put effort into making this one.

I swallowed, forcing my brain to make coherent words. "Yes, yes, I am very okay with this, get back here."

Percy smirked. "So demanding." He went to sit on his bunk, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head to the side. "If you want it, you have to come over here."

Bitch, thinks he's in control. He's right, but I didn't have to give in so easily. I steadied myself.

"Oh, you think I'm that easy? We'll see."

I kept my eyes on him, shrugging my jacket off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Kicking off my shoes was hardly sexy, but I kept going, getting a little closer to the bed. I thanked everything possible that I was wearing a dress, the soft material settling just below mid thigh. The shorts I wore under them were quickly gone, and I was left in a dress, underwear and a bra.

Percy's chest was rising a little heavier with each item of clothing I rid myself of and I knew just how to get a little of my power back. I moved to stand right in front of him and lifted the back of my dress. I winked and pulled my underwear off, one leg at a time, until they were pooled on the floor. To no one's surprise, there was a wet patch in the middle.

Percy groaned, hands fisting in the sheets. I stood in between his open legs, not touching but so, so close.

"Aw, you liked my little show, Jackson?" I giggled. "Gods, I bet you're desperate to see under here-" I played with the hem of my dress. "-am I right?"

In a flash, Percy stood, hefted me up and threw me on his bed. I bounced on my back, a breathless laugh punched out of me. Grabbing my thighs, he pulled me to the edge of the bed and flipped up my dress.

"Such a fucking brat." Percy's voice was low and slightly gravelly, fingers pressing into the flesh of my legs. I squeaked at the sudden movements and the slight embarrassment of being exposed so abruptly.

"Maybe this will teach you a lesson." He dove in between my thighs, licking a stripe up my pussy, moaning at the taste. I choked as he ate me out with fervour, keeping my legs apart easily even as I fought to close them around his head.

Percy's face was soaked, tongue driving me insane as it swirled over my clit. Two of his fingers pushed inside me and I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from yelling. I felt him grin against me, not moving his fingers, just keeping them insider my pussy and laving his tongue over my folds.

"P-Percy, fuck-!" I reached down to grasp his hair in my hands.

He pressed a kiss to my clit, looking up at me with a smug smile on his face. "What is it, princess? A little needy?" I somehow felt myself get even wetter, and Percy noticed. "Oh, you like being called 'princess', hm? Cute, but you're gonna have to work for me to do anything else, baby."

I groaned in arousal and annoyance. "Wh-what do you want, b-bastard?"

Percy tutted, and withdrew his fingers. "Nope, c'mere." He stood and sat on the bed, reaching over and dragging me until I sat straddling his lap, bare pussy just touching his jeans. I clutched at his shoulders as he inserted his fingers into me again.

"Now, if you want to be fucked properly, you're going to fuck yourself on my fingers until you come and I'm not going to help, okay, princess?"

Oh, a cruel, cruel, insanely hot man. Damn my power, damn everything in me that wanted to push back at him, I wanted to come and an infuriating part of me wanted to please him. Fuck.

My cheeks were bright red, my dress covering the obscene sight of Percy's hand wet and his fingers inside my pussy, but slowly, slowly, I lifted myself a few inches and sat back down. Fuck, his fingers were so long. I repeated my action, a little stronger. A little faster, a little more, until I was riding his fingers and he was kissing me and despite his former promise he was pumping his hand and using his thumb to press circles into my clit.

I was so worked up it didn't take long for my orgasm to rip through me. I let out a choked sound and Percy used his other hand to press over my mouth to muffle my noises. "Fuck, you sound so pretty when you come, princess, but we gotta be quiet, okay?" My hips were still stuttering against his hand, but I nodded.

The flash of a thought shot through my orgasm-addled mind. I released one of Percy's shoulders and touched his hand across my mouth. Gently, I guided it to just rest on my neck, the weight at once comforting and dizzyingly arousing.

"This okay?"

He stared at my neck, at his hand reaching from one side to the other and very carefully he squeezed his fingers. My eyes rolled back in my head. "Shit, yes, very okay, princess." He gently withdrew his fingers from my pussy and brought them up to his mouth. He licked my come off his hand, groaning at the taste. "Fuck, that was so hot, you did so good, my good little princess, you want me to fuck you now?"

He was so deperate for me, it gave me a rush of power to have him like this even if I'd just ridden his hand because he asked.

"Yes, fuck, please fuck me, Percy."

He moved me off his lap like I was delicate, something he'd break if he wasn't careful, and stripped as quickly as possible. His cock slapped against his stomach and I felt my mouth water. Still a little shaky, I got up on my knees and pulled at his hips until he was facing me. I reached out and took his cock in my hand, licking at the tip.

Percy heaved a breath. "Oh, princess, as much as I'd love to have you suck me off, if I don't get inside you in the next minute I might actually combust."

I giggled. "Well, we wouldn't want that."

I watched him fish a condom out from the drawer by his bed and bit my lip as I watched him slide it on and jerk himself a few times. "Alright, baby, how do you wanna do this?"

Laying back against the pillows, I slipped off the straps of my dress. Percy got the message pretty quickly.

In a second, he was hovering over me, pulling the top of my dress down. He reached round to my back and unclasped my bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. He bent his neck and nipped little red marks over my chest, licking over my pebbling nipples and I inhaled sharply. "I've been good, haven't I?"

Percy nodded. "So good for me."

I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Then fuck me like you hate me."

He smirked, reaching down a hand to guide his cock to push into me inch by inch. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."

I barely had any time to adjust to him when he started pounding into me, hips pistoning and abs clenching. Moans worked their way between my lips despite my best efforts, unable to be silent at the delicious friction he ws giving me.

"So hard to be quiet, isn't it?" Percy panted into my ear. "Poor thing, let me help with that."

Not stopping his movements, he sat back on his heels, pulling my hips up to him and smoothing one hand down my body to rest heavy on my throat. My tits bounced as he thrusted hard into me, my hands clutching at the sheets, the pillows, his arm, the hand that promised to just slightly cut off bloodflow to my head.

My vision went slightly fuzzy, my head deliciously dizzy and all I could do was lie there and take it, take his cock hammering into my pussy and feel the build up of my second orgasm.

"Sh-shit, princess, you feel so fucking good, I'm gonna- I'm gonna come, fuck!" Percy hissed through his teeth. "Touch yourself for me, that's it, such a good girl, fuck."

I rubbed my clit harshly with as much focus as I could, feeling myself come from my toes, rolling up through my body and exploding in my lower stomach. Percy's lip was swollen and red from where he'd been biting it and I felt his hips stutter, flooding the condom as he came.

There was a minute of quiet, both of us recovering, breathing evening out. I squeezed my eyes shut against the overstimulation as Percy pulled out, shushing me gently. There was a moment where he removed the condom where I truly thought he was just going to leave and my heart squeezed painfully, but he returned almost immediately.

"Hey, sit up, baby, that's it." He helped me up to sit on his bed, summoning some water and pouring it in a cup he'd found. He handed it to me. "Drink at least half of that, please. I'm gonna get some new clothes, okay?" Pressing a kiss to my head, he wandered about the cabin gathering sweatpants and t-shirts for us.

Obediently, I swallowed almost all the water, waiting sleepily for him to offer me his clothes.

Percy slipped on some clothes, helping me stand and after getting my permission, slipped off my dress and helped me put on one of his camp t-shirts and a pair of warm sweatpants.

"Better?" He whispered, maintaining the soft atmosphere we'd managed to cultivate.

I nodded. "Mm, yeah, thank you."

He blushed, wrapping me in his arms. "No problem, princess."

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

ty for requesting, i hope you liked!!

[megalony]

Please, Hurry Up

Okay, so this is my first imagine for Eddie x Buck x Reader x Tommy and I got such a lovely request for this. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

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Buddie Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: While the boys are all out at work, (Y/n) has an accident and has to wait for one of them to come home and help her.

Enjoy.

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A sigh rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she trailed her fingertips along the wall, making her way down the hall. She could feel Evan hovering close behind her and she was sure he was about to reach out for her before she tried to speed up her steps to keep ahead of him.

She twisted around the sharp corner and padded into the kitchen, locking her eyes on her other partner. Eddie's back was to her, tense, straight and shoulders square as he leaned forward to grab the kettle. He was starting their usual morning routine and (Y/n) smiled when she noticed he had gotten three travel mugs out the cupboard on instinct, even though Tommy was already at work.

"Baby please-"

"Don't try and suck up to me Evan, it won't wash." (Y/n) pulled her arm away when she felt Evan try to reach out for her and she pushed forward until she was stood behind Eddie.

Her face pressed into his back between his shoulders, her nose brushing against his cotton shirt that smelt of the strong tropical softner the boys loved to use in the washing. She bound her arms loosely around Eddie's waist and closed her eyes, staying tucked up against his back for a few moments while he poured the drinks.

A low whistle hummed past Eddie's lips as he glanced over his shoulder to try and look at (Y/n), but he couldn't see her properly with how she was clinging to him. He adverted his gaze across to Evan, raising a brow when the blond huffed and headed over to the fridge.

"Okay, what am I missing here?" Eddie curved his free arm behind him and gave (Y/n)'s hip a gentle squeeze before he slowly turned around in her arms.

He leaned his hips back against the counter and wormed his arm around (Y/n)'s waist, letting her slump forward into his chest.

He took in what she was wearing and it made a grin work onto his features. She was wearing a pair of lounge shorts, although Eddie couldn't be sure who they belonged to, he just knew they weren't (Y/n)'s. And he knew the grey sleep shirt she was wearing was definitely Tommy's because of the way it hung off one shoulder and slid down her arm and how it went down to her thighs.

She had been living in their clothes recently and all three of them loved it, the boys had made a game out of guessing whose clothes (Y/n) was wearing each day.

Eddie feathered his fingers up and down (Y/n)'s hip and took a moment to lean forward and kiss her temple. But his eyes cast between two of his three partners, trying to work out what they were at odds over.

"Did you really want me to invite them-"

"Evan." (Y/n) sharply looked over her shoulder, cutting him off before he had the chance to try and dull this down. "I don't care if you invite them or not, I care that you haven't even told them."

"Someone explain please." Eddie handed over a mug of steaming hot black coffee towards Evan and pushed a glass of juice to his side for (Y/n). His head dipped forward to kiss her temple again and he smiled softly when he moved his hand from her hip to graze along her stomach.

He knew the baby had been kicking up a storm last night, making it hard for (Y/n) to settle and get a good night's sleep. But of course, now that they were all awake and Eddie was trying to move his hand around her bump, the baby seemed settled and asleep. Typical.

"He hasn't told his parents I'm pregnant." (Y/n) folded her arms over her chest and twisted around so her back was resting up against Eddie's chest. His hand stayed firmly on her stomach but both of them looked to the side to glance at Evan.

He bit his lip, letting his shoulders sag as he grumbled something under his breath.

"Buck, come on, you said you would."

"Yeah, and if my mum returned my calls then I would have told them by now. They don't wanna be in my life and you all know that, why does it matter? I don't want them at the shower next week."

Evan put his mug down on the counter and crossed his arms, mimicking the pose (Y/n) had as if he was trying to rile her up or make her laugh, one of the two.

He didn't talk to his parents often, the odd text here and there and a sporadic phone call was the most Evan got out of them. And he liked it that way. They couldn't be bothered to put in the time with him. They didn't make the effort and Evan was tired of begging for attention he deserved but never seemed to receive. If they didn't want to be in his life then he wouldn't try so hard to let them in, he would keep them at arms length.

"It matters to me." (Y/n)'s voice was quiet and had a tremor to it. She couldn't bring herself to look up at Evan and she continued to stare down at her feet, even when she felt Eddie's fingertips squeeze her stomach.

"Buck, you have to at least tell them. Don't you think they'll be confused as Hell if they talk to Maddie in a few months and she mentions looking after her niece or nephew or tells them how the baby's doing?"

They all knew Maddie was excited. She had been the most hyped person they told when they found out (Y/n) was pregnant. She was eager to be an aunt and see her little brother start his own family and they already knew she would be demanding babysitting duties as soon as she could.

Evan had to tell his parents. It didn't matter if they weren't accepting or tried to lecture him, as long as they knew that they were going to have a grandchild. It would cause a lot more problems if Maddie brought up in passing conversation that she was looking after the baby or the baby was okay and her parents had no idea what she was talking about.

"My mum isn't speaking to me, Eddie's parents think I'm some kind of tart, Tommy's mum is the only one who doesn't look at me funny, but at least they know about me. I'd like them to know you're gonna be a dad."

(Y/n) pulled out of Eddie's arms and walked past the pair of them, binding her arms over her bump as she headed into the living room.

(Y/n) never expected any of their friends or family to understand. She didn't expect anyone to agree or like or understand the relationship she had with Evan, Eddie and Tommy. But she didn't want to hide it either.

Her parents hadn't been pleased and since she told them she was pregnant, her mum wasn't talking to her. She didn't like the fact that (Y/n) kept saying the baby was theirs, as in all the boys. The only thing her mum would say was 'it physically can't belong to all three of them' but that wasn't what (Y/n) meant. They would bring this baby up as theirs, biology didn't matter. They were all in this relationship together and this baby was going to be loved beyond compare.

Eddie's parents were devout catholics. They were somewhat accepting, although Eddie saw the way they looked at him when he kissed Evan or Tommy. They didn't agree with four people being in a relationship and (Y/n) saw the way his mum looked at her. As if she was a tart or a gold digger or just stringing them all along. But at least Eddie's parents knew about the baby and they were trying to be accepting.

Tommy's parents were divorced and he had no contact with his dad whatsoever. He hadn't spoken to him in years so naturally he hadn't told his dad about his poly relationship or the impending baby. But he was on speaking terms with his mum and she had been the only one so far who just rolled with this and continued to talk to her son and his partners.

And they all knew Evan counted Bobby and Athena as his parents, he had given Bobby a onesie with 'grandad's best friend' across the front to explain that (Y/n) was pregnant.

That didn't mean he couldn't just ignore his mum and dad and not tell them about this news.

"Baby…" Evan rattled his fingers through his hair and followed (Y/n) into the living room, feeling Eddie hot on his heels.

He waited for (Y/n) to ease down onto the sofa before he moved in front of her and crouched down in front of her legs. He slowly parted her knees to the sides and leaned his chest forward so he was wedged comfortably between her thighs, his arms folded over her lap. Evan could see he was already worming his way into her good graces. Her arms were still folded on her bump but the anger was fading from her eyes when she looked down at him.

(Y/n) let her head lean to the right against Eddie when he perched down on the arm of the sofa and draped an arm around the back of her shoulders.

"Baby, they know about all of you, I just… my mum can be spiteful when she wants to be. I promise when she finally decides to answer my calls, they'll know about bubba." He leaned forward a little more until his hands were cupping (Y/n)'s stomach and he lifted her -Tommy's- shirt so his lips could attach to her bump.

He wasn't deliberately doing this on purpose, he wasn't avoiding his parents but when they didn't answer him, he got more and more reluctant to call. It seemed pointless. He just wanted to enjoy being with his family without his parents ruining his mood. And he didn't want to invite them to the baby shower next week. They wouldn't understand.

It was only a small gathering. Eddie's parents were actually coming down and they promised to be civil, they were making the effort, mainly because Chris had rung them and asked if they were going. Hearing Chris be so happy and affectionate and proud to be a big brother melted their hearts.

Maddie was coming, she was organising the whole day, much to Evan's disappointment because he wanted to do it at first, but he got told he wasn't allowed to organise a party for himself.

The team were coming too. All of them had been surprisingly happy and accepting of their poly relationship. And Tommy had invited a few close friends from the 217 who were happy for him and understood his family and relationship.

It was going to be a good day, Evan didn't want his parents ruining any aspect of it.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek on Eddie's thigh and smiled softly when she felt his fingers carding through her hair. While Evan smiled against her stomach and whispered something far too quietly for her to make out. All the boyos had taken to whispering to the baby like it was a game, seeing what they could get away with that (Y/n) wouldn't be able to hear. Most of the time she heard them, but sometimes she didn't and their cheeky smiles made her curious what they were saying to their baby.

At least, even if their grandparents weren't as involved or loving, this baby was going to have four doting parents.

***

(Y/n) tilted her chin down towards her chest and let her eyes fall closed. Her ears blanked out the music playing softly in the background and focused on the sound the water made when it cascaded down her skin and trickled in odd formations around her elbows.

Her hand cupped the back of her neck and her other hand moved down to smooth across her stomach she inhaled the steam, hoping it would ward off the headache she had felt all morning.

Time seemed to drag since Evan and Eddie left this morning and (Y/n) had tried to tidy up and do some general cleaning, but her head started to cloud over and she started to feel tired. A shower was always the best option when she felt like this. She was hoping to wake herself up a bit more and tidy up before Tommy came home.

Eddie and Evan would be on shift until late tonight which meant they would be having dinner at the station and since Chris was having a sleepover with a friend tonight, that left (Y/n) and Tommy home for dinner.

He had been on shift since five this morning and he would be home soon so (Y/n) thought a shower would be her best option. She didn't want to take a power nap, unlike any of the boys, sleeping during the day made (Y/n) feel worse. But in their line of work, all three of the boys needed a few hours here and there if they did night shifts or pulled a double.

Her fingers danced across her stomach as she tried to focus on the music and hum along. She always preferred a shower when one of the boys joined her, it didn't feel right taking one alone.

She could only just hear the music playing on her phone over the harsh sound of the water spraying all around her but (Y/n) liked background noise, she didn't like silence.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and turned slowly. She had been under the water for ten minutes too long now, it was time to get washed and get out before she stayed under here forever and fell asleep or shrivelled up like a prune.

She shuffled towards the other end of the bath where the shower gels were, and Chris's crazy soap that he had called 'snow' since he was little. They bought at least three cans of that soap a week because he loved to mess with it and pretend to make drinks and generally make a mess whenever he had a bath.

Her foot slipped.

A sound resembling a scream got caught in the back of her throat and everything turned to static when she fell.

Both arms flapped out to try and make her landing less harsh, but there wasn't anything to grab onto and she was crashing down into the bottom of the tub faster than she could try and save herself. The left side of her head smashed into the edge of the tub, creating a resounding bang to echo off the tiles.

Her elbows whacked into the sides of the tub and sent shockwaves rattling through her bones as both arms jolted and spasmed from the shock.

A twinge pulled at her lower back when she landed with an ungodly thud, but it was the agony in her left ankle that made her scream.

"Fuck," (Y/n) whined, keeping her eyes closed as she tried to gasp for the air that got knocked out of her. It took a minute or so until she gained enough breath to stop her lungs from burning and she found the energy to open her eyes and lift her head.

Suddenly, the hot water felt scolding and the droplets were harsh like bullets firing down on her. The tub felt oddly small and cramped. It felt like it was shrinking. How had (Y/n) fit in here with Eddie last week when right now she didn't feel like she could lay in here properly on her own.

Her elbows twinged and ached when she tried to level them on either side of the bathtub to push herself up, but she didn't hold the strength just yet. Her body slid back down and she slumped her head back, letting the tears stream down her face as a quiet sob burned at the back of her throat.

Thank God the house was detached and the neighbours wouldn't be close enough to hear this. That would be the last thing (Y/n) needed.

She felt the baby give out a kick and she flopped her hand on her stomach, rubbing circles as she willed herself not to throw up. She had unintentionally woken the baby, as long as that was all she had done. Her heart gave out an extra two beats and hammered against her ribs at the thought of something happening to the baby.

She hadn't landed on her stomach or whacked her stomach against the bath. The baby would be alright, wouldn't they?

They were only six and a half months along, (Y/n) couldn't afford to have any complications now. She couldn't go off work yet or go in hospital or be put on bed rest, and she certainly couldn't have the baby yet. They had to be okay.

"Up. Get up." She coached herself through sobs that rolled past her lips at how her body was aching and pulsing like she was a boombox.

She couldn't help herself. Little bubbling sobs and whimpers passed through her lips and made her chest quake but each movement made her ribs ache and her muscles burned.

Why did all three of her boys have to be at work when (Y/n) fell? Why did she have to be such an accident prone? Why had she let herself get into this situation when she was home alone?

Tears burned down her face like acid and horrid cries gurgled past her lips.

Her hands grabbed the sides of the tub and she tried once again to pull herself up, but her arms started to shake and her back felt horrid. But she managed it. She just about managed to sit up and slump her back against the edge of the tub so she was sitting up rather than crumpled down like a flannel.

"Oh no," Gasps tumbled past her lips when she looked down at her left ankle.

Great.

It was swelling up. Her foot was expanding like it was full of water and was going to pop. Her ankle was starting to grow and expand, trying to match the size of her baby bump.

The moment she tried to plant both feet down on the floor, a twinge shot up her foot right to her hip and she cried out. Her legs trembled and she dropped her knees, letting her legs slump back down.

She couldn't stand up.

There was no way (Y/n) was going to be able to get herself stood up or leant up on one foot. Her left ankle had twisted, she might have torn a muscle, God forbid she might have broken her ankle. She prayed she hadn't. (Y/n) was pregnant, she couldn't be hobbling around with a cast on her ankle. She had Chris to look after. If she was out of action one of the boys would have to stay home to help her and (Y/n) couldn't be a burden.

If she couldn't stand up or get herself out of the bath, she was going to have to call someone.

Groaning, (Y/n) twisted and flopped until she was laid on her right side but even a twisting motion sent shockwaves through her ankle and had her gasping.

Her chest pressed uncomfortably into the side of the tub and she propped her chin on the edge, hating how it dug into her throat, but she didn't have any other choice. Trembles rocked through her body as she flapped her hand out, trying to find her phone that was resting on the unit beside the bath. She had to have it close by so she could switch songs.

Her fingers curled around her phone and she dragged it off the side, staring at the screen through blurring tears as she clicked off the music app and onto contacts.

She couldn't call 911.

If she did that, strangers would barge into her home. (Y/n) didn't want strangers coming in and trying to touch her, she could barely hold a conversation with new people. Having them come into her home and lift her out of the bath and assess her was not something she could do. That was why she and Evan loved having Eddie as a medic, they didn't have to socialise or go to the doctor for minor injuries when Eddie could just take care of them.

And she was naked. (Y/n) didn't have any clothes with her in the bathroom and there was no way she was having strangers coming in seeing her laid naked in the bath.

She needed one of her boys.

Tommy was her first thought and she clicked on his contact, biting her lip to stop from screaming when her foot started to twitch.

He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. He would be finishing his shift around about now, that meant he was either getting changed, getting a shower or already on his way home. "Please be coming home," (Y/n) murmured when she hung up.

Lying here waiting for him wasn't ideal, so her thumb swiped over Eddie's contact. It rang, and rang, and rang. He didn't answer. He was at work, he would probably be out on a call and they didn't always take their phones with them on calls in case they lost them or dropped and smashed them- something Chimney often did.

"Evan, please," She willed him to pick up, he was her last shot. But again, she got no answer.

Another scream left her lips which ended in a ragged sob and she dropped her phone onto the bath mat beneath her. Still close enough to reach if needed, but she couldn't sit and ring them all until someone answered.

She was going to have to wait until Tommy came home.

With a huff, (Y/n) flopped her arm behind her and turned off the shower, glad the tap was next to the bath tap or else she wouldn't have been able to reach to turn it off.

She was thankful she had left her towel on the floor beside the bath so it was easy to grab when she got out. Her arm stretched out over the side and she grabbed the towel, yanking it over until she could drape it over herself like a blanket.

"Tommy, please, hurry up."

***

Tommy's shoulders sagged the moment he walked through the door. He let his bag drop to the floor next to the shoe rack and he let his torso hit the door with a bang so he could kick his boots off.

He wanted to go to bed.

Nine of his twelve hours at work had been spent flying from emergency to emergency, and the last few hours were spent switching between joining in on a call out to a burning building and helping clean the station. He was done. He was ready for a whole five days off which couldn't have come sooner.

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the rack before his brows furrowed and he took a moment to listen.

The tv wasn't on. The radio wasn't playing. He couldn't hear anything.

Tommy knew Chris wouldn't be here, his step-son was out at a sleepover after school today so naturally the house was a bit quieter without him. And he remembered both Evan and Eddie were on shift today and wouldn't be home until tonight. The four of them had a movie night planned for when the boys finished work.

But usually there was some kind of noise when he came home. (Y/n) didn't like silence. He thought she would have been watching tv or cleaning or doing crafts with the radio on, but he couldn't see or hear anything.

"Anyone home?" He plodded through the hall and peered into the living room, but the tv was off and there were no books or crafts or notepads scattered about anywhere to suggest (Y/n) had been in there.

She wasn't in the kitchen or the dining room either. Either she had gone out or she was having a nap.

"Tommy?"

A smile fluttered across his tired lips and he straightened his back, clicking his spine into place as he headed down the hall, following (Y/n)'s faint voice that called out to him like a siren.

"You okay honey?" He rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, about to walk past towards the bedroom to get changed until he heard her mewl his name again, croaky this time.

Was she crying?

"Honey, what's wrong?" He twisted back to face the door, sighing in relief when the door opened. He knew (Y/n) had a habit of locking the door sometimes, even when she was home alone. He didn't want to have to break the lock- again- and have to fix it a second time in less than a year. Last time he broke it because (Y/n) had passed out with the door locked.

Tommy opened the door and took a look around, but he wasn't expecting the sight he was greeted with.

(Y/n) was laid in the bath, her chin and one arm were draped over the side of the tub. Tears were streaked down her face and she was hiccupping through her breaths but it was the sorrow mixing with agony in her eyes that set Tommy's heart on fire.

"Honey, what's the matter?" He walked over and crouched down beside the tub, folding his arms over the edge.

But the smile he tried to fake dimmed when he realised there was no water in the bath. She wasn't laid soaking in the bath, she was curled up in an empty tub with a towel scrunched up across her chest. The only part of her that was wet was her hair that was becoming crimped and tangled.

"I slipped… T-Tommy I can't get up." Her eyes darted down to her legs and she felt Tommy lean over her so he could see what she was looking at.

He hissed, taking a sharp breath when he noticed how swollen her left ankle was. Her foot looked like a balloon.

"Fuck- how long have you been laid here?" His hand slid down to cup the side of her neck and he smoothed his thumb across her jaw, taking in the sight of her. She was trembling but he wasn't sure if it was because she was cold or from the shock setting in.

How long had she been laid like this, waiting for him to come home? She could have made herself worse waiting. Had she been sat here in agony, panicking and waiting for him to get back?

"Not long… I couldn't get hold of any of you."

"Baby you could have called 911, you know this is kind of an emergency if you're stuck or hurt."

"I don't have any clothes in here. I'm not having some s-stranger see or move me like this, Tommy please-" Tears welled up in her eyes again but she snapped her eyes closed when both Tommy's hands moved to cup her face. His thumbs brushed beneath her eyes, swiping away the few stray droplets before he pressed a wet kiss to her temple.

He could see (Y/n) wasn't in mass agony, she didn't have any wounds or profusive cuts or broken bones sticking out. And she clearly wasn't crippled with agony from any internal wounds, if that was the case he knew she would have called 911. But he didn't like the thought of her having to wait for him to come home when she was hurt.

He understood. Having multiple strangers trying to grab and help her when she was naked wasn't an ideal situation and Tommy didn't like that thought either.

At least if it was him or Eddie or Evan, no strangers were getting an eyeful of their girlfriend and she was safe and comfortable this way.

"Okay, okay honey, I'm sorry." He kissed her temple again and gently tilted her head back so he could peck her lips. "What about the baby? Are you having any pains?"

(Y/n) leaned her cheek on Tommy's arm, watching the way his nose crinkled as he let go of her face so he could trail his hand down her side. He tossed the towel towards the other end of the bath so he could see her stomach and trace his fingertips along her bump.

She didn't flinch away from his touch and he couldn't feel anything such as a hernia or unusually warm patches indicating a bleed. All of that was a good sign.

"No, no pains. They're moving, t-that's good, right?"

"Yeah, that's a good sign. What about your ankle, can you move it at all?"

Tommy leaned his abdomen over the edge of the bath so it dug uncomfortably into his skin. He managed to stretch and pepper a few kisses to her stomach before he pushed up on his knees so he could check her legs and her ankle.

She had no other cuts or bruises and her right leg seemed fine which was good. But when he tried to touch her ankle, her leg jolted and spasmed away from his touch and she cried out. Her nails pierced into his bicep as she started to shake.

"I can't, it kills."

"Alright, then I'm gonna have to take you to hospital to get that checked, and make sure bubba's okay."

He pulled away from her ankle, not wanting to touch and assess it and cause any unnecessary pain. He needed to get her down to the hospital, she would need an X-ray and someone to see whether she had torn any ligaments or not. And he wanted to get the baby checked over, feeling movement was good, but there could still be complications or problems from a fall.

"I can't get up," (Y/n) whispered quietly while her eyes stayed focused on Tommy's bicep.

She didn't want him to have to lift her out the bath, but she didn't have much choice. She needed help and if she couldn't even touch her ankle, there was no way she was going to be able to stand up and put any weight on it either.

"That's why you've got three firefighters who can carry you if you fall." His lips formed a soft but nevertheless cheeky grin and he carefully held her wrists and looped her arms around the back of his neck. "Okay, let's get you out of here, honey."

(Y/n) leaned forward, burrowing her face into Tommy's shoulder. She didn't like the thought of any of the boys having to carry her anywhere, it made her feel like a burden.

She felt Tommy's arm curve around her waist and his other arm slid beneath her knees, but the feeling of his lips against her temple made (Y/n) relax into him. She tried not to tense too much while Tommy stood up, not huffing or straining at all when he lifted her up.

Her back was going to be sore after this and (Y/n) wouldn't be surprised if it seized up later. Her fingertips pressed into the back of Tommy's neck and she shivered as he smiled softly against her skin.

He took a few steps away from the bath and twisted to the side before he bent his knees and gently lowered (Y/n) down to sit on the toilet.

"I'll grab you some clothes, then we'll get you to the car, okay?"

When she nodded, Tommy gently cupped her chin, tilting her head back enough so he could attach his mouth to hers. His lips felt soft against the chapped edge of (Y/n)'s lower lip that she had picked and bitten out of anxious habit. And she knew Tommy sensed it when his tongue glided across her bottom lip and he pulled it between his teeth.

She could still feel his fingers on her skin when they pulled apart and he left the bathroom.

Her arms bound around her waist as a shiver tore down her spine. She feathered her hand up and down her stomach, feeling the baby practically coming to life, wriggling and kicking until (Y/n) wanted to be sick. She tilted her head down and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

The back of her head was still throbbing from where she caught it on the edge of the tub and (Y/n) was sure she had a lump forming beneath her hair. God, she hoped she hadn't broken her ankle. She prayed it was just a sprain or a pulled tendon because she really didn't want to be hobbling round with a pot on her ankle. Not now. She couldn't be put out like that, at least with a few pulled muscles or just a sprain, the most she would need was a foam boot for support and maybe some crutches if she was unlucky.

"Okay?" Tommy murmured when he walked back in and crouched down in front of her legs.

She lifted her head and managed a pained smile, whispering thank you when he handed her one of Eddie's shirts and her bra. She was careful not to touch the back of her head and she hummed when Tommy kissed her stomach before helping her drag the hem down over her bump.

Her hands moved to her thighs and her lips rolled together when Tommy tried to get her underwear and a pair of his pyjama shorts over her feet.

"Oow." She gripped his shoulder, trying to hold still but tears drenched down her face all over again and she shuddered and coughed when he pulled them up to her thighs.

"Sorry honey, sorry." He pecked her thighs and moved her hands to hold his shoulders so he could grip her hips.

Tommy murmured a soft 'one, two three' before he helped her up, waiting until (Y/n) was balanced on her right foot before he slid his fingertips down her thighs. He could feel her shivering beneath his touch and it made him smile. He dragged her underwear up and settled the shorts just beneath her bump.

With a kiss to her temple, Tommy shifted them round so he was stood behind (Y/n) with his chest flush against her back, allowing her to lean back on him for support.

She reached her hands down to hold onto Tommy's arms while her body tilted to the right, keeping her weight balanced on her right leg. Her left leg bent up behind her so her foot was hovering above the ground.

This wasn't going to be easy. (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to move forward, leaning as little weight as possible onto her toes on her left foot, but it didn't work. Such a small weight made her knee buckle and had sparks shooting up her nerves, igniting her ankle and foot with a white hot pain that made her cringe.

"Honey…" Tommy drawled quietly, giving her hips a squeeze when he saw how much pain she was in.

He arched a brow and sighed when (Y/n) tried to shuffle and hop on her right foot. This was going to take hours if she was going to try and hop around like this. She was pregnant and clearly in pain, (Y/n) wasn't in any fit state to try hopping and unbalancing herself like this to try and be independent.

"I can do it-"

"Honey, if you think I'm gonna let you hop on one foot when you're nearly seven months pregnant, you can think again. Either I carry you or you damage your other ankle, now what's it gonna be?"

The gritty tone in Tommy's voice had (Y/n) shivering and she reached out for the door to steady herself before gingerly looking up at him over her shoulder. Maybe having some help might be a better idea. He was right, she was going to hurt herself and Tommy was going to pick her up whether she agreed with him or not.

She sighed and lowered her head down until her face was pressed into Tommy's chest. She turned in his arms again and pushed up into his chest, feeling his hands trail across her bum, going down until he hand a good grip on the back of her thighs.

He lifted her in one swoop, holding her waist on his torso with her legs sat on his hips, trying to be careful to keep her left leg extended so it didn't catch on anything. (Y/n) looped her arms tightly around Tommy's neck and tucked her face into his shoulder, nudging the collar of his shirt out the way so she could attach her lips to his neck.

"You know I can carry Evan, right? You and bubba are no match for him. He's heavy." Tommy spoke quietly into her hair as he made a beeline for the front door. He didn't want (Y/n) worrying or thinking he or the boys couldn't help her.

All three of them could lift her up no problem and Tommy would rather carry her than risk her hurting herself or the baby.

He made sure he had his phone and wallet in his back pocket before he grabbed his keys and walked out the front door, his girl safe in his arms, clinging to his chest.

***

"Hey babe, you both okay? You said to call." Eddie leaned his shoulders back against the locker, folding one arm over his chest and propping his foot up behind him on the locker.

He could feel his chest heaving and his throat was burning, desperate to go and get a drink. But just out of habit, he checked his phone when he got changed in the locker room. A missed call from (Y/n), two missed calls from Tommy and a text saying:

'Call me when you're on break please. X'

That was enough to get Eddie on edge and cause panic to surge through his chest and dwell in his stomach. It didn't sound good. Tommy never usually asked to call when they were on shift, it was usually Evan trying to ring either of them because he had some interesting fact or some exciting news he couldn't wait to explain.

"Yeah about that, babe… we're in the emergency room right now. There's been an accident."

Eddie felt like his heart had turned into a drum. Each heartbeat physically pained him and he could feel the blood pounding in his neck and rushing round his head and down to his gut.

He reached his hand out and smacked Evan's shoulder when his partner was about to walk past him. He watched Evan's head snap to the side and a frown pulled at his lips as he looked at Eddie, brows furrowed, questions burning in his eyes.

Walking forward, Evan slouched his left arm against the locker and leaned until his chest was pressing into Eddie's arm. He perched his chin on his partner's shoulder, mumbling a quiet "Who is it?" as his chin ticked towards the phone.

"Tommy, they're at the hospital." Eddie tried not to roll his eyes when Evan's head tilted up so fast he almost clocked Eddie in the nose. "Babe what happened?" He tried to listen closely for Tommy's reply but he huffed, locking his jaw when Evan grabbed the phone off him and set it on speaker.

"What's wrong? Are you both okay, babe what's going on?"

The nerves in Tommy's stomach swarmed like butterflies when he heard Evan's panicked, high tone come through the receiver.

"(Y/n) had a fall in the shower, her ankle's messed up so I brought her down here. She's had a scan, the baby's fine. They're gonna send her for an X-ray soon so don't go panicking-"

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Leaning her head to the right, (Y/n) nuzzled her cheek against Tommy's arm and wrapped both hands around his bicep. She felt his other arm curve around the back of her shoulders and he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. But both of them looked up when the door opened and heavy footsteps pounded into the room.

Evan had his left hand tangled in Eddie's, tugging to the point he was about to dislocate his partner's shoulder. Eddie sighed when they were finally in the room and he didn't have to be dragged along by one of his boyfriends like a puppy on a leash. He shook his hand out at his side, trying to get some feeling back in his fingers.

"Are you okay?" The words tumbled past Evan's lips as his chest heaved and he finally let go of Eddie's hand so he could stand beside the bed.

He reached out for Tommy's shoulder and planted a quick kiss to his cheek, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he looked down at (Y/n). Her clothes were mix-matched, a plain white top and some dark purple shorts, both of which belonged to the boys. Her hair was tied up messily with damp strands hanging loose around her face.

The pain was evident in her eyes, but she looked calm considering they were all in the hospital. None of them liked being here, all four of them had bad experiences with hospitals.

"Dios, mi amor, how bad did you fall?" Eddie breathed through each word, frowning when he looked down at her ankles.

She was sat upright on the bed in the middle of the assessment cubicle with her left ankle swollen three times its usual size. Her foot was also enlarged, both legs were shaking and Eddie noticed a black cast boot in the corner of the room. He could only presume she had been for the X-ray and that there was clearly some damage done.

When Evan heard Eddie's words, he twisted to the right and looked down at (Y/n) ankle. His lips scrunched up, his nose twitched and he visibly shuddered at the sight. That didn't look good. That wasn't a good combination with a pregnancy.

"Is it broken?" He didn't want to ask and he wasn't sure he was going to like the answer. His puppy dog eyes looked up at Tommy rather than (Y/n) who still looked shaken up and he had a feeling if it was broken, (Y/n) would try and play it down.

"No, thank God. Torn ligament though, three weeks in a boot." Tommy pointed down towards the boot (Y/n) was going to be confined in for the next month.

He knew she wasn't going to be happy, and it wasn't going to be easy for her since she was pregnant and they all had Chris to look after. But it was much better than a break and needing a pot. At least the boot could be taken off, (Y/n) wouldn't need to wear it twenty four seven, it could come off when she was resting and she needed to be resting more than usual now.

(Y/n) dropped her eyes down to her hands no her lap and focused on dragging her nails up and down her thighs until she felt the bed creak on the left. Her gaze stayed intently on her hands until Eddie reached out to tangle their fingers together.

The way he looked at her made her stomach flip. One brow arched, a hint of a smile playing on his lips but it was so soft, so caring and understanding. He gave her hand a squeeze and grazed his fingertips over the back of her knuckles.

"How you feeling?"

"Sore." Her arms pinned to her sides and her head leaned to the side when Eddie tilted in close.

He let go of her hand so he could brush his fingertips along her jaw but when he went to cup the back of her head, (Y/n) couldn't help but wince. Her teeth sank down on her lower lip and she cringed, feeling his fingers brush over the tender spot at the back of her head.

"Did you hit your head too?" Concern dripped from his voice as he leaned over until his chest was less than an inch away from hers. (Y/n) could see and feel each breath Eddie took as he tried to examine her head without causing her any further discomfort.

"You didn't tell me that."

(Y/n) looked up at Tommy through her lashes, giving him her sweetest smile while he swatted his hand down against her thigh with a quiet tut.

"I'm okay, I just wanna go home… can we go?"

"Are we sure you and bubba are alright?" Evan leaned over, arching his lower back out into Tommy while he pecked (Y/n)'s lips and moved his hand to her stomach. He and Eddie hadn't been here when (Y/n) had her ultrasound, they wanted to know for sure and be certain that the baby was okay before they thought about taking (Y/n) home.

A shiver tore down Evan's spine when he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and he grinned when Tommy's lips attached to the back of his neck. Right in the centre that acted as a button to turn Evan's nerves to jelly. He cast a glance over his shoulder while Tommy squeezed his shoulders and smiled.

"We're just waiting for discharge papers, the scan was clear. No bleeding and a strong heartbeat."

Tommy had been a little more than surprised that the scan had shown no problems at all. There was no bleeding, no fluids lost, the baby hadn't even moved and the placenta was in tact. Everything was fine when Tommy had been expecting some sort of problem, he thought a fall and a harsh landing like (Y/n) took would have jostled or unsettled the baby.

They were all lucky, no complications and thankfully no broken bones, all they needed was a doctor to sign them off and the four of them could head home.

"I guess this means no more showering alone, huh?" (Y/n) sat up a little straighter on the bed, watching with a blushing smile as Eddie reached for the boot to help get it on her ankle without too much discomfort.

The three of them shared a look before their eyes found their way back to the girl who held all their hearts in her hands.

"You kidding? This means you're not leaving our sights for the next month, baby girl."