#that just means TWO chapters of mostly fluff then

[toiletclown]

reciprocation.

spencer agnew x f!reader, enemies to lovers for anon.

mostly fluff, but there is angst (in my opinion)

summary: it started innocuous. a well-meaning question from your best friend. it all spiraled from there.

there are some things in life that are universally true and agreed upon. the sky is blue. the grass is green. and you and spencer agnew hate each other. when your closest friends grow tired of this nonsense, they hatch a plan. it's unlikely, silly, even. but it works.

word count: 13.6k (yes i'm posting this as a one-shot, not multi-chaptered, sorry lol)

────୨ৎ────

"does the whole 'hating spencer' schtick ever get tired to you?" angela asked one day, while the two of you were out to lunch.

it was a sunny day, as usual, and you started sweating through your tank top just a little harder. perhaps the sun came out from behind a stray cloud.

"i'm sorry?" was your response, followed by a forkful of pasta.

"y'know, this weird bit you guys have going on." ang stared at you, analyzing your face, looking for a reaction.

all she saw was confusion. "i'm not... sure what you mean? we don't have 'a bit'. we aren't friends. kind of hard to have an inside joke when you only spend time together on camera. and half the time i drown him out anyway," you shrugged. neither of you liked each other, and that was fine. you were used to it, and the familiarity was nice. smosh was a very busy and ever-changing job. being able to rely on that was kind of nice. you were never a fan of change, anyway.

"wait, so you and spencer actually dislike each other? like, for real?" your best friend looked genuinely taken aback. you weren't sure why, you had thought it was fairly obvious that the two of you didn't get along.

"yes, we actually dislike each other 'like, for real', angela. i thought that was clear, you've seen the way we interact." you were gathering up another forkful of pasta, and angela started laughing. "why the fuck are you laughing?"

"because it's comical? i thought it was a bit! i thought you two were friends and it was just, like, a long, drawn-out joke, honestly."

"why on earth would you think that it was a bit, ang? i'm a good comedian but i'm not that great of a liar. i wouldn't be able to keep up a conspiracy like that. i fear that’s too much work for me." you ate your forkful finally. angela was still looking at you in disbelief, a few small cackles escaping her now and then.

"yeah, that's fair. crazy bit to commit so hard to, i guess. wait, so why don't you like him?" the brunette had abandoned her pasta at this point, bowl pushed slightly out of the way so she can gesticulate with freedom. "and why doesn't he like you? are you secretly middle school rivals? rivals in some niche video game scene? did he outbid you on a guitar on ebay and now you've vowed to ruin his life?"

you rolled your eyes, lovingly. your favorite thing about angela was how far she could take a joke. picked it up and ran with it. you leaned in, your voice barely audible. "you want to know a secret?"

her eyes widened, leaning in and matching your whisper, "yes, please spill!"

you shifted your eyes from left to right, as though looking for someone who could overhear and ruin your life. you took a deep breath in, preparing to spill… the truth.

"i don't actually know why we hate each other," you whispered, shrugging before sitting back in your chair with an air of finality.

"what?!"

"shh, oh my god, shut the fuck up--"

"what do you mean you don't know?" angela was moving her arms wildly at this point, "why do you still hate him then? does he know? what the fuck?"

"babe, i need you to calm down, we are still very much in a public restaurant--"

"and? spill, bitch, or you're paying the full bill."

"fine! god. i genuinely cannot tell you why we hate each other. yes, we do really hate each other. yes, he knows i hate him, and yes, i know he hates me. that has been the only thing we have ever agreed upon in our entire time at smosh. no, we aren't secretly hate fucking. no, i don't have his number, we only talk at and about work so we use slack. no, i don't know why the hate is mutual, i just know that it is. no, i don't plan on trying to change that any time soon. happy?"

before she could respond with what was likely another barrage of questions, your server came to the table and sat the bill down in front of angela.

"they always assume that i'm paying, what the hell?"

you were glad for the distraction.

✰ .ᐟ

"hello and welcome to you posted that? you posted that is a show where we embarrass our guests with their old, cringy, insane social media posts!" the room filled with cheers as ian intro'd the show, and you were so excited to finally be on it. but you also were nervous to see what they dug from the depths of your twitter.

"joining us today..." ian faked a drumroll on the podium, "our first guest is trevor evarts!"

"please don't bring up any of my rhett and link tweets," he said with a wave.

ian drumrolled again, "second up, we have shayne topp!"

"glad to be here, steve."

"and last but not least, y/n!"

"i am terrified." you said, being sure to stare down the camera, a look of anxiety on your face. you were playing it up, but it was definitely real to a degree. you had said a lot of cringy shit in your younger years. not to mention the not-so-uncommon complaints about a certain coworker. ian wouldn’t do that to you, though. right?

"terrified?” ian scanned the contestant's faces. “is anyone else feeling terrified?"

"not really, steve. i'm proud of what i've done and said and i'll stand by it no matter what. if i don't stand up for myself, who will, you know?" shayne said, clearly doing a character. a slightly intoxicated, far too excited game show contestant. you kind of loved it.

"my name is ian, and i think you know that, shayne. why are you terrified, y/n?" ian turned to you, egging you on.

"i was a shit head as a kid, i don't know how far back you dug!"

"alright then, let's get into the first round." ian explained the rules of the round, and each of you listened intently despite knowing them well.

"trevor. you tweeted, 'my two [blank] need to [blank] before i [blank blank blank].’ and i will give you a hint, this was a tweet from about a year ago."

"why does he get a hint right away!" you called out.

"he's not very bright, y/n, i'm sure you understand." ian replied, prompting trevor to make a few noises.

"be nice to me?"

ian turned back to trevor, mischievous glint in his eye. "y/n's not very bright, trev, i'm sure you understand."

"be nice to me?" you all started laughing, and once it died down trevor made his guess.

"okay, i'll take 'my two coworkers need to fuck before i explode them both' for five points, alex!"

"i remain ian, but let's reveal that tweet!"

"holy fuck," you said under your breath, realizing he got it right on the money. "how did you manage to remember the exact wording? i don't remember what i had for breakfast yesterday. oh my god, i'm gonna lose so hard at this!" you weren’t even playing it up now, you were actually getting worried. you were going to lose, and by a lot. hopefully you can attribute your lack of skill to the now-infamous gas leak.

"because these two coworkers still haven't fucked and i still want to explode them, honestly," trevor breathed out, seemingly annoyed at the two coworkers in question.

ian giggled behind the podium, a strangely worrisome sound, and you and shayne glanced at each other in shared horror. "trevor,” ian paused, multiplying the level of suspense you were already feeling. “for an extra fifty points, do you want to tell us who the coworkers are? we'll bleep it."

"fifty points?!" shayne yelled, playfully incensed by this rule breaking.

"just take me out back like ol yeller, i beg." you set you head on the podium, which wasn't exactly a comfortable angle, but this wasn't going to be as fun as you thought if ian was going to play dirty the whole game.

the room erupted in laughter as trevor pondered his choice. "no, i won't. i don't want to start anything, fifty points is nothin' compared to my pals at smosh!"

you all booed him, lovingly, and ian giggled again. "shayne, for an extra fifty points, can you guess the coworkers trevor's tweet is about?"

"do you know who it's about?" shayne asked, confused.

"oh, i think everyone in this room does," ian's grin was devilish, relishing in the chaos he was causing. he's been watching too much game changer.

"okay, i'll guess for fifty points. is it angela and amanda?" the room erupted once more, angela's laugh heard loud and clear on every mic.

"incorrect! okay, let's see your post, shayne!"

"wait, i don't get to guess?" you cut in, feeling a little bit excluded from the joke.

"would you like to?" ian asked, earnest, though that devilish smile was still fixed to his mug.

you thought about it for a second. "actually, i'm good. i think my choices are too controversial. y'all aren't ready for my vision."

everyone laughed, and the game moved on.

"shayne. your tweet says: '[blank] is overrated. [blank] is cooler.'"

shayne's silence dragged on, and ian asked if he had a guess. after a beat, shayne stood stock straight up, ready to answer.

"steve, my answer is. 'steak is overrated. chicken is cooler.' for five points."

"let's see..."

ian revealed the next slide, and a slide whistle sound effect played. “oh, that’s too bad shayne. the correct answer was ‘penis is overrated. dick is cooler.�� so close, so close. alright, y/n, it’s your turn!”

you were feeling a little better now that shayne had gotten his wrong. maybe trevor would win, but it didn’t have to be a huge blowout, right?

“y/n, your tweet says ‘i need [blank] to [blank blank] or i will [blank] in [blank blank].’ this seems evil, y/n, if i’m being honest.” ian’s wicked smirk was still firmly planted; he was playing dirtier than you ever thought him capable of. 

“what’s genuinely crazy is i’ve been so worried that i would not remember anything i’ve ever tweeted, but i actually do remember this one!” you laughed hard and loud, but then you remembered you did in fact have to tell everyone what it said. you could lie, but they’d just reveal it after anyway, and you had made a big stink about knowing it now… all you could do was fill in the damn blanks. “okay, it says ‘i need noomf–”

“you need what?” shayne asked, incredulous.

“noomf, it means ‘not one of my followers’ instead of oomf, which is ‘one of my followers’. anyway, ‘i need noomf to fuck off or i will piss in his kickstart’.” you covered your face with your hands, genuinely embarrassed. this would all be a good laugh after shooting wrapped, but in the moment you just wanted to scream a bit.

ian decided to go full little shit mode and not even make a comment, just click to the next slide showing that you were correct. every word. “five points for y/n!”

“oh, fuck, i forgot i was getting points for that. i’ll stop moping now!” you laughed, pushing yourself back into your camera persona, bright and light and happy. you could feel spencer’s daggers in the back of your skull all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

everyone broke for lunch after the finishing the shoot, and angela and courtney were the first to harass you. 

“bro, you tweeted that you would piss in his kickstart?” courtney started. 

“you guys don’t follow each other on socials?” angela then asked. 

court took another turn next, “do you guys not talk outside of work at all?” 

“no! they only talk about work so they always talk through slack!” angela was kind enough to explain your point from lunch the other day.

you stood there, tapping your foot. a bit comical, but a flair for the dramatic never hurt anybody, especially not in this industry. “are we done here? can i go get my food now?” you asked, no venom. “here, let’s just eat together and you can ask all your silly little questions. can’t promise i’ll have an answer for everything, but i’ll do what i can.”

you all lined up at the catering tables and grabbed some food, then found your way to an empty table to start this awful discussion.

you decided some rules needed to be put in place, because as much as you loved angela and courtney, you really didn’t want this to blow up into some ‘big thing’. coworker feuds happen in every office setting, it’s inevitable. it doesn’t need to be a whole situation, in your opinion.

“okay, before we start i’m going to lay some ground rules. you can ask whatever questions you want, but i’m allowed to not answer certain ones. whatever is said at this table, remains at this table, forever. and finally, i beg y’all to speak at a normal volume and not freak out for no reason. i do not need the whole company knowing my business. i’m sure you understand.”

they both nodded, and you decided to get courtney up to speed in case they had a question angela had asked you at lunch the other day, which was likely. now that you thought about it, angela was the only person you had really talked about it with. no one else you worked with seemed to mind, or care, so you didn’t think you’d ever need to answer any questions about it.

“court, before we start, angela actually ambushed me about this the other day so i do already have a few frequently asked questions answered. no, it isn’t a bit. we don’t have any friendship at all. we do not speak outside of work. i’ve never seen him outside of work. we do not have each other’s numbers. we do not follow each other on social media. we aren’t secretly dating. yes, we do hate each other, and, yes, it’s mutual. but… no, i don’t have a reason why.” you were fairly out of breath by the end of your rant, and courtney gave you a moment to catch back up.

“you don’t have a reason why? how can you both hate each other for no reason?” their voice was soft, caring. it burned.

a sigh escaped you. “as far as i know, neither me nor spencer have a ‘reason’ for hating each other. but it’s just a truth at this point. we hate each other, so we don’t interact outside of work. we play nice for the camera, but only because it wouldn’t really be entertaining if we didn’t. some truths are just truths. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and me and spencer hate each other.” you took a few bites of the salad you grabbed from the line, surprised at how good the dressing was. “holy shit, this dressing is fantastic,” you mumbled, hoping, in vain, to prompt a conversation change.

“like i said, i thought the bickering you guys did on camera was an inside joke. i didn’t know there was real anger behind it,” angela said, seeming a bit sad at this revelation.

you realized once again that you hadn’t actually had an honest conversation about this with anyone. you had never taken the time to flesh out this charade you were playing. “i’m not even sure the anger is real.” you said solemnly, quiet as a mouse. “i think it started as a bit. i’m not sure when it turned real, but it is. i guess.”

angela put her arm around you, sensing your mood drop. “hey, hey. it’s alright. you going to be okay, babe?”

courtney put their hand on yours, which you held. you felt like you were naked on a stage – feeling too vulnerable all too suddenly. after a second longer, you pulled yourself away from both of them. “i’m okay, it’s okay. can we change the topic, though? i… guess i’m not ready to talk about it, or something.”

you zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

✰ .ᐟ

when the day had finally ended, you felt the most immense relief you’ve felt in all your damn life.

finally. time to go home and dick around on your guitar. today provided a lot of feelings for a hopeful writing session. 

everyone at smosh knew you played guitar, but no one knew you wrote original music too. it was the easiest way to process what you were feeling. and if it sounded bad, then it sounded bad. at least you felt better afterwards. you never recorded anything you wrote, because it was a form of therapy for you. you let it all out, you cry, you scream, whatever. then you worked on healing. this was your process, and you loved it.

you were planning out some verses mentally when shayne caught up to you on the way to your car. “hey, y/n! i have a strange question.”

you turned, surprised by his appearance. “sure, shayne. what’s up?” 

“are you seeing anyone right now?”

“why, are you and courtney looking for a third?” you raised an eyebrow, which had shayne giggling. you continued, “no, i’m single. why?” 

“no reason!” shayne yelled, and promptly sprinted away.

“okay, see you tomorrow, i guess!” you shouted after him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you. for such a small man he had a seemingly large stride. he was already halfway across the parking lot when you finished your sentence. “what the hell is this job, anyway?” you muttered, trying to find the melody you had thought of earlier in the day as you drove home in blissful silence.

✰ .ᐟ

alex: yoooo

spencer: what’s up?

alex: kiana’s friend is so your type it’s criminal

spencer: ok?

alex: i’m serious dude she’s like your dream girl!!

spencer: ok?

alex: hi spencer this is your best friend kiana, you have a date with my friend tomorrow at 7pm at our fav chili’s, ok love you!

spencer: i’d rather not

alex: she said shut up and be there or she’s dumping your kickstart stash

spencer: you are both evil.

alex: <3

✰ .ᐟ

you slept like shit last night. again. the past few nights were just not kind to you, and you could tell it was obvious.

“whoa, y/n… do you need to borrow some concealer?” courtney asked upon seeing you in the kitchen this morning. “i’m sure someone has a shade match in the building.”

“gee, thanks, court.” you laughed weakly to yourself, knowing she had nothing but good intentions. “i’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, not sure what’s going on.” you turned around and sighed into your coffee mug, exhausted. “maybe my body is trying to tell me something.”

courtney smiled, then came to lean against the counter next to you.

“you’re single, right?” they questioned, eyes bright.

you sighed again. “yes, just like i told your husband yesterday, i am single.”

“do you have plans tonight?” 

“other than sitting on my couch with my guitar, probably not. perhaps i’ll watch a movie. who’s to say? the world is my oyster.” 

they rolled their eyes at you, but leaned in closer to whisper. “our favorite chili’s, tonight, 7pm. you’re going on a blind date with someone i know very personally, who is perfect for you.”

she was out of the kitchen before you could pick your jaw up off the floor to protest.

✰ .ᐟ

you stood in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. what the hell was going on. courtney had sent you a text fifteen minutes ago, a reminder of why you were standing in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. you had a blind date at chili’s in 45 minutes. what the hell was going on. 

if you were in an alternate universe, perhaps all the dots you were connecting in your brain would turn out to be correct. you felt like that bit in buzzfeed unsolved. 

i’ve connected the dots. 

you haven’t connected shit! 

in an alternate universe, your friends beating the truth out of you about your feud with spencer, then turning around and orchestrating a blind date for you would mean something. and it would mean they were setting you up with spencer. just for a moment, just a sliver of a second, you imagined that universe.

you imagine it all working out.

but then you pull yourself out of it, and start actually getting ready for your date. 

he was probably just another improv actor with a nose ring. and he was probably nice. cute, even. but you couldn’t stop thinking about brown curly hair, piercing eyes, a hydroflask full of kickstart. 

a green smosh hat. a carhartt jacket. stubble. glasses. you loved his glasses, and secretly cursed him when he would wear his contacts. spencer.

your phone vibrated against the counter, painfully reuniting you with reality. “shit.”

you fumbled to answer the call, still feeling lost in the syrupy haze of that alternate universe of yours. “hey, court.” 

“are you on your way? find my friends says you’re still at your place!” they rushed out, and you pulled your phone away from your face to see you had less than 15 minutes to be ready and out the door.

“shit! sorry, i didn’t realize how late it got. i’m finishing up now, i’ll be on my way before you know it.” the silence on the other end was deafening. “i promise! but i have to get off the phone to get ready, okay?” 

“fine. please send me a photo of your outfit before you leave. i love you! bye!” courtney ended the call, and you sighed.

“let’s get this over with.” you mumbled to your empty bathroom.

✰ .ᐟ

spencer was pissed. if his friends didn’t suddenly decide to meddle in his love life, he wouldn’t be on a random side street, a mere three miles from chili’s, replacing his flat fire. at 7:08 pm. he didn’t even want to go on this date, but he also didn’t want to be a dick and show up late. alex and kiana didn’t share any info about this mystery girl so he couldn’t text her to let her know. he decided to call alex as he was getting ready to hoist the spare tire out of his trunk. 

“aren’t you on a date right now?!” alex shouted down the phone, no greeting. spencer rolled his eyes.

“chill, i got a flat tire. i’m down the road, like eight minutes max if traffic is kind to me. can you please let my date know i’m not standing her up, i just have to throw the donut on my car really quick.” he was fiddling with the tire iron while he spoke, suddenly nervous and upset at the prospect of hurting this mystery girl’s feelings. he shoved the emotion down and nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder, a smidge tighter than before. “please just let her know.”

“okay, okay.” alex took a breath in, and spencer could tell they’re relieved that the date isn’t a disaster, but only getting there kind of is. “i’ll let her know.”

they said goodbye, and spencer got back to work on the tire. 

elsewhere, alex texted courtney. 

alex: hey spencer got a flat tire. should be there in like 10-15

courtney: ok i’ll let y/n know!

alex: he called me and i nearly shat my pants

courtney: understandable lol if she called me 10 mins in i’d also be panicking

alex then texted kiana.

alex: spencer is late bc he got a flat tire i’m gonna bomb him

kiana: now, now!! it will work out in the end, grasshopper

alex: dont be weird

kiana: says u

✰ .ᐟ

you looked at your phone again. 7:20. you were on your second glass of water, munching on your chips and salsa and sighing. people were starting to stare at you. look at that poor girl, sipping her water, waiting for someone who isn’t showing up. surely she knows, they thought, surely she knows he’s isn’t coming.

unfortunately, you were still holding out hope. for some reason. you didn’t even want this, your friends just dropped it on you. but now that you were here, you felt hopeful. 

most people who know you wouldn’t exactly call you a romantic, but somewhere buried deep inside you, you longed for companionship. everyone did, to some degree – it was human nature. so you decided that at 7:30, you’d leave. 

even if tearing yourself from the booth would burn like wildfire.

you looked at your phone once more. 7:22. you’d been brooding in silence, alone at this table, and alone in this world. a vibration startled you out of it.

courtney: hey he’s almost there!!! he got a flat tire he should be there in about five mins, ok?? i’m so sorry and so is he!!

your heart rate picked up, that hope reigniting and spreading a warm fire throughout your body. you weren’t being stood up. good.

y/n: ok! thank you for updating me <3

courtney: of course bb i love you sm! have fun! text me all the deets!

as you smiled and steadied your fingers to type a reply, an all too familiar voice rang out. “are you being stood up at chili’s?” it asks.

you involuntarily rolled your eyes, all too easily sliding into this role you play. no one could say you weren’t a good actor. because here you were, slipping under that mask that fit so comfortably. playing a character. because an hour ago, you were hoping it would be him. you wanted it to be him. but now, he was here. which meant you had a role to play, and you would play it well. you’d give him an oscar award-winning performance. 

“please explain how my activities outside of the office are any of your business, spencer.” you deadpanned. it didn’t hit like you wanted it to. “he’s late.”

“scoot. i’m hungry.” he says, and you stare at him.

“i’m sorry?” you admonished.

“scootch over. have you ordered yet?” he asks, casual as all get out. like this was normal, or reasonable. 

you both know your roles. you know your lines. you’ve been off-book for years. what was he doing? he was going so far off script, ad-libbing, completely disregarding the words written for you, the ones you’d both studied and memorized. you were an improv comedian, and yes and-ing was never something you struggled with. but this wasn’t supposed to be improv. this was scripted. heavily. this was not reality tv, this was not whose line, this was a 40-minute sitcom with strict character archetypes, and you both knew your roles. 

while you waited in vain for the non-existent director to yell ‘cut!’, you found yourself moving over and letting him slide into the booth. it didn’t occur to you to just tell him to sit on the opposite side, which was empty. 

despite the warmth of the evening and the restaurant, you felt a shiver up and down your spine.

your server, carissa, came back to the table, and she looked relieved that your ‘date’ had finally arrived. she was probably about 20 years old, and her whole vibe said, “if he doesn’t show up, i’ll kill him for you.” 

“took you long enough, dude,” was her greeting of choice. spencer looked surprised, which caused a laugh to escape you. “what would you like to drink?”

spencer seemed a bit lost for words, but managed to say “just a water, please,” after a not-entirely inaudible swallow.

carissa turned her attention back to you, “did you want to order now? or does mister late as fuck need some more time?” she gestured at spencer with her pen, her voice full of humor. it was entirely opposite of the darker voice she used on spencer.

you loved this girl. “easy on him, carissa. i’m sure he has a good reason.”

spencer looked at you, and you realized you probably should have specified that he actually wasn’t the person you were waiting on. your mind drifts back to that slice of an alternate universe, the one you wanted to slot yourself into for longer than just a fleeting moment. your heart quickened its pace once more, and you silently willed it to calm down.

he doesn’t like you, you thought, solemnly. he likes chili’s. he’s probably here to meet kiana or something. the thought of kiana joining you at dinner was a happy one, usually. you loved her. she was bright and bubbly and she was incredibly smart. you loved listening to her talk. but right now, it almost felt like that little alternate universe and the universe you’re currently stuck in were overlapping for a moment. you wanted to keep this feeling. hold it close.

you zoned back in when spencer started talking, both of you unsure how long you had been looking at each other for. it might have been the first time you both really looked at each other. the glancing and the glaring around the office was short lived. never more than a few seconds. this look felt like it stretched on for years, unending. this wasn’t just the first time you both looked at each other, it might also be the first time you really saw each other.

and, if you were just a bit more unhinged, you’d have said that it felt like home.

“i had a flat tire. i was right down the road but i had to put the spare on, so i’m much later than i wanted to be. i try to be early to dates, but it seems like the world was betting against me tonight.” spencer looked at his lap, sheepish, all of the sudden. it was cute. a soft expression you had no clue he was even capable of. it suited him, emotion. or, emotions other than anger.

“see? that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse,” you replied, which prompted a gasp from spencer. 

you find the roles shifting, no longer are you and spencer coworkers trapped in an office, glaring at each other and attempting niceties on camera. now, you were stepping into the roles of love interests in a rom-com with 80s flair. the quiet, misunderstood girl, and the edgy yet likeable boy. fake dating for some reason or another, only to fall in love for real in the end. the it was always you trope.

you could play this character just as easily as you could play the hateful coworker. maybe this role would win you a sag award. you set it next to your academy award on your imaginary awards shelf.

“it’s not an excuse! it’s a reason. an explanation, if you will.” spencer said, faux-horror in his voice.

“and i will.” you shot back, playing into it. you could fit so comfortably here.

carissa faked a yawn, and you ask her for a triple dipper – mozzarella sticks, big mouth bites, and chicken tenders. spencer had no comment on this, which made you quite happy, oddly enough. 

once carissa had walked away, spencer turned his body to face you a little more, and you felt closed in in the best way possible. he was suffocating you with his presence, but it felt good. safe, even.

you settled into the booth, a little taken aback by his sudden attention. honestly, you paid more attention to him around the office than you would ever admit to anyone. you both had desks in the same pod so you were in proximity at all times, and you looked. a lot. and maybe you pined. maybe… just maybe, you had been pining this whole time. 

“what’s goin’ on up there?” spencer asked, nodding toward you.

“i don’t know,” you replied. it was the truth. you weren’t sure what was going on in your brain, just that you had no urge to stop it. more like an urge to give in.

carissa reappeared with a glass of ice water for spencer. he whispered a soft “thank you” in her direction, but his eyes never left yours. she walked away without a response.

“y’know, i was actually supposed to meet someone here tonight. i should probably tell alex what’s going on.”

your ears perked up at the mention of alex. “why would you tell alex?”

“they’re my best friend?” spencer said, eyes now on his phone. “also, it was a blind date. i don’t have her number,” he explained, frowning. “or her name.” his thumbs were flying across the keyboard, and you watched in silence. you were suddenly enraptured by his hands. 

then, it clicked. “oh my fucking god!” you groaned, which caused spencer to turn his focus back on you. 

“what? what’s wrong?” there was genuine concern in his voice, something you had never heard from him. it stoked the fire inside you, pulling it back up to a dangerous roar. this chili’s would erupt in flames if this continued on for much longer.

in lieu of a response, you simply grabbed your phone off the table, calling courtney and putting the call on speaker.

“hey! how’s it going?” courtney asked, speech stilted with nerves.

“what’s my blind date’s name, courtney?”

you heard spencer mutter something under his breath.

“you’ll know him when you see him! like i said, he had a flat tire. wait, it’s been, like, forty minutes, why isn’t he there yet?” their sentence got quieter as they moved through it, processing in real time.

spencer leaned in, clearly only getting closer to the mic so courtney could hear him, but you’d like to think he wanted to be closer to you, too.

“i’m here, courtney.” was all he said.

“neither of you sound happy…” they moped.

you rolled your eyes affectionately. they meant well, and you said as much. “i know you meant well, honey, but me and spencer have absolutely no chemistry.” there it was again. you switched back to your original role, the one you had spent far too much time in, the one that was closer to home. “this wasn’t a good idea and i think you know that.”

you dared to peek at spencer, who was looking right at you, forlorn. “yeah, court. i appreciate the team effort, but unfortunately me and y/n are just not compatible.” his voice was tight. angry. and just like that, spencer was also back in his original role. perhaps it felt like home to him too, and he also didn’t care for change. some things are just true. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you and spencer agnew hate each other.

for once, you found yourself wishing it wasn't true.

✰ .ᐟ

once you and courtney hung up, you asked carissa for the triple dipper to be to-go, and you and spencer went your separate ways. the whole drive home, the car was silent and so was your brain. normally you’d be crafting melodies and writing bridges, ever the artist. but tonight your brain was turned off. you had to keep it that way, purposefully silencing the thoughts that threatened to burst through. you couldn’t think about the looks spencer gave you. you couldn’t think about the smell of his cologne when he leaned close to talk to courtney. you couldn’t think about the way he apologized. 

i’m sorry about this, y/n. i know that we don’t like each other but i wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

this?

the whole, blind-date-with-my-enemy thing. 

spencer, why are we enemies?

i don’t know, y/n. but i think we both know it needs to stay that way.

it seemed like he had been mentally policing his word choice. careful, stoic. there was emotion in his voice, but not in his face. his jaw was tight. spencer felt bad. despite it all, he didn’t want to hurt you. this was a rejection, plain and simple, but he was being merciful. though, it also felt forced. like this isn’t what he really wants, but it’s how things have to be. a law of the universe, at this point. an intrinsic truth. we can’t be anything other than coworkers and enemies. anything else would be disastrous.

you felt silly, catastrophizing like this. 

as you turned your key in the lock of your front door, your guitar called to you from the corner of the living room.

let it out, it seemed to say, feel your feelings, so you can move on.

and so you did. you changed into some sweatpants and an old crewneck, sat yourself on the floor of your apartment, and got to writing. 

perhaps you would one day add a grammy to your little imaginary awards shelf. an academy award for your coworker enemy character, the breakout role. the sag award for your little lovesick puppy character you got to play tonight, at chili’s. and a grammy. for you. no character, no facade, just you.

but you’d have to record yourself to achieve that. and now wasn't the time for bravery, now was the time for processing and moving on. 

✰ .ᐟ

the next morning, you woke up to a small barrage of messages. mostly courtney apologizing. an apology from shayne as well. a text from ang asking if you were okay. alex, kiana, and amanda also messaged you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep scrolling. until your eyes caught on something new. an unsaved number, who had texted you a mere minute before you woke up.

unsaved: hey. sorry again about last night. 

your heart leapt into your throat, and that fire under your skin was back. you put your phone face down on your nightstand and promptly took a shower.

upon your arrival at work, you were reminded of how fucking gossipy this damn office was. people were throwing you apologetic looks all day, clearly informed on the situation. thirty minutes before your first shoot, ian pulled you to the side.

“hey, y/n. um, is there anything you wanted to talk about? or let me know about?” ian asked, clearly uncomfortable.

you looked at him in confusion, head tilted to the side. “i… don’t think so?” you said it like a question, because it kind of was one. surely one blind date arranged by other coworkers that didn’t even result in a relationship wasn’t cause for concern, right?

“okay, i’ll just ask then. are you and spencer in a relationship? it’s okay, if so, but there’s a lot of paper–”

you cut him off, astounded he even thought to ask such an insane question. “whoa, whoa, whoa. me and spencer are not dating. why on earth gave you that idea?”

ian blushed, and it was quite cute. he clearly felt a little out of his depth, which is silly considering the amount of coworker relationships at smosh. he’s done this at least three times, you think he’d be better at it.

“well i've heard whisperings around the office that you two went on a date last night,” he said.

“and you thought that a date between us would end well?” you asked, a bit astounded. “i'm not even sure why court and them even set it up, it's fairly well known that we don't like each other in the slightest.” internally, you were thinking about the low tone spencer had when he was next to you. boxing you in, commanding your attention. maybe you had been pining this whole time. but that was not anyone else’s business, so you would continue to keep those feelings behind a quadruple-padlocked door, far in the back corner of your brain.

“y/n, can i talk to you as a friend and not as a boss or coworker?” ian dropped his voice, a soft smile on his face.

“of course, ian.”

“i think you know damn well that you and spencer are made for each other.”

“i–”

he cuts you off. “you might have everyone else fooled, and you might even have yourself fooled. but to a degree, i think there’s a part of you that wants that. and it’s okay to want that. to want spencer. it’s okay to want. but if you ask me–”

“i didn’t–”

“but if you ask me,” he bulldozes, committing to saying his piece. “i think it’s also okay to have. it’s right in front of you for the taking, and as much as you can deny it, i think you also know that.”

you were quietly stunned by this emotional, introspective, hopeless romantic version of ian. “i know i can want, ian. i know more than well enough what wanting feels like.” a sigh escapes you, suddenly exhausted. “but i can’t have. not this time, not this one. i can have something else, later down the road. but i can’t have this. i’m not allowed to have this.”

“why not?”

you stayed silent. you hadn’t thought about the why not of it all. it was another one of those things. spencer was an enemy. spencer was off limits. he was forbidden. prohibited. a thing you could want, but never, ever have.

“i just can’t, ian.” you sighed, resigned. you were getting tired of fighting this battle, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

“okay, y/n.” his voice is soft, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “well, when you can, i’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

“i’d never ask that of him.”

“you don’t have to.” ian wrapped you in a hug, and then walked back to whichever office he came from, leaving you in a pile of emotions at the end of the hall.

“what the fuck is happening,” you whispered to yourself. the world was turning upside down, and you were starting to get quite motion sick.

you sat down on a nearby sofa, checking the time. you had to get your mic pack set up in about five minutes, so you tried to use that time to regulate your breathing. in, two, three, four. out, two, three, four. you knew you were shooting a pit video, but you couldn’t remember what it was or who was going to be in it with you. was it a reddit stories today? no, that was thursday… 

“y/n?” erin dougal called. your head snapped up, your thoughts finally simmering to a normal volume. a distraction was welcome, and erin was always up to something.

“yeah, what’s up?” you replied, hoping for some sort of insane tiktok pitch that tommy dreamt up, or some gossip about the caterer she had a thing for. 

“ready for the shoot?” right, your job. guess those five minutes passed faster than you thought. at least you had calmed down substantially.

“oh. yeah, sorry. what are we shooting again?” you hoped she wouldn't rag on you too much for forgetting your shoot schedule. surely she was aware of your current goings-on.

she gaped at you in response. “seriously? we've only been gearing up for this shoot for, like, two months.” 

fuck. today was courtney’s hide and seek shoot. fuck. you had been so wrapped up in the bullshit of this week you had forgotten to even plan a place to hide. 

“oh! right, sorry. not sure how i forgot that.” you stood up, trying to collect yourself, embarrassed.

you followed erin into the small parking lot right outside the office, where everyone was waiting to be let inside. she debriefed you on the general rules, which have been the same since the first hide and seek video. you nodded along, and tried to figure out where the hell you were going to hide.

before you knew it, everyone was rushing inside. you decided to go up into the weird little attic space duran usually hides in, knowing he wasn't set to be in the video. it was a guaranteed easy find, and you didn't really want to be alone with your thoughts for very long. you had a history of being found extremely early on, and you weren’t planning to break that streak. especially not when you had so many other things to deal with right now.

but the universe was never on your side. you climbed up the slightly unstable ladder, using your phone’s flashlight to look for a spot, when you saw him. spencer was already up here, because of course he was.

“no.” was all he said.

“c’mon, this week has been shitty enough. i don't have any other ideas.” you whispered, knowing there wasn't much time left. “i can't find another spot, there's only, like, 20 seconds left.”

“no, y/n.” he was firm in his answer, but you were just as stubborn.

you gathered a bit of courage, and made your way over to him, ducking in the tight space. you sat down right next to him, a fraction of a fraction of a centimeter between you. “yes.”

he rolled his eyes and rested his head on the painted cinder block wall behind him, lids fluttered closed, too tired to fight. you understood that feeling all too well. “fine.”

✰ .ᐟ

turns out, courtney miller is exceptionally terrible at hide and seek. you’d both been waiting in silence to be found for over thirty minutes. if you had known how long you’d have to sit in such close proximity to spencer, you’d have made several different choices. starting with calling out of work today. 

“jesus, court.” you whispered. then, turning to spencer, you spoke just a tad louder. “we’re supposed be recording confessionals, you know.”

“i'm aware,” spencer said. no malice in his voice, though you could tell he tried. his mask was slipping.

you pulled out your phone and clipped your little selfie light onto it. “hey guys, y/n and spencer here. it’s been over thirty minutes at this point, and i don't think courtney’s even entered the kitchen, let alone this fuckass room.”

“fuckass is crazy,” spencer says, in that giggly, drawn out way he always does. you always liked when he did that. it made your stomach do somersaults, for a reason you could never pinpoint.

“are we allowed to hide together? i know lisa and jeremy technically did in shayne’s hide and seek video.” you ask, purely for the content of it all. you couldn’t care less about any of the rules right now. you were next to spencer, and it felt right. fuck the rules. 

“i'm not sur–” a noise erupted from the kitchen, and spencer paused. “they’re hereeee,” he singsonged. he was disgustingly cute.

“gotta go!” you said, quickly ending the recording and putting your phone away. 

spencer looked at you, and you looked at him. faces mere inches apart. you both heard the door to the kitchen closing, signifying courtney’s exit. you were both safe, for now. no need to stay quiet. but neither of you spoke. 

the silence carried on, seconds to minutes. you started to really look at spencer, dissecting his beauty.

the shine in his eyes, even in this dim, unflattering light. the ghost of a smile on his face. he's the first to turn away.

“y/n,” spencer near begged. “please.”

“what?” you asked, genuine.

he looked back at you. then he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke again. “you're killing me, y/n. you know what you're doing.”

you angled your face, just so, closer than you've been to anyone in a long time. closer than you've ever been to spencer agnew. “oh? what am i doing, spencer?” you batted your eyelashes at him.

he inched closer, prompting your noses to touch. it sent a shooting pulse of sparks through your blood. “tell me to stop, y/n.” he whispered, borderline tremulous.

“why?” you didn’t retreat, and you certainly didn’t oblige him.

“please, tell me to stop.” he was still staring into you, through your eyes and deep into that corner of your mind. the quadruple-padlocked door. he held every key, and you could see it all play out: him unlocking every single one with ease. blatant disregard for the consequences of his reckless actions.

you let him. no, you encouraged him. “why can't you stop yourself, spencer?” 

you knew full well courtney could burst in at any moment. you're acutely aware that you're both at work right now, in the middle of a shoot. you couldn’t seem to find the strength to give a fuck.

“because you're in charge, y/n. you always have been. i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.” 

you moved your eyes to his lips, finally tearing away from that gaze. “go,” you whispered.

that was all he needed to crash his lips into yours.

it’s not a great kiss. it never is when you're both this pent up. it's either too aggressive or too soft, never exactly what you're expecting, or wanting. but it enveloped you in that now familiar fire, and you didn’t even care. this could be the worst kiss of your life and you would still think of it fondly years down the line. because it's spencer. and you wanted spencer. and he, seemingly, wanted you too. so you want. and you have. just for a moment.

your brain finally rebooted and you immediately started kissing back, forceful. spencer’s hands found your body, and they wandered. he set them on your hips, then moved one to your neck. then one in your hair and the other on your face. you only pulled back from lack of oxygen. out of pure necessity.

as you both sat there, foreheads pressed against each other, chests heaving, you started to think about what you've done. he didn't just unlock that door, he blew it off the hinges. you weren’t sure you could ever deny yourself the feeling of kissing spencer agnew. not anymore, not now. you've become addicted on the very first hit, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

a loud bang on the opposite side of the wall had both of you separating. only an inch or so between the two of you, knowing you're about to be caught. you willed your heart rate down. trying to breathe slow, deep breaths. “time to be found i guess,” you whispered. 

spencer’s head finds its place on the back wall again. he seemed defeated. tired. but happy. “yeah.”

✰ .ᐟ

two months passed and neither you nor spencer spoke about what happened during courtney’s hide and seek shoot. there's still animosity all around, and you expect that your oscar will be stripped away due to your performance. it’s exhausting, keeping this fucking thing going. you had the one thing you always denied yourself, for just a moment, and that’s all you’ll ever have. you’re well aware of this, and were doing what you could to fully come to terms with it.

but spencer. he seemed so unbothered. like it was nothing to him, like you were nothing to him, like this was all just an elaborate prank. cut the fucking cameras.

tell me to stop, y/n. please. 

christ. your alarm had been turned off five minutes ago, but you remained in bed, under the covers. showing up at work was never a thing you dreaded. you fucking loved your job. and all your coworkers, who were now your friends and your family. you even loved the fans, deranged as they are.

but these days, it was weighing on you. getting up, going in and pretending you don’t know the taste and rhythm of spencer agnew’s sinful fucking mouth. it was hell. you wanted more, and he wanted nothing to do with you. and maybe you should have expected that. maybe this was all on you, for getting your hopes up for even a moment. 

you’re in charge, y/n. you always have been.

you pulled yourself out of bed and into the shower. you turned the water as hot as it could go, grateful to experience a different kind of pain for even a few minutes.

i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.

once your skin had been sufficiently burned, and your actual shower duties were complete, you decided to dress a little nicer today. even though you knew the only plan you had was answering emails, editing scripts, and some social media stuff. 

the shower really helped. the day seemed different, brighter. you felt a little less trepidation about work. you weren’t sure what magic was doled out by your rinky dink shower head, but you were thankful for it all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

pretty much every cast member greeted you at the door. suddenly, that trepidation was back. “what’s going on?” 

“did you not check your phone?” shayne asked, a laugh tumbling out of him.

you thought about it. you hadn’t, actually. you turned your alarm off, showered in silence for the first time in a long time, then drove to work in silence as well. “i guess not. why? is everything okay?” 

angela let out a gleeful scream. “you and spencer have the fandom in a tizzy!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with joy.

your brain went all fuzzy. “me and… spencer?” your mind drifted back to the kiss, and you felt the heat rising on your face. that was embarrassing. everyone was here, and they were all looking at you, and you knew that your blush was violently visible. 

“from the hide and seek video!” chanse added, as though there were any other point of reference.

you started to get a bit light-headed, and you sat down. “i’m confused.”

“why?” courtney asks, coming to sit next to you. it seemed everyone could sense your discomfort, so they dissipated, leaving courtney to work their magic.

“why would anyone care about me and spencer?” you asked. in your defense, you hadn’t watched the video. you couldn’t. you didn’t even watch back the single confessional you recorded, just sent it over to andre. you didn’t delete it though. it sat in your camera roll, heavy on your mind, and taunting you every time you opened your photos app.

they laughed, a soft sound, reassuring. “babe, i need you to watch the video.”

you groaned in response, feeling like a petulant child. like you were going to stomp your feet and cry if you didn’t get your way.  “i don’t want to, courtney. i don’t need to see how fucking red was my face was. i don’t need to see how pathetic i look.”

you hadn’t told a single soul what happened in that little attic crawl space. you didn’t want to – it was a blissful secret. it was easier to hold it in, the truth that you kissed him and it felt like flying and dying and living and breathing and everything all at the same exact time. because if you ever admitted that out loud, you think you’d pass away from the sheer amount of love in your voice when you say it. he was turning you into a hopeless romantic, and you’d barely said seven words to the man since he completely ruined your life.

because that’s what he had done, wasn’t it? you were ruined for anyone else. how could you move on, how could you kiss someone else when spencer agnew made alpha centauri appear behind your eyes. a star system, exploding to life. and you knew, somewhere inside, that that was the only time in your life you’d ever be able to feel something like that. you weren’t even sure you’d want to feel it again. it’s been nothing short of agonizing.

“y/n, can i ask you something?” they questioned, ever patient.

“yes.”

“why do you keep denying yourself good things?” her hand was on your thigh, a soft comfort to offset the sting of her question. “please, i'll show you the clip right here, and i’ll be next to you the whole time. if you want me to turn it off, i will. but will you try for me? please?”

you had never struggled with watching the videos you were in. granted, you usually could just focus on someone else in the shot. this was just you, and spencer. courtney would be there in the background, maybe brennan. but mostly it was you and spencer. and if you didn’t look at yourself, you’d look at him. you weren’t sure which was worse, but you agreed. 

“rip the fucking band-aid off already, i beg of you.” 

she let out a small squeal of excitement, opening her phone. you were only mildly surprised to see the clip was already pulled up. 

courtney pressed play on the video, and they handed you the phone. you watched, captivated. you decided to look at yourself. your blush was evident, and once you noticed that, you couldn’t bear to look any longer, so you looked at spencer. he was staring at you, while you stared ahead, giggling at whatever courtney said. his eyes were fixed on your profile, a smile bursting at the seams of his mouth, threatening a chelsea grin. he was smiling. he begged you to stop him, to stop this. spencer begged you not to feed the fire, but you had thrown gasoline right into it.

the thought… excited you.

“oh, hey,” courtney chirped happily, causing you to tear your eyes away from the screen of her phone. she paused the video and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “i’ll leave you to it,” they stood from their chair, pushing it in and giving you a look of hopefulness. you smiled back, halfheartedly.

“hi, spencer.” you murmured, finally meeting his eyes.

“hi, y/n.” he parroted, walking slowly toward you. he seemed hesitant, but… hopeful? maybe you felt the same way. “can i talk to you for a moment?” he gestured to the recently vacated chair on your left, and you nodded. you couldn’t trust yourself to talk at the moment.

he sat down next to you, entirely too casual. he’s slouched in the chair, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “seems like we did a number on a few people, huh?” he started. still too casual. you braced yourself for impact: we still can’t do this, though. we’re not friends. let alone lovers. 

what he actually said, though, hit you harder than 400 asteroids. “you certainly did a fucking number on me.”

“uh, what?” is all you could muster, confused, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

he sat back up, then leaned into your space. again. he likes to do that. normally, you’d feel too caged, too claustrophobic. but for some reason, it felt like a blessing. a near-familiar comfort in this whirlwind you were caught up in. “y/n, do you remember our first date?” 

your defense mechanism, sarcasm, clicked on in your brain. “if you call that a date, i’m embarrassed for you, spencer.” 

“so you do remember it.”

“yes, spencer. i remember when you accosted me at chili’s.”

he laughed, and you know that it’s such a beautiful sound, but it still hurt. “and do you remember what i told you at the end of the night?”

“you said you didn’t know why we were enemies, but that we both knew it needed to stay that way.”

“exactly. y/n, do you know why i refuse to sit next to you in videos? or why i very frequently cut you off when you’re talking? or why we’ve never been the guests on reddit stories together?”

“no,” you breathe out, honest. “no, i don’t know why.”

“it’s because of what happened in that godforsaken hide and seek video. because i knew, given the proximity, i’d do that. i’d stare at you, zoned out of whatever conversation was happening around me. smiling like a fucking idiot.”

you didn’t speak, feeling overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

“i have a cool guy persona that i try quite hard to keep up, and i didn’t want millions of people seeing me, fucking, splayed out like that. all my feelings on display in 4k. since the day you walked in that fucking door, i’ve been forcing myself to hate you, forcing myself to be your ‘enemy’, playing along with this stupid fucking charade we both seemingly crafted out of nowhere. being that close to you, it makes that whole game a lot harder to play.”

“spencer,” you said, attempting to alleviate some pressure. “you don’t have to–”

“i’m serious, y/n. i’m not mad, i’m not even upset. frankly, i’m relieved. it’s out there, people have seen it, and i’m happy about it. i’m tired of this stupid cat and mouse game, y/n. this shit makes me feel like sisyphus. i’m tired of pushing the stupid fake hatred boulder up the mountain. and i think you are, too. i’ve seen it. i’ve felt it.” he whispered the last part, like it was meant just for him. he was thinking about the kiss. reliving it, the tension, the heat, the closeness. his lips on yours, his hands in your hair. he was thinking about it, and he wasn’t thinking it was embarrassing or gross. he didn’t regret it. he didn’t regret you.

you leaned into him, bringing your nose right up to his, face closer than need be for a conversation between two people who claim to hate each other. “tell me to stop, spencer,” you tried.

he looked at you, eyes wide and shining again. his gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “fuck it,” he stated, and then his lips were on you. 

you were once again kissing spencer agnew, and you were once again doing it at the fucking office. but you didn’t care about that, couldn’t care about that, because he was kissing you, and this time it was different. it wasn’t nearly as clumsy, or aggressive. the angle was perfect, and his hand was resting on the back of your neck, a soft cradle. your brain didn’t need to time to load, or reboot, and for once it didn’t even blue screen. you immediately kissed spencer back, with more fervor than you thought you had in you.

a small moan slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t care about that either. you knew your coworkers were probably watching you both from around the corner, phones out to record the momentous occasion, hushes being thrown at others who dared to speak. 

but right now, the only thing you cared about was making sure spencer knew you weren’t going to play this fucking godawful game anymore. you kissed him like you were serious about it, because you were. you were serious about spencer agnew. as serious as a heart attack, which you felt like you were on the verge of.

you attempted to pull back for a moment, but spencer wouldn’t let you go. he’s starving, and you are a delicacy he intends to gorge himself on, gluttonous. you gave in, and continued to kiss him back. it’s the most blissful feeling, reciprocation.

no more games. no more lies. no more feuds.

no more enemies, or hatred.

some things in life are universal truths. the grass is green, the sky is blue, and you and spencer agnew loved each other. you always had, and both of you were equally tired of pretending otherwise. pushing back against the universe was always a losing game. 

so you both gave in.

and it was heavenly.

“please, y/n,” spencer pined, pulling back but still staying close. “don’t make me wait another two months to do that again.”

a laugh surged out of you, loud and honest. “have you been thinking about doing it again?”

“constantly. it’s a problem.”

you bit your bottom lip, unsure of how you got here. “oh my god,” you put your head in your hands, remembering your first tweet from you posted that. “i’m sorry i threatened to piss in your kickstart.”

this time, spencer was the one who laughed. hard and loud, honest, just like you, a moment ago. like you were still doing, because hearing spencer laugh made you laugh. a contagious happiness pouring from his lips, filling your very atoms.

“it’s okay, i understand. i wanted to piss in your lattes.” he set his forehead against yours, a form of intimacy he seemed to love. just like two months ago, he was invading your space and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“i’m sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass,” he spilled, remorse heavy in his voice. “to think we could have been doing this so long ago…” his sentence faded away, and you couldn’t help but smile even harder.

“hey, my head was also up my ass. it’s okay. we have time.”

“yeah, we do.”

✰ .ᐟ

the remainder of the week went off without incident. you told ian you would fill out any and all paperwork, but not until you and spencer were ready. not until he formally asked you to be his girlfriend. it was still the very early days, and while you were beyond happy, you didn’t want to jinx it. watching this love grow was a privilege, not a right, and you intended to keep it. 

you both graced the infamous white reddit stories couch, the episode themed around coworker drama. it was nice to be able to laugh with him openly, and it was nice to hear his thoughts on the stories. spencer was incredibly well articulated when he wanted to be, and it was incredibly sexy to watch him be so emotionally mature and vulnerable. he was more understanding than you would have ever expected, and it only made you want him more.

you hadn’t had a real, formal date yet. that was tonight, once shooting wrapped. he refused to tell you anything about it, just insisted you dress comfortably.

and you were comfortable, here on this couch, with spencer. you both had to be reminded not to sit so close together, several times now. shayne and courtney ragged on you a bit, but they promised to give you tips on hiding the relationship if that was what you chose to do. that was a conversation for another time, but it was nice to know everyone at smosh would always be in your corner.

you pulled yourself out of your head to concentrate on shayne’s voice, and you even threw in a few comments mid-narration. you didn’t like doing that often, it felt rude to interrupt. but hearing spencer break out in a fit of giggles at a shitty joke you made only pushed you to be more confident. 

✰ .ᐟ

“where the fuck are going, spencer?” you questioned for approximately the fifteenth time. once shooting had wrapped, everyone bid you and spencer farewell and good luck on your first official date. you went to the bathroom to change into your favorite sweatpants and an old hoodie, and when you reappeared spencer was holding a blindfold in his hand.

without thinking, you had popped the first joke that came into your head. “oh, we’re already getting freaky?”

he had laughed, and insisted it wasn’t anything like that. “but it can be, eventually.” he raised an eyebrow, suggestive and suave.

well, fuck.

as spencer directed you through the office – presumably to take you to one of the stages? – you let the lack of sight relax you. he wanted to surprise you, which means that he planned something. or set something up. you were rapidly falling in love with this man, and you weren’t sure if that was scary or exciting. probably both. you were free falling out of a fucking airplane, the cords on your parachute stuck, but it felt good. 

“okay, you can remove your blindfold,” you heard his voice from behind you, as he finally brought you to a stop.

you slowly reached up to pull the blindfold off, and you couldn’t stop the tears that started to form.

spencer had set up a place for you to record music. he had moved a bunch of props and furniture around on the games stage, and set up a tiny little nook with pillows and blankets and bean bags. somehow, your guitar was there, propped next to an amp. there were several pedals splayed out, a wide array of effects for you to choose from. it was all hooked up to your macbook, which had fl studio pulled up on it.

“spencer…” you whined. the tears were silent, but they fell in waves. 

he moved to stand in front of you, and you knew you would never get tired of being able to be this close to him whenever you wanted. he was yours to hold. 

you tried to stop the tears, tried to speak, tried to thank him and apologize. all you could do was let the small, silent sobs wrack your body. 

“y/n, please please tell me that these are happy tears,” spencer pleaded with you. his hand wiping a tear away from your cheek.

you nodded furiously, and found your voice again. “y-yes. yes. they are happy tears.” you took a deep breath in, stinging in the best way. “thank you so fucking much, spencer. i don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“i know that you write music, but i know you never record it. i didn’t know if that was because you were worried about it not being good enough, or if it was simply the inability to record. either way, i can keep all of this set up here for you. whenever you want, as long as the stage isn’t needed, of course. i was hoping we could have a little jam sesh.” spencer laughed, light and airy.

you surged forward, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. “thank you,” you said again.

✰ .ᐟ

you and spencer spent three hours holed up on the games stage, playing around with different effects pedals and different fl studio presets. the time flew by, and you hadn’t even actually recorded anything, but you didn’t need to. you’d remember every second of this night for the rest of your life. you didn’t show spencer any of the songs you’d written these past few weeks, all of them about him. you would one day, when you were ready, but right now all you wanted was to be in this moment with him.

“it’s crazy how far we’ve come in such little time,” spencer said quietly, once the instruments had been retired and you were both stretched out on the extra large bean bag.

you smiled, agreeing. “yeah. it sucks that we lost out on so much time, but i’m grateful that i get to have you at all.” it was more vulnerable than you had meant to be, but spencer didn’t let it linger in the air too long.

“you have me for as long as you want, babe. i’m not leaving until you kick me out.”

a soft laugh, “i can’t imagine a world where i’d ever kick you out, spencer.”

“it’s like i told you. you’re the one in charge, y/n. i’ll follow your lead wherever it takes me.”

“even if it takes you off a cliff?” you japed, adding some levity to this conversation you weren’t quite ready for.

“yes,” spencer replied, no hesitation or thought. “wherever you go, i’d like to be with you. if you’d have me.” 

you turned fully onto your side so you could look at him again. his hair had gotten so long, and you were hoping he wouldn’t cut it yet. you liked how wild and windswept it looked at this length. you also wanted to pull it.

“what are you saying, spencer?” you were egging him on.

“will you be my girlfriend, y/n? we can go as slow or as fast as you’d like, we can do it all at your pace. we have time,” he assured you. “i know this is only our first date, and normally this might seem like jumping the gun a little bit.” spencer sighed, but it was wistful, not sad. “but i’ve been sure about you for years now, and now that you’re finally giving me the chance, i don’t want to wait. i don’t want it to slip out of my hands.”

you let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding. this side of spencer – no, just spencer – you were so unaware of him and everything he had the capacity to be and do and feel just a few months ago. sure, you’d been pining for awhile, and you’d been watching him for a bit. not in a creepy way, just observing him when he wasn’t putting up the goddamn shield he always forced up around you. seeing spencer for who he was, as he was. you had no idea that he could be so eloquent, so romantic, so fucking perfect.

“christ, you’re going to kill me, charles spencer agnew.”

“is that a yes, y/n? don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already!” spencer laughed again, and you realized just how often you made him laugh. almost like your specific brand of comedy was tailor made for him. maybe it was. 

“yes, spencer, i will be your girlfriend.” you smiled at him, a toothy. unabashed grin. “thank you for this.” you gestured around the nook. “seriously, this is so fucking sweet of you. i really, truly appreciate it.” most people didn’t put so much effort into the first date. this would, normally, be a fifth date kind of thing, probably. not that you had much practice. but it was your first real date, and spencer did all this work just to spend a few hours making shitty hyperpop mixes out of the silliest guitar sounds you could manage.

“don’t get used to it, this was a lot of work.”

your smile dropped instantly, a cold rush hitting you. fuck, was he making fun of you? you felt tears well up again, this time decidedly unhappy tears.

spencer shot up in an instant. “hey, hey. it’s okay, love. can i touch you?”

you cried harder, realizing that not only was spencer not making fun of you, but that he was listening. he always was, he always had been. because he knew not to touch you when you were crying, he knew to ask. and you had never told him that.

you had said it in a reddit stories video once. the story had to do with panic attacks, and you felt like you had to give your two cents, daring to be vulnerable on beyoncé’s internet.

“i actually hate being touched when i’m upset. people always jump straight to hugging me or patting my head or some shit. bro, i’m fucking freaking out, please do not touch me!” 

courtney laughed, agreeing with your sentiment. “no, exactly! like, i’m crying all over myself and i’m snotty and gross. please get your hands off me. you can clearly see i’m overwhelmed, why is your first thought to add to that?” 

it was refreshing to be understood by someone. 

“i have never once seen someone in emotional distress and thought, ‘hmm, i should hug them super tight! that’ll help!’ like, what the fuck are we doing, guys? however, i do remember one time i started having a panic attack, and my friend looked at me and held her hands up, then asked ‘can i touch you?’ which, like, just broke me out of it. i was so thankful that she asked to touch me instead of just doing it that i was immediately calmed down. she’s great.”

the emotions were a sudden flood, and you shook your head no. spencer sat still in his spot, respecting your decision. for some reason, this only prompted you to cry harder.

basic respect had you sobbing. this was fucking embarrassing. 

“i’m so sorry,” you said through tears, trying to explain yourself.

spencer was patient, and you knew he would wait for you to collect yourself. it was a small gesture but it really did mean the world to you. this meant not only did he listen to you when you were talking on set, but also that he watches the videos that you’re in. he wasn’t on that shoot, he had a con to go to. he wasn’t even in the state of california when you had said that. you had said that nearly a year ago, and he had watched the video when it came out. then committed that piece of you to memory.

“spencer?” you let out softly. “i have a question.”

your voice was small, almost upsettingly so. you didn’t mean to sound so timid, but projecting your voice when you’re feeling this many emotions was something you could only do in front of a camera or a live audience.

“yes?”

“how long have you known that you didn't… y’know. hate me?” you sighed, glad to have the weight of the question off of your shoulders, but worried about how heavy the answer might weigh on you. 

“i never hated you. i never even disliked you, y/n. i thought you were smart enough to figure that out.”

“are you negging me, babe?” you asked him, trying out the pet name. it felt nice, especially because you meant it. and because this time, you knew he wasn't being mean. he was just being spencer.

once again, spencer’s laugh graced your eardrums, and you knew you’d never tire of the way it made you feel. unstoppable. like if you could make spencer agnew laugh like this, you could do anything in the world. maybe even be brave.

“can i show you something that i've been working on?” you asked, your eyes trailing up to meet his, which were already fixated on you. as always. 

“of course.”

you grabbed your guitar, turning ever so slightly to the side. you didn't want to hide, but you also didn't want to be on full display. spencer understood your movement immediately; he looked down at his hands for a moment, silently reassuring you that it was okay, that you were safe.

it was refreshing to be understood by someone.

you plucked the chords you had burned into your brain at this point. you had written this song the evening of the hide and seek incident (trademark pending).

you let your eyes fall shut, playing from memory, as easy as 1-2-3. as you began the first verse, you dared to glance at spencer. he was looking at you, but through his periphery. still trying to give you that space, but unable to deny himself. it made you burn bright with pure, radiant joy. 

you glided into the chorus, your eyes fully open at this point. spencer had long since abandoned his resolve, and he was watching you intently. instead of being scared, or nervous, or overwhelmed, you just felt seen.

in every sense, you felt seen. he was looking at you, into you, and not through you. he was seeing your heart on your sleeve, stitched permanently on every cardigan you owned. he was seeing all of your emotions, all the anger, all the sadness. and he understood your emotions, because he had felt them, too. he had gone through it all, too.

how lucky you were, to be loved by someone so observant. and maybe it wasn't love yet, but you knew the potential was there. you knew, as you finished up the bridge and moved on to the outro, that the seed had been planted. you would be sure to water it diligently.

“can i kiss you?” spencer blurted out, as soon as the final note finished ringing out in the otherwise silent stage.

“always.” you met spencer halfway, another crashing, aching kiss. his hands immediately found your hair, as they always did. your arms fell around his shoulders, a loose hold. 

after a moment the kiss was less crashing and danger and speed, slowing naturally to a sensual pace. lightly pulling and pushing, his hands now gripping your hips. not angry, not painful. it was a tight grip, but it wasn't mean. it felt scared, almost, like if spencer didn't hold on to you, you’d be gone. 

you think you liked that feeling. the feeling that your partner wanted you all the time. 

you spent another hour lazily kissing, and ended up falling into a blissful sleep.

✰ .ᐟ

you woke up about an hour after you had crashed. you hadn't meant to, you were just so fucking relaxed and happy. with the way your sleep had been, you weren’t going to turn down a nap. 

spencer mumbled something, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact you were still in the office. you groaned, unintentionally.

“you okay, y/n?” your boyfriend – you loved that – asked, his voice soft and scratchy from the nap.

you smiled down at him. “yeah, sorry. i just realized we've only ever kissed at the office.”

you watched in amusement as the cogs turned in his head. “oh, jeez. well, that’s just unacceptable. hey, apropos of nothing, i'm out of kickstart. do you want to run to the corner store with me?” 

spencer held out a hand, as if to say ‘join me on this adventure?’ and you weren’t sure how you could decline his offer. 

♡

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | fourteen.

—spotify playlist��| series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, mostly focused on namjoon again in his stressed with no rest era, oc tells her friends about everything, jiung x oc fighting, crying :(, oc has a pretty good talk with namjoon, things are just shifting/changing

—a/n: the next fic coming up after wildfire has been posted here! also if you haven't taken my poll, pls do so! hehe <33 i appreciate u

You lay back against the arm of the couch with your blanket sprawled on top, typing away the last bits of info into your presentation. You're a slide away from creating your acknowledgements slide and wrapping up the entire rotation update. You had gotten an email from both San and Namjoon stating that your rotation in San's lab was ending due to a change in your timeline and that you needed to present your rotation update to the both of them, along with the dean, in the following week. It scared you at first— and it still does now— but it's starting to make more sense as to why San did what he did. Namjoon sent you a side email asking if you could meet today because he wanted to discuss what was going on. He kept it vague. Short.

Maybe he was holding off until the meeting.

It's obvious who started all of this. It's not hard to tell.

But, you agreed to meet after TAing for Yunho— letting Namjoon know you'd be there as soon as class was over. He agreed to the time and sent you a reassuring message towards the end, telling you all would be well and that he'd help you figure things out no matter what.

It was reassuring, but it doesn't mean you weren't scared.

Anxious.

Nervous.

Doesn't mean any if this it hurt any less. Doesn't mean you weren't angry, upset, sad. You still needed to feel it out, especially being alone and going through this without anyone else to talk to about it.

You had Eunchae, Jurin and Felix. But, you wished you had Jiung to talk to. You wished you didn't feel hurt about him, too.

—FLASHBACK

"So, you two are seeing each other?" Jurin asks while she sits in front of you and holds onto your knee to give it a gentle rub. Eunchae sits next to you with her arm over your shoulder, also giving you a gentle caress, squeeze. Felix sits next to Jurin and he's got a look of concern, but sadness. You had finally opened up about everything between you and San; from how things started, the conferences, staying at his house, being with him—

To not.

Jiung keeps himself posted near your window because he doesn't really wanna hear more about it but he needs to— to understand the full story. Part of him also feels guilty for what he did hearing your cries and how awfully torn up you are over Professor Choi.

San.

He's gotta get used to you calling him San like that.

"Were." You shake your head and press the tissue against your nose to pat it dry. "It's done with now."

"But, why? Couldn't you guys just play it off?" 

"I'm sure he wanted to be safe, though." Felix adds softly. "I think I kinda see where he's coming from." He looks at you. "I don't think he meant to hurt you, but he's probably trying to protect you and keep everything safe in the meantime. Once this blows over—"

"I doubt we'd get back together."

"Don't say that. You never know, Y/N. I agree with Lix. He's probably just trying to do what's best for now even if it hurts him to. I'm sure he cares a lot about you. I mean heck, he almost fucked up Hae-jin in front of everyone." You sigh and look down at your hands, the feeling of sadness and emptiness all consuming. 

"He does." Eunchae adds to Jurin's reassurance. "I don't know why Professor Lee and Professor Jeong think it's their business, though. Haven't they done enough damage?"

"Awful. People literally can't mind their business, especially when it has nothing to do with them."

"I get the power dynamics but Professor Choi doesn't seem like the type. So, honestly, it's not like anyone was getting hurt in the process." Jiung silently fiddles with his hoodie string as Felix goes on.

"And people clearly don't know you if they assume you're the one throwing yourself on him." Jurin adds.

"Damn. Two people can't just be together?" Felix shakes his head. "Anyway, you got us, and this will pass. I'm sure Professor Kim will do everything to help and figure things out, too." You dig your face into your hands, trying to wipe away the remaining tears before you nod and smile at Lix in appreciation for his support, too. 

Still, you can't help but notice how Jiung has remained quiet this entire time— barely able to maintain eye contact with you.

"Should we go to dinner? Get some food in you?" Eunchae gives you a small smile and giggle. You nod and stand with them, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror while the three start making their way out of your door.

"Can we talk for a second?"

"About?"

"I just have to tell you something. Probably shouldn't wait until after dinner."

"Um, okay?" You look at him, hands crossed over your chest in a vulnerable manner, doe-eyes peeking up at him as he lets out a hefty sigh. "What's on your mind?"

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I just wanna say I'm sorry and I hope you understand where I'm coming from. But—" He lets out another sigh before shaking his head, almost as if he were shaking his feelings off. Trying to tell himself he needs to say it. "I-I went to Professor Kim and told him about you and Professor Choi. I told him I thought you were being taken advantage of and that I was worried."

"What?" You can barely get out. "W-why would you do that?"

"I was really just worried and I wasn't sure how else to get to you. I-I thought Professor Kim would be able to help—"

"Jiung." You call his name and step back, not wanting to be in close proximity to him. You knew he was worried about you, but you didn't think he'd go off and talk to Namjoon about it right away. "Why would you do that? Why couldn't we just keep talking about it— why did you have to go and blow this up even more?!"

"I'm sorry, can you blame me?!—"

"You didn't have to go behind my fucking back and tell Professor Kim! I already told you it wasn't like that and you still told him it was?! What the actual hell, Jiung?"

"I was just worried about you! I was being your fucking bestfriend, trying to make sure you weren't hurt or anything."

"And then you made things worse. Are you happy?" You scoff. "Those assumptions could have really fucked up Professor Choi."

"What about you, Y/N? Why do you keep disregarding yourself?! Is that even healthy—"

"Healthy?! I'm telling you the truth!" You scoff. "And you don't know shit about me and him, so quit acting like you do." You throw your hands up in defeat because he'll never get it. "Forget it, okay? You'll never understand and I don't need you to."

"Hey, what's going on?" Felix pops his head in, confused at the ruckus going on behind doors. Truthfully, he heard everything just as he was approaching the door to check up on you, and he's not sure how to feel. It's hard. He feels like he's in the middle because he sees Jiung, he sees you.

"You guys can go off to dinner together, but I'll probably just stay behind." 

"But, Y/N—" Jiung adds in defeat.

"Why don't you and the girls go? We'll catch up later." Felix tugs him by the sleeve and gives him a look. "Give her some space." He mutters lowly just as he gets in close distance.

—END

Your alarm blares on the coffee table, a harsh reminder that you haven't really slept much. It was time to wrap up and get ready for Yunho's class— something you weren't entirely ready to tackle today either.

But, you get up anyway. 

You sigh and put on your brave face.

You throw on a simple sweater, jeans and your Sambas— dabbing a bit of mascara, brow gel and lip gloss to fix yourself up a tiny bit for the day. You were tired of feeling sad and dressing the part; the least you could do was finally get some fresh air and look decent enough for the world while coming out of your slump. You grab your things and pack up your bag, heading out of the door with your keys in hand.

Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San's lab.

Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San.

You let out a sigh and quietly walk over to the classroom in peace, keeping your head down for a majority of the time. 

Avoiding eye contact, avoiding anything having to do with the outside world in meantime.

"Hey!" Yunho says in his usual fashion. You give him a small smile, although you're not really sure why he's joining class yet again today. He had been joining your class in particular recently, and you knew why.

He just wanted to get under your skin.

"Hi." You respond, getting your laptop together. Yunho continues to watch you from where you're standing, noting the sadness that envelopes your entire body. The way you're avoiding him. The way it's so blatantly obvious that you know that he knows.

That Iseul is the reason why you're sad.

You don't say anything otherwise; keeping your head down and away from Yunho even while the class walks in. You continue to carry on with the last journal club of the class before giving everyone time to work on their final proposals before it's due at the end of the evening. A few people linger at the end of class to speak with you and Yunho to get your guidance on the last remaining bits of their proposals before they thank you for all your help and head out for the day.

You still haven't said a word to Yunho, and he can't help but ask:

"Is something wrong?" Yunho asks nonchalantly after class, looking at your figure even though you are avoiding eye contact with him while packing up your things.

"No."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"I don't know why you're asking if something is wrong when you know what it is already. Don't you?" You look at him plainly from the side before gathering the rest of your things.

"Whatever's been happening between you and San is between you and San—"

"So, was it you who told Professor Kim? Or was it Professor Lee?" You cut him off. Yunho stares at you, and he doesn't respond. Of course he won't, of course he won't throw Iseul under the bus even though you know she was behind it.

"It was for the best."

"Quite frankly, I don't think you can speak on what's best for me or him. Especially him." You look at Yunho directly in the eye. "Are you both that determined to bring San down? Is that what this?" He furrows his brows.

"Reel it in, Y/N." He says, sternly. "Do you not understand how damaging this could be for both you and him? If anything, it was done to protect you both."

"What makes you think we weren't capable of doing so?" Yunho lets out a pathetic chuckle before he steps forward and leans towards your ear, a small smirk on his lips.

"I think snuggling up on campus and sneaking into his office is enough of a reason." He pulls back, licking his lips before dipping his hands into his pocket.

"And I think you need to learn how to mind your own business and let San handle his own." You scoff. "In any case, Yunho." You look him in the eye. "You and Iseul already ruined him from the beginning and you can't come to terms with it." You tilt your head to the side. "You both were never deserving of San, and that is sad. No wonder you two are miserable and are still keeping tabs on him." Yunho's mouth slightly drops, but he doesn't respond to your statement. "I'll help out with finals if needed. Otherwise, please consider my TA assignment with you done."

You almost run into Iseul as you stomp out of the classroom, leaving her to knit her brows at you in response.

"Nice talk." Iseul pops in, her husband biting his cheek.

"We should have never gotten involved with that, Iseul." He says lowly as he gathers his things together.

"Oh, so just let them—"

"That's exactly it, just let them be." He cuts her off and looks at her. "It didn't have to be us. We could've just let them be and let anyone else do the talking. Let them learn on their own." His jaw ticks.

"We did the right thing." She crosses her arms.

"Still doesn't change the fact that you're taking the opportunity to destroy San and running with it. It didn't have to be us." He repeats, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.

"Yunho." She says. "You're not actually taking Y/N seriously, are you? She's delusional if she thinks all of this is okay and would've slipped."

"Don't call her delusional, Iseul. You have no say in their relationship or what they're about. You had no right. They knew what they were getting into. You just lead them into the trap for your own benefit." Yunho scoffs. "You wanted to see this unfold, didn't you? You wanted this to unfold in a specific way." 

"What is going on, Yunho?"

"We're not meddling in this anymore. If you're not ready to stop, count me out of it. I'm not doing this, I'm not picking at their business anymore." He grabs his things and takes the lead out of the room. Iseul scoffs and shakes her head, slowly trailing behind him.

As for you, you feel cold. You feel isolated. You feel empty. You walk out and find a hidden table behind the building and set yourself down to get yourself together. You let out a couple of breaths to ease your feelings, promising yourself you wouldn't cry over this anymore.

But, it hurts to hold it in.

It hurts.

You feel the dullness, the heavy ache, in the center of your chest, and it hurts.

You have to move on.

"Fuck." You sigh, hand over your chest to give it a few gentle rubs before you're back on your feet and checking the time. You need to see Professor Kim just like your promised.

Of course, as you're on your way to Professor Kim's office, you find San passing by with Yeosang and Jongho. His eyes land on you and you immediately break first, feeling the tears ready to well up in your eyes. He sees the way your head drops and how you turn away— he can't help but slightly turn over his shoulder to keep his eyes on you.

To lock eyes with you once more.

To feel.

But, it doesn't happen. And it fucks San up more than he expects because he doesn't know even know what Jongho and Yeosang are talking about anymore after that brief interception.

"Yo, you good?" Jongho taps his chest with a small chuckle, bringing San back to reality.

"Yeah. Sorry." He tries to play it off quickly but Jongho quickly turns over his shoulder to see you walking in the opposite direction.

"All good." He returns to San and gives his shoulder a small squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." San gives him a toothless smile. "Anyway, did you guys figure out where we're going before we make laps around campus?" Yeosang and Jongho share a quick look before they follow behind San and pick the conversation back up to prevent any of San's sadness from creeping up.

Meanwhile, you continue your way to Professor Kim's office, wiping away the stragglers that manage to escape your eyes and streak your cheeks. You weren't gonna let this get to you, so you quickly try to brush it off and get yourself together especially when you walk down the hallway and into Professor Kim's office. He's in his chair, typing away on his computer— glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey Y/N, come sit and make yourself comfortable." He smiles at you and you return the gesture, sitting down on the chair posted in front of his desk.

"Thanks for meeting with me today, Professor Kim."

"No, thank you." He chuckles and finally shifts his full attention towards you. "How are you today?"

"Uh, could be better but not complaining."

"Yeah? How was class with Professor Jeong?"

"Hm, okay." You hum before shifting in your seat nervously. 

"Just okay?" You nod. "Well, as long as there aren't any complaints or anything you wanna tell me." Namjoon knows you probably aren't having a great time in Yunho's class right now and he doesn't blame you.

"No." You force a smile. "Anyway, I see that I have to do my rotation presentation next week?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Y/N. You do understand why this is all happening, right?" You slowly nod. "I know you and San have been seeing each other, and I know he ended things the other day. I'm really sorry, but I just need to protect you both. Word is getting around fast and the dean isn't having it. I can't have him fire San, I can't have him kick you out of the grad program. Please just understand why things have to be this way. I just need it to settle."

"I do." You respond weakly before looking down at your hands. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, Professor Kim. I didn't mean— we didn't mean for this to blow up. I-I know we shouldn't have been so sloppy and reckless, and I'm sorry—"

"Hey, hey." He shakes his head with a sympathetic look. "No need to be sorry. I promise all is fine, and that's why I'm here to help and protect you both." You look at him with a sad nod, and you aren't sure why that's the tipping point for you but you suddenly start to break down in front of Professor Kim. He feels his heart breaks because he knows there wasn't any power play in this; he knows San as a person, and he's familiar with you as a student and the work you do. There was no way either of you used any power or position for your advantage. He knew this had been a genuine, real relationship— it's just truly unfortunate it had to unfold this way.

If word hadn't gotten around, maybe Namjoon wouldn't care at all. 

But, he has to now, and that's what makes everything hard about his role.

"I promise everything is going to be okay." He says softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Namjoon shakes his heas, watching the way you cry into your hands.

"Y/N, it's okay. You can let it out if you need to." He passes you the tissue box. "Can I ask you something? And be honest. I've already figured out your plan for school so you don't have to hold back." Namjoon says. "Do you care about him?" You nod as you continue to cry, the ache in your chest making it hard for you to breathe. 

You miss San.

"But, it doesn't matter because he ended it. It's over with."

"He only did so because of my guidance, and I'm sorry about that. I told him this too, but it's not something I wanted to do. Trust me. As his friend, it's the first time I've seen him genuinely and truly happy. It's all I wanted after the things he's gone through. But, I just can't risk it right now. San is beginning to reach new heights with his career and getting more real estate to do things he's been wanting to do with Jongho. You're also just getting into the groove of things. I don't want either of your hard work to get snatched away over something like this."

"No, I know Professor Kim. I do understand and I'm grateful. It just sucks. I don't know how else we would've gotten away with it, I guess." You sniff. "Maybe it had to happen."

"Look, I told him this, too. But, I can't police every detail and tell you who you can and can't date. If San is someone you care about, then so be it, but the only thing I ask of you is to keep it off campus. I cannot have you two interacting on campus or else he's out. Not by my choice, but the committee."

"I don't want anything to happen to him."

"I know, and he said the same thing about you. He cares just as much, so don't think that he doesn't." You dab your face with the napkin and nod.

"Jiung confessed and told me he came to you about it." Namjoon nods.

"I think he was just worried as your friend. Rightfully so. But, I think he also shouldn't have jumped to those conclusions right away."

"I told him that."

"If I hadn't known San so well, I probably would've believed Jiung." He sighs. "It's alright, he didn't know and he was worried. Are you two okay?"

"Not really, but I think we just need time. I'm trying to see his side of things, but I also didn't think he'd do that so it caught me off guard."

"I see. Well. Give yourself some time and grace, okay? I'm sorry it had to be this way for now." You give him a tiny, toothless smile. Eyes still shiny and watery from the crying you've just done. 

I'm sorry it had to be this way for now.

It repeats in your head over and over again because why does it feel like this is just how it's gonna be? Despite Namjoon reassuring you, despite San's explanation. Why does it just feel like a fleeting moment? A chapter in your book— a part that was never really supposed to last.

"Thank you." He gives you a smile.

"So, shifting to the program. I was thinking I could pull you into my lab and we can figure out things as time goes on? Explore other options if there's anything else you'd wanna explore." You nod. "You know there's other paths we can look into, or if you're totally fine with where you're at in my lab, then we can just stick with that plan."

"That sounds good. Thank you, Professor Kim."

"Unfortunately, like I mentioned, I can't have you interacting with Professor Choi. I'll have to make sure you don't take any of his classes or end up in any collaboration projects with him." You nod.

"Okay. I understand." 

"You'll have to halt all your work in his lab immediately. You can grab your things when you feel ready to, but I'll have you in my lab starting next week. I know it'll be a bit crazy with your rotation presentation, but I promise to make it a smooth transition." 

"Okay." You purse your lips. "I'm almost finished with my rotation presentation."

"That's great!"

"It'll just be us three?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's not the usual format but I need the dean to see all the good work you do."

"Thank you. I appreciate your support."

"Do you have any questions so far? Any other concerns?" You think for a second before shaking your head.

"No."

"I'll send you some onboarding info and give you the contacts to some key people in my lab to help you get started. We can figure out your project and goals in a little more depth next week. Let's aim for a Monday morning meeting? 9am?"

"Good with me." 

"Thanks, Y/N. And please trust me when I say all is gonna be well."

"Thank you." 

"See you next week? Be sure to keep an eye out for my emails." You nod as you stand and tuck your bag closely to you.

"I will." You give him another smile before heading out of the door. Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose and plops back down onto his chair, picking up his direct line to ring the dean's office phone. It rings for a few minutes before the dean is answering on the other end.

"Namjoon."

"Hey. Can we meet today to talk about what's been going on? I can be over in the next 15 minutes."

"I'm free, but I have a hard cut off in 45 minutes."

"That's plenty of time. I'll be there soon."

"See you." Joon hangs up and gathers his things, loosening his tie to get himself together for this meeting. He doesn't necessarily wanna do this, nor does he think he's ready for whatever the dean could unleash on him.

On you, on San.

But, he has a job to do and he'll make damn sure he gets his point across. He'll make damn sure he controls this well, and he'll make sure nothing happens to the both of you.

When he gets into the building and heads straight for the dean's office, he's greeted by the front desk and his executive assistant. The dean's assistant knocks on his door and pops her head in to give him a heads up about Namjoon's visit. It isn't long before she's gesturing for him to come into his office, stepping out and slowly shutting the door behind her once Namjoon's settled in the seat in front of him.

"Namjoon."

"Dean Louie." Namjoon clears his throat. "Can we discuss what's been going on? I've got a chance to review this more in depth."

"Great. So, tell me. What's with the anonymous tip? Is there truth behind San and his student's relationship?"

"No." The dean looks at him with his head cocked to the side. "Not at all."

"Namjoon. This isn't the time to play games."

"Who said I was?" Joon asks. "This is purely a rumor and there is nothing going on between the two of them. To keep things safe, I'll make sure they don't cross paths and interact on campus, and I'll make sure to work closely with her and keep her under my wing." Namjoon says.

"A rumor? That blew up around campus? What about Iseul and Yunho? Iseul told me about the happy hour event with San. All of this seems too good to be true, and if you're covering for them—" Namjoon cuts him off.

"Since when did Iseul and Yunho have their best interest in San? All I know is that they've always been the driving issue, not San." Namjoon looks at the dean confused. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but a rumor is a rumor and I've gotten to the bottom of it. I talked to the both of them and they denied it through and through. The only reason why San got caught up in the whole happy hour business was because a postdoc was crossing the line and being really disrespectful to her. Any one of us would've done it had we caught it right away like San did." Namjoon continues to furrow his brows. "Now, please. I'd appreciate if we can move on." The dean sits back and lets out a hefty sigh.

"Go on."

"As stated in my email, she will do her rotation presentation in front of myself, you and San. After that, she will be removed from his lab and will be placed in mine. We'll have weekly check-ins, and I'll work with her to move her classes around and realign her priorities so that she and San don't cross paths in this program again."

"And what about this real estate in the building? I'm not going to give it over if this is what San plans to do—"

"I'm sorry, but this shouldn't define San and his work." Namjoon pauses. "He's not, alright? I already confirmed it was a rumor and there is nothing going on. No reason for you to pull back on that real estate deal especially when Jongho had nothing to do with this either and San has already explained his side and agreed to comply regardless. She'll be out of his lab." The dean gives Namjoon a stern look.

"You better make damn sure this doesn't happen again, Namjoon. No rumors, no slip ups. And you make sure those three stop causing trouble on campus. Iseul, Yunho and San. I don't care who did what and who is blaming who, I need this to stop. Now. We can't have childish, petty issues running amuck on this campus."

"You have my word."

"If I hear San and Y/N in the same sentence again, I can't promise it will be the same outcome."

"With all due respect, I need you to understand that whatever they do, whatever happens off campus, doesn't concern me and shouldn't concern you either. I cannot police their behavior and make them act a certain way off grounds. They are both grown, mature adults that can make decisions on their own, and you know that's unfair and very unrealistic." The dean doesn't say much. He mutters a few things under his breath before he's returning his attention to Namjoon.

"Not a damn word about them ever again, Namjoon. I mean it." The dean warns him again before settling into his seat and returning his attention to his desktop computer. Namjoon does a quick, silent bow before walking out, sighing loudly to himself as he's finally gotten that over with.

Still doesn't make it any easier knowing he had his friend make a very difficult decision that he did not wanna do.

He hopes in time, this could blow over and San could be happy again. Despite this hurdle, he's betting on it. On you and him.

Maybe when you come back together, circumstances will be different enough that it won't make the relationship seem as bad as it does right now.

"Shit." Namjoon clicks his teeth when he finally gets out of the building and breathes in the fresh air. He is exhausted, but his day isn't about to be over, no. On his way back to his office, he finds Yunho speaking to a few colleagues in the courtyard. He must have gotten out of a meeting and was walking his visitors out.

And Namjoon doesn't give a fuck. That visit is ending now.

"Professor Kim! It's an honor to see you in the flesh!" Namjoon smiles at his guests before returning the favor.

"Hi there." Namjoon does a curt bow. "Hope you've enjoyed your visit."

"Completely. We had a great collaboration meeting with Professor Jeong here, and he gave us a tour around."

"That's great, yeah." Namjoon smiles before looking at Yunho. "Can we talk in my office?" Namjoon says near Yunho's ear. "Now?"

"Sure." Yunho bids his last farewell before excusing himself and following Namjoon straight to his office. No words being spoken or shared. Namjoon shuts the door and sighs, looking at Yunho with his hand on his hip. "What's going on, Joon?"

"I'm just trying to understand why you and Iseul are trying so hard to ruin that man's reputation. The dean told me Iseul went over there to give him more of her little intel on San."

"I don't know what she said or did—"

"You still knew about it, didn't you?" Namjoon looks at him. "You knew this whole time Iseul was trying to raise hell about this and you let her."

"How is this not wrong?"

"No one said it wasn't wrong, Yunho!" Namjoon raises his tone. "There were just better ways to go about it than throwing San's name out there the way you two did. Just throwing him out there to the wolves without even knowing the full story. That's the problem!"

"I'm sorry, it doesn't seem like it now, but we were looking out for him and everyone else potentially involved."

"Except me. If you knew better, you both would've let me handle this accordingly. This doesn't just affect him, Yunho. It affects you both. It affects me. It affects Y/N, Jongho, everyone. Because you both didn't know how to be discreet about your plans to bring San down."

"It was never like that!"

"Then, what was it like? Tell me. As his colleague, as someone who acted purely for their own benefit, what was it like? As San's ex-bestfriend, what was it like?" Yunho doesn't respond. "This isn't high school, Yunho. I'm sorry, but the both of you need to grow up."

"We just tried to do the right thing and I don't take any of it back. If you fail to see that, then that's on you—"

"Oh, so approaching the dean to give him more talk in his ear with your so-called evidence before coming to me is doing the right thing?" Namjoon looks at him. "What was the goal here? What did this plan look like to you and Iseul?” He shakes his head. “No, actually, I don't wanna hear it, she already came into my office to talk my ear off about this. That should've been enough to let me handle it." Namjoon furrows his brows at him. 

"We just thought we were helping everyone—"

"Helping? Yourself or Iseul?" Namjoon shakes his head. "You know what, this is done. The damage is done. So, thank you and Iseul for your generous help." Yunho sighs. "Now that you've done all the talking, it's my turn." Joon steps closer to him. "As long as I'm around, I'll continue to keep the peace in this department, and that means I don't want you and Iseul meddling in San's personal matters ever again." Namjoon's jaw ticks as he and Yunho stare at each other in the brief pause that falls between them. "I don't want you meddling in Y/N's personal matters, I don't want you two doing anything on this campus besides running your labs and minding your own goddamn business. Do you understand me?" Namjoon places his hands on his hips while he and Yunho maintain eye contact. Yunho swallows thickly before nodding, digging his hands in his pockets.

"Yes sir."

"The next time you and Iseul wanna act like I don't know how to do my job, I promise I'll be good with reminding you."

—read 14.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[potatoplace]

FACK omg so uhhhhh 😓 chapter 6 will now be chapter 6 AND 7... there's too much damn plot to go through omg. So yeah. Yeah yeah. 😓😓😓 NUMBER ONE GIRL I WANT YOUR DRAMA SO BAD

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ science, baby!

chapter summary: You and Logan begin to try for a baby.

word count: 7.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: hope y'all enjoy this one, it's a mostly cute fluffy chapter :)

also, didn't mean to post so late, i was up late last night writing the peter lyman fanfic😭(it'll hopefully be out tomorrow, but be warned, it's a long one)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, trying for a baby, talks of pregnancy and fertility, fluff, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, slight angst, not proofread

series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5

You walked into the kitchen, thermos in hand, sipping the herbal tea you’d begrudgingly swapped for your usual coffee. Logan stood by the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, and you immediately sprang into action. Without thinking, you grabbed the empty mug from his hand, holding it out of his reach.

“No coffee,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “What do you mean, ‘no coffee’? Darlin’, it’s coffee.”

You shook your head, standing your ground. “Exactly. And we agreed to cut back. Remember? Coffee isn’t exactly helpful for…” Your voice trailed off, and you glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush.

Logan tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?” he teased, clearly enjoying your bashfulness. “Go on, say it.”

You huffed, giving him a light shove. “You know what I mean! The research said caffeine can affect… you know, certain things.”

Logan chuckled, setting the coffee pot back on the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement. “Darlin’, I heal faster than most people. I don’t think a little caffeine’s gonna mess with my…” He paused, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “... swimmers.”

Your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to busy yourself with your thermos. “Logan,” you muttered, your voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone gentler now. “If it matters to you, I’ll lay off the coffee. For now.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his quick concession. “Really?”

Logan nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Really. If we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it together. No coffee, no whiskey, no nothin’. Just tell me what else you need me to do.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled. “Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “It’s not just about the coffee. It’s about… us giving this our best shot.”

He nodded, his expression serious now. “I get it. And I’m in, darlin’. Whatever it takes.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Good. Because there’s a whole list I’ve been working on.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A list, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re planning on sneaking coffee behind my back,” you teased, earning a mock-offended scoff from him.

“I’d never,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew your attention, and Jean entered the kitchen, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile.

“Just convincing Logan to give up coffee,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Jean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Good luck with that.”

Logan shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jean shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. “Just that I’ve seen you sneak a cup or two when you think no one’s watching. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You turned to Logan, your eyes narrowing. “Sneaking coffee, huh?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m done with coffee. Scout’s honor.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning against the counter. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm again, and Logan, ever the opportunist, wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you before grabbing her apple and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Once she was gone, Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand still resting on your waist. “Guess I’d better get used to tea,” he said, eyeing your thermos.

You handed it to him with a grin. “Try it. You might like it.”

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You laughed, leaning against him. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Logan grumbled, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

As you stood there together, his arm around you and the faint warmth of the tea lingering between you, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of hope. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

---

“Since when has your lab become a shrine?” Logan asked as he stepped inside, his eyebrows raised. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the biology and pregnancy books stacked neatly on your desk. Then his gaze moved to the whiteboard covered in colorful charts, numbers, and a suspiciously detailed calendar.

You glanced up from where you were jotting notes at the table, a guilty smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a shrine,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s… research.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Research? Looks more like you’re plannin’ to launch a rocket. What’re all these numbers?”

You hesitated, your pen hovering over the notebook. “Uh… temperatures.”

“Temperatures?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s?”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you muttered, “Ours.”

Logan blinked. “Ours? When the hell did you take my temperature?”

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the page in front of you. “You sleep like a rock, Logan. I might’ve… borrowed a moment.”

Logan snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Darlin’, you’re takin’ my temperature in my sleep now? What’s next, experimentin’ on me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed your amusement. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s important to track these things if we want to—well, you know, increase our chances.”

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the whiteboard, squinting at the calendar. “What’re these stars next to certain dates?” he asked, pointing at a few marked in red.

Your face burned even hotter. “Those are… um, optimal days.”

Logan’s lips twitched as he turned to look at you, his expression thoroughly entertained. “Optimal days? You mean to tell me you’re scheduling sex now?”

You threw your pen at him, though it barely grazed his shoulder. “I’m being scientific about it! It’s not scheduling—it’s maximizing opportunities.”

Logan laughed, the sound rich and warm, as he leaned against the desk next to you. “So, what’s next on the plan, Doctor? You got a list of vitamins for me to take?”

Your silence must’ve said it all, because Logan’s amused expression turned suspicious. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You reached for a small container on the desk, holding it up. Inside were a mix of capsules and tablets in various colors. “These are specially formulated,” you explained, handing it to him.

Logan opened the container, his eyebrows shooting up as he counted the pills. “There’s gotta be fifteen of these things in here. You expect me to down all of ‘em?”

“They’re important,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “And they’re extra-strength so your healing factor doesn’t cancel ‘em out.”

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he picked up one of the bottles on the desk and studied the label. “You really are pullin’ out all the stops, huh?”

You softened, setting your notebook down and meeting his gaze. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I know it might seem a little over the top, but—”

“Hey.” Logan cut you off, his voice gentler now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I get it. And I’m not givin’ you a hard time. If this is what we gotta do, then I’m all in.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing and laughter faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Logan gave you a small smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Always, darlin’. Now, how about you tell me what else you’ve got on that whiteboard of yours?”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Only if you promise to stop sneakin’ coffee.”

Logan groaned dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Logan.”

“Fine,” he relented, grabbing the thermos of tea you’d left on the desk. He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “I’m really startin’ to miss the old days.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the thermos from him, though your smile lingered. “You’ll survive.”

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by your meticulous planning and Logan’s begrudging compliance, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. It wasn’t just about the charts or the vitamins—it was about the future you were building together, one step at a time.

---

It had been almost 6 months since you and Logan started trying, which is why you had started doing research and tracking cycle’s, body temperatures, and making sure the both of you were taking vitamins.

But it also meant doing research on other things too. Like—

“Are you readin’ porn?”

Logan’s gravelly voice snapped you out of your focused haze. Your head shot up, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t even heard him come in, much less lean over your shoulder to see the screen of your laptop.

“What?” you blurted, your hand reflexively slamming the laptop shut. Too late. Logan’s grin was already spreading, the kind that reached his eyes and filled them with mischief.

“Thought I’d seen it all, but here you are, learnin’ about creative new angles,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the edge of the table.

“It’s not—” you paused, your face heating as you tried to think of a way to explain yourself. “It’s research, Logan. For… conceiving.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your defense. “Uh-huh. And what exactly were you tryin’ to learn, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the edge of the laptop. “…Best positions,” you mumbled under your breath, the words barely audible.

Logan barked out a laugh, the deep sound reverberating through the room. “Best positions? Hell, you’ve got a whole lab full of books and charts, but this is what you’re stuck on?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can you not make this more embarrassing than it already is?”

“Can’t promise that.” Logan reached out, gently prying your hands away from your face. His grin softened as he tilted his head at you. “C’mon, darlin’. Don’t look so mortified. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” you echoed, half-exasperated, half-amused despite yourself. “I’m sitting here reading medical journals about optimal positions, and you think that’s cute?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it shows how bad you want this.” Logan’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice dropped into a gentler tone. “You’ve been takin’ all this on yourself, and I get why. But you know you’re not in this alone, right? Whatever it takes, I’m with you.”

Your eyes softened at his words. Logan might tease endlessly, but there was always sincerity beneath it. That sincerity was part of why you loved him so fiercely.

“Thanks,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

Logan leaned back slightly, his grin creeping back. “So, you gonna share what you learned? You’ve got my full attention now.”

You gave him a light shove, rolling your eyes as your smile widened. “You really want me to get into the mechanics of it?”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent over a century figurin’ things out on my own. If you’ve got some expert tips, I’m all ears.”

Your face burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Fine. Basically… uh, some positions are better for, um, helping things along. Gravity and angles—”

Logan smirked. “Oh, I get it now. It’s physics. Guess you’re in your element, huh?”

You swatted at him with your free hand, unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, Logan, it’s physics. And afterwards, raising my hips for about fifteen minutes can apparently help even more. Something about keeping things… in place longer.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a slow grin, his hazel eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of humor and something a little more primal. “Practical application, then?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the bookshelf to your left. “…Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter.

Logan stood, towering over you in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. He tipped your chin up with two fingers, ensuring you couldn’t escape his gaze. “We don’t have to keep this scientific, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

You managed a small smirk, though your breath hitched at his closeness. “I don’t know, Logan. I think I’d look cute with a pillow under my hips afterward.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and Logan shook his head. “Fine. Science it is. But don’t go thinkin’ I need much persuadin’.”

Before you could reply, he swept you off your feet—literally—leaving your squeak of surprise echoing through the room as he carried you out the door. “Logan! Where are we going?”

“To try those optimal angles,” he replied, voice heavy with amusement. “Can’t let all that research go to waste.”

You covered your face with your hands, your laughter muffled by your palms. Maybe you’d let him win this round.

---

You turned on your side to face Logan, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting a golden glow over his features. He was already awake, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your waist. His hazel eyes flicked down to yours as a small, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low from sleep.

You blinked up at him, still hazy, your glasses sitting on the bedside table where you’d left them the night before. “Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s thumb brushed a gentle circle over your hip. “You slept alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your words coming slower, the weight of sleep still clinging to you. “You?”

“Like a log,” he said, his grin deepening. “Though wakin’ up next to you’s the best part.”

You gave him a soft smile, your cheeks warming. “You always know just what to say.”

His hand shifted, sliding up your waist and resting just below your ribs. The look in his eyes darkened slightly, the softness giving way to something hungrier. “Ain’t sayin’ it just to say it, sweetheart.”

“Logan…” Your voice trailed off, knowing that tone, that look. “It’s not… I mean, today isn’t…”

“Not an ‘optimal’ day?” he guessed, the corner of his mouth quirking up as his fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. “Don’t care.”

You raised a brow at him, even as your heart skipped a beat. “You don’t care?”

“Nope.” Logan shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully. His hand moved down, slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt to rest against your bare skin. “It’s been six months of plannin’ and chartin’ and all that other stuff. Ain’t sayin’ it doesn’t matter, but sometimes I just wanna hold my wife.”

You swallowed, your breath hitching as his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast. “Logan…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, that rough, familiar rasp sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Your body was already responding to his touch, your skin warming under his calloused hands.

“You love it,” he countered, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Now, c’mere.”

Before you could protest—not that you wanted to—Logan was pulling you closer, rolling onto his back and guiding you to straddle his hips. His hands found your thighs, squeezing gently as he looked up at you with that crooked grin that always made your knees weak.

“Logan, I don’t even have my glasses on,” you pointed out, your voice breathless.

“Gotcha covered,” he said, reaching over to the bedside table with one hand while the other stayed firmly on your hip. He grabbed your glasses, unfolding them with practiced ease before slipping them onto your face. “Better?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, his hands returning to your waist, pulling you down against him. “Now stop distractin’ me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as Logan’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his palms as he explored every inch of you. His touch was firm but careful, reverent in a way that made your chest ache with how much you loved him.

“Logan…” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he guided your hips to grind against his.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Just like that.”

You gasped, your movements becoming more insistent as his hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. He leaned up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you against him as the hard length of him pressed firmly against you through the thin fabric of his boxers. The heat of him, the unmistakable need in the way he moved you, sent a jolt through your core. A soft sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, and his eyes darkened at the sound.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers tightened, keeping you moving, drawing delicious friction between you both.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest, fingers curling into the hard muscle beneath your palms. “Logan…” you began, your voice shaky but laced with warmth, a quiet plea threading through his name.

“Mhm, sweetheart?” His lips quirked up into that familiar grin, the one that could undo you completely. “You just keep ridin’ me like that. Don’t stop now.”

The bluntness of his words made your cheeks flush, but it wasn’t embarrassment that had your thighs tightening around him. You bit your lip, your hips moving instinctively as the growing ache in you demanded more.

Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the soft skin just beneath your breasts. He leaned up slightly, his breath warm against your jaw as he murmured, “You feel so good, darlin’. Always do.”

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding to him like it always did. Your hips rolled, the thin barrier of fabric doing little to dull the intensity of the sensation. He was hard and hot beneath you, and the teasing friction only made you want more.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching. “I need…”

His grin widened, and his hands slid back to your hips, stilling you. “What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of seriousness to it. “You’re gonna have to say it.”

You groaned, your cheeks burning hotter as you avoided his gaze for a moment. But the ache in you was stronger than your shyness. “I need you,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended but clear enough for him to hear.

Logan’s grin softened into something warmer, though the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your heart race. His hands tugged at your underwear, and you lifted your hips to help him slide them down your thighs, discarding them onto the floor.

Before you could overthink the vulnerability of being completely bare in front of him, Logan’s hands were back on you, grounding you with their rough warmth. His thumbs caressed your thighs as his gaze roamed over you, taking in every inch. “Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before his hands guided you back down, the heat of him pressing against your bare core now. The sensation made you gasp, and Logan groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Bet I could slide right in without any trouble.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as your need for him grew unbearable. “Please, Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Logan reached between you, tugging his boxers down just enough to free himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him against you, and it made your whole body tremble. He lined himself up, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he guided you down onto him.

The stretch of him was immediate, filling you in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands steadying you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “You’re doin’ so good.”

You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you sank down fully, your body adjusting to him. Once you were seated completely, a shudder ran through you, and you let out a breathless moan. Logan’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so perfect. Always are.”

Your hands rested on his chest, fingers splayed out over the hard muscle beneath them. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, even as your own raced. You shifted your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a soft gasp from yourself as the movement sent a rush of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “You feel…”

“Yeah?” he prompted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’s it feel?”

You couldn’t stop the flush that spread across your cheeks, but you managed to meet his gaze. “It’s… so good,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

A lazy grin spread across his face, his hands returning to your hips to guide you. “That’s what I wanna hear. Now, c’mon, darlin’. Move for me.”

You nodded, your hands pressing into his chest for leverage as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him as you rose. The sensation was almost too much, and a soft whimper escaped you before you sank back down, drawing a deep groan from Logan. His grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your skin as he helped guide your movements.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you.”

You fell into a rhythm, your movements steady but deliberate, each roll of your hips sending waves of pleasure through both of you. Logan’s hands never left your body, roaming up your sides and back down to your thighs, his touch grounding you. His gaze stayed fixed on you, drinking in every gasp, every tremble, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Always are, but like this? Can’t get enough of you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your movements became more insistent, your body seeking more. Logan groaned, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours, the new angle sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you cry out.

“Logan!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice strained but full of encouragement. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips, each one seeming to spur him on. His hands slid up your back, pulling you down toward him until your chest pressed against his. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making you shiver.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I… I can’t…”

“You can,” he insisted, his voice a low growl. “And you will. Just let me take care of you.”

He shifted, sitting up and keeping you in his lap, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. The new position allowed him to thrust up into you more deeply, and you gasped, your head falling to his shoulder as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Oh, God,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. “Logan…”

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re doin’ so good. Feels so damn good.”

You clung to him, your movements becoming more frantic as the tension in your body built higher and higher. Logan’s hands roamed your back and hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing it and moving back to your neck.

Logan’s teeth grazed along the side of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that sent tingles through your entire body. He kissed the spot just below your ear, a soft, almost reverent press of lips that contrasted with the heat pooling in your core.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching as his hips shifted beneath you, his length pressing even deeper. The slow, deliberate grind of his movements made your thighs tighten around him, the tension building with every second.

“Mmm,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. “You’re so damn perfect, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and you tilted your head to give him more access to your neck. “Logan, please…” you said, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark and filled with something raw. “What’s it, darlin’? You wanna tell me what you need?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing. You’d been married long enough that you shouldn’t feel shy, but Logan always had a way of undoing you with a single look.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you steady. “C’mon now, use your words. Tell your husband what he can do for you.”

“I need you to…” Your voice faltered for a moment before you found the courage to continue. “I need you to move.”

Logan’s grin softened, a tenderness slipping into his expression even as his grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got you.”

His hands flexed on your waist, steadying you as he shifted beneath you. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you. Without warning, he leaned forward, wrapping an arm securely around your back. You gasped softly, your arms automatically circling his shoulders as he maneuvered you with effortless strength, lowering you gently onto your back.

“Logan,” you began, your voice a mix of surprise and warmth.

“Easy, darlin’,” he interrupted, his lips quirking up into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t you say this was the best way?”

Your cheeks burned as you recalled the countless articles and studies you’d pored over in the past six months, each one dissecting the optimal positions, timings, and conditions. He’d teased you about it before, but there was no judgment in his tone now—just a gentle reminder of how deeply he’d paid attention.

“I… yeah,” you admitted quietly, your hands brushing against his chest as he settled himself above you.

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hazel eyes tracing every line of your face. “Figured I’d give my scientist wife what she wants,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You laughed, the sound breathy and a little shaky. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you love it,” he countered, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against yours, drawing a quiet sound from your throat. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his breath warm against your lips. “This okay?”

You nodded, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging gently. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “It’s perfect.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he shifted, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The movement pressed him deeper, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair. He groaned softly, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you arched up to meet him. “Logan,” you murmured, the sound of his name spurring him on.

His hands found yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on either side of your head. The weight of his hands, the way his body pressed into yours, sent a rush of heat through you. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled back slightly before pressing into you again, the motion deliberate and unhurried. It wasn’t frantic or rushed—it was steady, purposeful, the weight of every movement making your body hum with pleasure.

“God,” you breathed, your head tilting back against the pillow. “Logan…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “Right here, darlin’.” His pace picked up slightly, the rhythm just enough to make your toes curl. He squeezed your hands gently, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles. “Keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there took your breath away—a mix of love, desire, and something deeper that made your chest tighten. “Logan,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know, Y/N.”

He released your hands, his palms sliding down your arms and over your sides. The calloused roughness of his touch sent sparks dancing across your skin. He braced one hand beside your head while the other slipped beneath your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist. The new angle made you cry out softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let me hear you.”

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his movements. The rhythm built gradually, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. Logan’s breaths came heavier, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped, his voice strained but filled with sincerity. “Always have been.”

A soft laugh escaped you, though it was broken by a gasp as he shifted his weight slightly. “You… you’re biased,” you managed, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Damn right I am. But it’s still true.”

Logan’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, matching the rhythm of his movements. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he worked to keep his control.

“Logan,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with need.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment. His hazel eyes searched yours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Never,” he promised, his voice low and filled with conviction. “Not for anything.”

He resumed his movements, his pace increasing slightly as the tension between you built. Your breaths mingled, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony. Every brush of his skin against yours, every shift of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through you.

Your hands slid to his face, cupping his jaw as you pulled him down for another kiss. The connection between you felt electric, every touch, every sound magnified by the depth of your emotions. Logan groaned against your lips, his grip on your thigh tightening as his movements became more insistent.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice rough and filled with emotion. “Always have been.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with sensation. Instead, you let your body speak for you, your nails dragging lightly down his back as you arched against him. Logan’s lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Always.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight as Logan drove you closer and closer to the edge. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, each syllable laced with desperation and love. Logan’s own breaths were ragged, his movements becoming less controlled as he followed you into the spiral of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. “Darlin’… I…”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the wave of sensation crashed over you, your body tightening around him as you cried out. Logan followed moments later, his body shuddering against yours as he buried his face in your neck, his breaths hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your breathing and the rapid thudding of your hearts. Logan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His hazel eyes were warm, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, a tired but genuine smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done holding you yet.”

---

As you poured over your large desk calendar, carefully reviewing the neat little markings you’d made to track your cycle, one thing became clear—you were late. Just by two days, but late nonetheless. Your stomach twisted slightly at the realization. It wasn’t panic, but an odd mix of hope and trepidation.

Logan was out for the day, helping Bobby with reconnaissance in the field. You had the mansion’s lab all to yourself, for now, save for the soft hum of the equipment around you. You stared at the calendar for a moment longer before exhaling sharply, closing it.

Footsteps echoed softly down the corridor outside your lab. The familiar red-haired figure appeared a moment later, her bright smile a welcome sight. Jean always seemed to have a knack for showing up when you needed her, whether or not you realized it.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her green eyes warm. “Mind if I come in?”

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. “Not at all.”

She stepped inside, glancing around before narrowing her gaze playfully. “Alright, what’s got you so deep in thought that you didn’t even hear me walking up?”

You hesitated. Jean was one of your closest friend—someone you trusted implicitly—but the thought of saying it aloud made your cheeks warm. You busied yourself tidying a few loose papers on your desk.

“It’s nothing,” you said lightly, though your tone betrayed you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Y/N. I know you too well for that.”

You sighed, sitting back in your chair and fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. “I realized… I’m late.”

It took a beat, but comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh.” Her voice softened immediately. “You mean…”

You nodded. “By two days.”

Jean moved closer, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. Her tone remained calm and supportive, but her expression was curious. “Have you told Logan yet?”

“No. I just figured it out this morning, and he’s out with Bobby.” You shook your head, pushing up your glasses. “And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m… y’know. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. “Fair. But, what’s the harm in knowing? Have you taken a test yet?”

“No. I haven’t exactly worked up the nerve,” you admitted, managing a wry smile. “Besides, I don’t even have one.”

Her lips quirked into a smile of her own. “Alright. Why don’t we go grab one now? It’ll give you some company, and we can grab lunch afterward. My treat.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but the idea of not facing the store alone—and spending some time with Jean—was surprisingly appealing. You gave her a grateful look.

“You don’t have to do that,” you started.

“I know,” she interrupted gently, standing and reaching for your hand. “But I want to. Come on, get your coat.”

You hesitated a moment longer before standing, sliding into your coat and scarf. Jean smiled encouragingly, and you followed her out of the lab, glad for the distraction.

---

The two of you walked into the drugstore, the bright fluorescent lights making the shelves gleam. Jean glanced over at you as you lingered near the door.

“Alright, where to?” she asked, her teasing smile disarming any awkwardness you might’ve felt.

You motioned vaguely toward the pharmacy section, hesitating for a moment before finally heading down the appropriate aisle. Jean walked beside you like a fortress, keeping her presence casual but protective.

Reaching the section with pregnancy tests, you froze slightly. The sheer number of options was overwhelming—digital, non-digital, early detection, the works. Jean followed your gaze and let out a quiet laugh.

“Who knew it was so complicated, huh?” she said, reaching out to grab one of the boxes. “This one looks straightforward. What do you think?”

You nodded, relieved she was taking the reins. She handed you the box, and you managed to keep your expression neutral as you tucked it under your arm.

Once at the checkout, Jean casually chatted with you about physics lectures, cutting through any tension. If the clerk gave you an odd look as they rang up the test, you were too focused on Jean’s lighthearted commentary to notice.

---

After getting back to the mansion and successfully avoiding the test for hours, you found yourself pacing your shared bedroom, the unopened box mocking you from the desk. Every time you thought you were ready, your nerves got the better of you.

Logan would be back soon, and the last thing you wanted was to be caught mid-test, especially if it turned out to be a false alarm. Not to mention, you weren’t even sure how to feel yet. Hopeful? Nervous?

You finally let out a frustrated groan, swiping the box off the desk and heading for the bathroom. Best to just get it over with.

Jean had offered to stay and wait with you, but you’d insisted you were fine. She’d left with a knowing smile and a promise to check in on you later.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the pregnancy test still untouched on the counter. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the edge of the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. For months, you’d been doing everything you could to plan, track, and optimize, but now, faced with the moment of truth, it felt… terrifying.

Still, you’d promised yourself you’d do this today. “Just get it over with,” you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the edge of the tub and grabbing one of the small sterile cups Jean had handed you earlier. You couldn’t help but smile briefly at her thoughtfulness—of course, she’d come prepared.

Steeling yourself, you slipped into autopilot mode, getting everything in place as clinically as possible. You focused on the steps, trying to push away the weight of your emotions. But when you glanced down after finishing, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the pale pink lines on the pregnancy test that greeted you. It was bright red.

Your heart plummeted as the realization hit. You didn’t even need the test anymore.

The wave of disappointment was immediate and sharp, crashing over you before you even had time to process it. You felt frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the stark evidence in front of you. All the charts, the vitamins, the careful planning—none of it mattered. Not this time, at least.

You sat back down on the edge of the tub and pressed your hands to your face. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. It wasn’t the end of the world, you reminded yourself. You and Logan had only been trying for six months. There was still time.

But the hope you’d been holding onto—nurturing like a fragile spark—felt snuffed out in an instant.

---

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you meant to, staring at the sink as your thoughts swirled. When you finally managed to gather yourself enough to leave, the sun had dipped lower, casting warm orange light into the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 6:17 PM.

Logan would be back soon.

The thought of seeing him was equal parts comforting and daunting. You knew he wouldn’t blame you or be upset, but the weight of letting him down—of letting yourself down—pressed heavily on your chest.

You busied yourself cleaning up, discarding the unused test and tucking away the box in the bathroom cabinet. By the time you emerged, you had forced your expression into something neutral, though you felt anything but calm.

---

The rumble of Logan’s motorcycle echoed through the driveway not long after, and you instinctively straightened in your chair, fiddling with the edge of the smaller version of your calendar you’d been pretending to review.

When the door opened, Logan’s presence filled the room like always, his familiar scent and the soft creak of his boots against the floor grounding you. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, his hazel eyes immediately finding yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. His gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “You alright? You look tired.”

You managed a small smile, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine. Just a long day.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly, but soon your eyes started to burn again, and you shook your head, unable to keep up the facade. Logan’s brow furrowed as his hand slid from your cheek to rest lightly on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, concerned.

You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you gave a small shake of your head and looked down, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you avoided his gaze. Logan crouched in front of you, his hands finding yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Talk to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands tightening around his as you finally forced yourself to say the words, even if they came out in sobs and jumbles. “I thought—I thought maybe this time, but… it’s not. I’m not.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Logan’s grip on your hands tightened just enough to steady you. He didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry, his thumbs brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice rough with concern. He moved to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace broke down the last of your walls, and you clung to him, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came harder.

“I—I thought I felt different this time,” you murmured against his shirt, your voice muffled. “I was so sure. And then…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s okay to feel like this. You don’t have to hold it in with me.”

You nodded against his chest, even as fresh tears welled up. “It just—it feels like I failed. Like we’re doing everything right, and it still doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t fail,” Logan said firmly, his voice steady and low. He pulled back enough to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. His hazel eyes were soft but intense, focused entirely on you. “This ain’t on you. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, even when we’re doin’ everything we’re supposed to. Doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ll keep tryin’, together.”

“But what if—what if it never happens?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a moment before answering. “Then we’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We always do. One way or another, we’ll have the family we’re dreamin’ about. You hear me?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. Logan cupped your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. We’ll get through this, just like we’ve gotten through everything else. And we’ll do it together.”

His words eased some of the weight pressing on your chest, and you leaned into his hand, letting out a shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want to hide it.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Logan said. “Don’t ever feel like you gotta deal with this by yourself. I’m here, no matter what, alright?”

You nodded again, and this time the tears that fell were lighter, more cathartic than crushing. Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling you back into his arms.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The soft hum of Logan’s steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace grounded you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

“I love you,” you murmured after a while, your voice small but steady.

“I love you too, darlin’,” Logan replied without hesitation, his lips brushing against your temple.

The reassurance in his voice settled something inside you, and for the first time since the disappointment had struck, the knot in your chest began to loosen. You weren’t sure what the future held, but as long as Logan was by your side, you knew you could face it.

this is mostly 2006! next chapter will cover the rest of the year!

[reignpage]

Basketball Captain!Toji

Toronto Raptors: home win

Word Count: 5k Warnings: fluff mostly, a little angst, cursing, mentions of darker themes but nothing too serious, not proofread, final pre-relationship chapter, thus concluding toji's story for now,

“Come on,” is all Toji says when you open the door to his solid knocks. 

He doesn’t say anything else as you follow him out to his car, where you strap in, confused and unsure. Still in his gym clothes, you can tell he came straight from training, and there’s tension in his shoulders that’s usually all worked out after a good session bullying his teammates relentlessly.

The man just showed up, unannounced, at your door after noon. He didn’t greet you with a kiss or a sneaky squeeze of your ass. He simply urged you to follow him and so you did. Silent, uncharacteristically so, he just led you down. 

With a sigh, you breach the silence when he starts the car up. “It’s pretty cold outside, Fushiguro. I don’t understand how you can stand to be in shorts every day.”

“It’s not that cold, ma.” He snorts. His veins are prominent, bulging from how tense he is, but he eases his grip on the steering wheel enough for you to lose that fear he’ll veer off a bridge or something.

“Where are we going?”

He throws you a side glance, hand falling on onto your thigh with a squeeze that you can’t be sure he means to be comforting but rather just to cop a feel. Though you appreciate it, you can’t help but feel even more anxious.

“You wanted me to prove that I’ve changed, that I’m willing to change. For you. So, that’s what I’m doing.”

There’s a conviction in his eyes, a fire you only ever see when he’s playing a game, when he’s facing all the opposing players dotted along the court but all he sees is the way through to get to glory. In your short time of knowing Fushiguro, you’ve learnt that he’s a pretty laidback guy. Rarely does he ever get riled up.

His ability to remain calm under any situation is one of the many things you admire about him -- he was reliable when he helped you with your ex, when he made dinner every night as your roommate, and when he picks you up and drops you off all over campus for this and that. 

Though the boundaries of your relationship had never been established, you can’t help but feel like dating him wouldn’t be so bad. After all, that’s practically what you’ve been doing this entire time when he brings you coffee after your class or when he just shows up at your door randomly with an overnight bag. 

You like him. 

You’ve never denied it. 

But you’re not stupid. 

Toji Fushiguro is a manwhore. It’s a term you dislike, and you know he’s so much more than his sexual history, but that history is extensive. And though you’ve daydreamed you could be more than a notch on the proverbial bedpost, you’ve never deluded yourself into thinking that he’ll propose to you after a night of great sex. 

It would be unfair of you to expect him to change anyways. 

However, this past week or two, something about him had shifted. He’s become more serious around you. You could tell when he scolds you for your unhealthy diet consisting of overly sugary cereal and fruit-flavoured candies. Or when he actually takes the time to read your work and sends even just a quick message expressing his thoughts. 

Nowadays, he walks around with an arm around you and introduces you not as a friend but by your name and his friends seem to understand exactly what he means. Now, people know who you are and they stop to greet you in the hallways, and all you can do is stutter out an awkward greeting. 

It’s all so very odd. 

Is it possible he really means it when he says he wants you to be his girlfriend?

“You’re doing a lot of thinking right now, aren’t ya?” He asks. 

You didn’t even realise he’s parked already. You’re in an unfamiliar place: a very nice, wealthy area in West Eden. Up ahead, you see a picturesque estate often visited by flocks of tourists day in and day out. What with its tall, golden gates and lush garden, even grander than Eden’s National Park. 

It’s a mansion belonging to an old money family. Even you know their name. The same kind of name often associated with the Gojos and the Ryomens.

“What are we doing at the Zenin Manor?”

He doesn’t answer, simply exits the car and opens your door. The arm strung over your shoulder does absolutely nothing to quell that anxiety inside, because written all over Toji’s face is that very same uncertainty and dread you’re feeling.  

His brows are furrowed, there’s no smile on his face, and when he frowns like that, his scar becomes even more prominent. He licks his lips, searching for the indentation on his skin as he eyes the towering fence lining the entire property as far as the eye can see. 

He doesn’t say a word. 

There’s no comment about how you should dress warmer, or how your ass looks in your jeans or how dead to the world he feels after training. Nothing. Except for a squeeze of your hand when it reaches his on your shoulder. 

You’ve never seen him look so…small. 

He doesn’t lead you to the gates but rather down the street, following the metal fencing. The manor is gorgeous and old. It carries the weight of centuries of wealth, power and integrity. Everything is calculated to perfection, from the symmetrically aligned shrubbery to the shiny windows. There isn’t a single leaf out of place, no blade of grass taller than the other, and even the cars parked down the road are all freshly washed and polished. 

There’s no doubt about it; the Zenin Manor is a work of architectural art. 

But there’s something off about the whole place, something detached or clinical. Perhaps it’s because there are no people — not in the streets, not in the huge lawn, and not in any of the windows. It’s like a ghost town. Or maybe it’s because everything is too perfect, too symmetrical and clean.

You’ve heard rumours about ghosts living in the Manor, stories of children’s screams echoing in the depth of the night, of blood splatters on walls, of monsters lurking behind huge trees. You know the stories the locals pass around about the Zenins – they dabbled in dark magic and colluded with the devil. Their descendants possess otherworldly powers and those that don’t are cast away, rejected by their kin. 

It’s the kind of folklore that attracts the tourists to begin with; they love the contrast of the pristine beauty of the home with idea of the horrors that fill it. 

As far as the building and the family is concerned, however, that’s as much as you know. Which doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence now that Toji is leading you into a maze of roads and alleyways of sorts. 

The fencing off the main street is weaker, the metal rusted and the shrubs sharper and sparser. You’ve lost your bearing now that Toji is leading you here and there, guiding you back and forth, left and right. And the houses across the street are smaller, older, and tightly packed. That sterile front is long gone. 

He stops.

When you look up at the Manor once more, you’re surprised to find it’s farther in the distance from the fence and you’re staring at what seems to be the back garden —though you’re certain no one would call it a ‘garden’ when it more closely resembles a park. 

“Toji, I’m being serious. Why are we here?”

He sighs, arm leaving you and tucking itself in his hoodie pocket. Rocking on his feet, he jerks his head and replies, “There’s something I wanna show ya.”

You follow his gaze to a big cherry blossom tree, leaves rustling and petals flowing in the wind. It’s the only tree littering on the perfect grass and it’s pretty, as all cherry blossoms tend to be. But that isn’t what he’s looking at. 

No, Toji is looking at a little boy. 

He has black, spiky hair and wears a plain black shirt with shorts. He’s alone. Reading a book, he sits under the tree and is completely obvlivious to the two people watching him. 

If this was under any other circumstances, you wouldn’t think much more about the scene. Sure, you don’t know many little boys who read but reading a book isn’t a crime. It’s actually great for children, according to a study you read some time ago. 

But this boy is different. Not just because there’s a maturity to him that makes your heart ache, or the fact that a boy his age should be out with friends or at the very least should be watched by an adult, but because he bears a striking resemblance to the huge man beside you. 

“You have a son?” You screech. 

Toji snorts, hand flying to smush your face like you’re just too adorable not to squish. With an amused tone, he scolds, “Don’t jump to conclusions, ma. I’ve never not wrapped it before I tapped it.”

“Okay, so why are we staring at this kid? Tell me it’s not because this is a hobby of yours ‘cause I swear to god, if you need to be on a register, I’m gonna…well, I don’t actually know what I’d do but I’ll do something.”

He doesn’t look impressed with your little rant. In fact, he doesn’t even grace you with a response and instead puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. 

You wince. 

The boy looks up, head jolting and gaze piercing right through you immediately. He sets his book down and runs over. Somehow, he looks even smaller when he reaches the fence, barely at your hip. He looks completely suspicious of you but says nothing. 

“Hey, kid,” Toji says, bending down to a squat. “How ya been?”

The little boy shrugs and holds the fence in his tiny hands. “Good. Who’s the pretty lady?”

There’s a look of pride that steals your breath when Toji looks up at you. He has that handsome smile on his face, the one that stretches his scar out and crinkles his eyes. The very same smile he gives you when he scores, and his eyes finds yours in the crowd. A smile that makes your heart beat a mile a minute and threatens to knock you on your feet. 

“This,” Toji announces with an exaggerated gesture to you, “is ma girl.” 

It isn’t the first time you’ve heard him say that, but it sure does feel like it. You release a shaky smile, bending down too to meet the little boy’s inquisitive gaze full on. Mustering a nurturing tone, you introduce yourself. “Hi, I’m y/n. What’s your name?”

“Megumi. He mentions you a lot when he visits. I thought you weren’t real, but I guess you are so, hi.”

“Oi, don’t be rude, ya little brat.” Nudging Toji and giving him a look, you urge him to explain further. “Oh, right. This is my little brother. Pain in my ass but he’s smart so I think I have to be nice to him when he becomes rich and shit.”

Aghast, you hiss, “Do you make it a habit of swearing in front of your brother?”

Something passes through his eyes, a spark of surprise and warmth, one that you can’t quite place. But you don’t have time to ponder it because shouting comes from the distance. 

“Shit, we gotta do. Come on, Megs,” Toji urges. 

With expert agility, the boy manoeuvres himself through the metal bars of the fence and reaches his arms up so he can be carried by his brother, who jerks his chin, signalling to run. 

You do. 

Ignoring the shouting behind you, you run through the maze of alleyways and roads, dodging trees and branches, and pumping your legs to keep up with the athlete in front of you. Despite holding up someone else’s weight, he runs incredibly fast. You’re not sure why you’re surprised and impressed considering he’s a basketball player but it’s all you can think about when you finally reach his car and strap in. 

Megumi sits in the back, fingers drumming on his bare knees as Toji drives off. 

You’re trying to catch your breath, panting embarrassingly whilst the other two seem unfazed, like the whole ordeal hadn’t happened, like Toji Fushiguro, captain of Eden University’s Varsity Basketball team, hasn’t just kidnapped a child from one of the country’s wealthiest families. 

“Gotta calm down, ma. Y’r gonna pop a blood vessel with how hard y’r grinding your teeth,” he advices, totally amused.

There’s no drop of sweat on his forehead, no flush on his cheeks, or a heave of his chest. He’s cool, calm and collected, and you hate him so much right now. 

“Fushiguro, tell me you didn’t just steal this boy away from his family.”

Toji’s jaw clenches. “I am his family.”

You groan, exasperated. What does any of this have to do with him begging to be your boyfriend? 

Does he think kidnapping impresses girls nowadays? Or maybe he thinks you’re the kind of girl who’s always wanted to be behind bars?

“Is this the right thing to do? Won’t we get into trouble?”

“We do this all the time,” the little boy remarks. He doesn’t look bothered at all, either. In fact, he smiles at you, teeth missing and gums showing, like he’s aware of the absurdity of the situation and is rubbing salt on the wound. 

You screech again, hands flailing as you heave for air. “I’m too young to go to prison, Toji. I can’t. I wouldn’t look very inspirational as a fugitive. And I don’t know how to fashion shanks out of forks!”

“She’s funny,” Megumi notes.

Toji laughs. He fucking laughs. 

“This isn’t funny, Fushiguro. Take him back. Take him back and explain that you found him wandering the streets or something.” 

Toji stops laughing. 

“No. I’m not taking him back. Not until I absolutely have to.”

He’s too casual about the whole thing, like he didn’t just make you an accessory to a crime. And it’s pissing you off in ways that’s making your brain malfunction. You’ve always known getting involved with him would bring you trouble but you assumed that trouble would manifest in a few jealous girls. 

That you could handle. 

Law enforcement? 

Your other hand reaches for the door handle, contemplating the possibility of jumping out and claiming he kidnapped you too. The door clicks. He locked you in. 

When you look up at him, he gives you a knowing smile, hand on the gearstick leaving to hold your thigh instead. You swat it away. Then, with a resigned sigh, he begins his explanation. 

“Listen. I know ya think this is crazy, and yeah, it kinda is. But he’s my brother. And I’m not doing anything to harm him. If anything, this is good for him.”

“Good? This is good for him? What are you talking about?” You stare in disbelief. 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it is good. ‘Cause you have no idea what those people do to him. They’re fucking insane. They never let him out. He never gets to play. He doesn’t even know any kids his age.”

“It’s the Zenin family. They’re all over the news. Would they actually abuse a child? Like, wouldn’t they want to avoid bad press?”

Both Megumi and Toji scoff. 

If they didn’t already resemble each other physically, that arrogant noise would have screamed their relation to each other. Guess being annoying runs in the family. 

“They control the media, babe. They decide what goes out on the papers. Trust me, I know.”

You gulp. He’s not suggesting he’s experienced it first hand, has he? 

His last name is Fushiguro, not Zenin. How could he be related to that family? 

He’s never been pictured with them, never mentioned his connection, and no one, not even in your Insider’s Line has that ever been whispered. But of course, he must be related somehow. His brother is a Zenin child, after all. 

“Y’r thinking that ‘cause my last name is Fushiguro, I’m not a Zenin, right?” Your silence is all the answer he needs. “I am a Zenin. Was raised as one. But I don’t want anything to do with them, so I changed my name as soon as I was eighteen. Emancipated myself and shit.”

Your voice is a little more than a whisper when you ask, “What did they do to you, Toji?”

He squeezes your thigh, thumb brushing before he answers, “They’re not good people. They don’t care about how far they push ya as long as they get results. They’ve started doing the same to Megs and I can’t get him outta there but I gotta, y’know? Even just for a little while. So he can get some fresh air, eat some fucking candy like a normal child or something.”

“They know it’s you, though, right?”

“Yeah. They bombard me with threats and shit, asking me to return him but it’s only when they show up at my door that I let him go. But I hate doing it every time. Hate having to say goodbye knowing he’s going back to that hellhole whilst I get to be free or whatever. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t pity us. We’re not a fucked-up charity case.”

You hold the hand on your lap, bringing it up to your mouth to lay a kiss along his knuckles. “I know.”

Neither of you mention the shake in your hand.

Toji pulls up to a drive through, ordering a bunch of junk food he’d always turned his nose up before but scarfs them down eagerly. He let Megumi order everything he wanted from the menu, even two milkshakes and a bunch of burgers no child could possibly finish. With no mention of the elephant in the car, you all feast on the mountain of greasy food from oiled up paper bags. 

Soon, the little boy is knocked out, crumbs all over his shorts and ketchup on his chin, a look of utter contentment on his face as he dozes off. 

You’re cleaning up the mess, crumpling up the papers and stuffing them into a big bag, busying yourself as Toji leans on a bent elbow through the window. You can tell he’s got a lot on his mind; he keeps looking at his brother through the rear-view mirror. 

Though you don’t think of them as a charity case, you do feel pity. It’s a situation you would never want to be in and it’s one they should never have to live through. But they do and you have no idea how to help. To think, that all this time, he’s been worrying for his brother, balancing his weird, messed up family history with his degree and games. You would have never figured it out. 

He’s always joking around, always working hard and living easy. How he has any time for taking care of a child, you would never know.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

Toji is startled when you speak, almost as if he’s forgotten where he is. The tension in his face wears away though and his gaze softens when he takes in your adoring smile. Hand rising, he thumbs away a sauce in the corner of your lips before he leans forward, lips meeting yours.

It’s not rough and messy the way he kisses you before he’s ripping your clothes off as he pins you to the wall. It’s soft and gentle. A kiss just to feel and taste you. A kiss that shows his appreciation and you return it.

“Y’r a champ,” he says against your lips. 

You giggle. “I didn’t do anything.”

He playfully bites your bottom lip before he argues, “Ya did a lot. I’m always nervous doing this. The sneaking around and shit, but it helped that you were here.”

You kiss him again, hands cradling his face. 

The sun is setting and it’s growing colder outside but being in the warmth of your own little cocoon with Toji holding you close washes away any worries about what tomorrow will bring. 

“This is why I brought ya here,” he begins. “I wanted to show ya a different part of me. Wanted to explain some things.”

You shake your head. 

“You don’t need to explain anything you’re not ready to.”

He pecks your lips and with a laugh, he says, “You’re too sweet, ma. But I wanna. D’ya remember when you caught me with that girl in my place?”

You pull away. 

“Oh, come on, don’t get all mad again. I’m explaining that it was a misunderstanding. Well, kinda. I was sleeping with her, yeah. But not ‘cause I liked her or anything.”

Swatting his groping hands away, you scoff. “Are you seriously telling me you slept with her because you hate her?”

Toji laughs again. “Nah, ‘course not. Barely even knew her. She just works part time as a maid in that place. She takes care of him sometimes.”

“So?”

He grabs your thigh again. “So, I used her to keep tabs on him. Women tend to be more loose lipped after an orgasm or two.”

You’re blinking rapidly, trying to process the information. “You slept with her just to keep an eye on your brother?”

Shrugging like there’s absolutely nothing remotely crazy about that, he replies, “Yeah. Been doing it for a while. Not since then, actually. But since I ran away. Not just her, either. Anyone who can tell me what’s going on in that house. Sometimes, Megs can’t come out and he doesn’t leave for weeks and I just gotta know he’s safe, that they haven’t done something to him. I need to know that I’ll see him again.”

“Oh.”

It’s a pretty pathetic thing to say but it’s the only thing you can muster after an admission like that. Though it explains your relevance to the whole thing, you’re not sure exactly what he’s trying to say. Or maybe you are, and you just need to hear him say it. Maybe you need to hear it from his very lips, need to be sure that whatever’s going on between you isn’t just a fling, something to pass the time.

“Why are you telling me this, Toji? Spell it out for me.”

His piercing green eyes meet yours and there’s that warmth there again. It robs you of your breath and when his hand winds around your neck to bring you close, you don’t resist.

“I haven’t slept with anyone in over a month. Only you. Apart from my fuck ugly roommate, y’r the only one who knows about Megs, who knows about my past. Y’r the only one I trust enough to be around him. And I’ve never let anyone wear my jersey except for you. Y’r the only woman I’ve slept with more than like three times and I want to do it again and again and never stop. But that’s not the only reason I want to date you. Y’r fucking amazing. Y’r smart in ways I don’t really get, y’r funny and incredible and I fucking love ya. I think. I’ve never been in love before so I still gotta figure some shit out but I’m fairly certain.”

He kisses you again, hiding the heat in his cheeks and the nervous furrowing of his brows.

This time he kisses you with so much passion and fire you’re moaning into his mouth, and he swallows it with a bruising kiss. His possessive hands are everywhere, holding you close, feeling your body and you’re exploring his too, despite knowing it so well already. Neither of you can get enough of the warmth you’re generating. 

“I want to be with ya. And I know ya think I’m still sleeping around or something, but I’m not. I swear. I won’t sleep with anyone else. I’ll figure out how to keep tabs on Megs but don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. I just want ya to know what y’r getting into if ya say yes to me.”

There’s an unsteadiness to his words as he mutters them against your lips, a quake and quiver you’ve never heard him have before. The way he holds you is lighter than usual too, like he’s expecting you to run away and never turn back, or he’s worried you’ll be swiped away. 

He looks so boyish in this very moment, so unsure of himself, so shy, you can’t help but smile. You brush over the bristles on his jaw and breathe in his musky scent, wholly enamoured with the strength you find in his body. 

“I do, Toji,” you breathe out. “I like you, too. I liked you a lot already and then you tell me you’re a really sweet guy who would do anything for his little brother? Fuck, I’d say yes if you asked me to elope.”

You’re joking. You think. It’s hard to tell when he’s kissing you again. 

“Let’s make it official, ma. Take me off the List.”

You gasp. “W-why? Don’t you like being on there? What about getting the best of Gojo?”

Toji skims his nose over the length of your neck, inhaling deeply before he mutters, “Don’t care about that freak. As long as ya like me, that’s good enough. Ya can still write about how hot I am and shit, won’t stop you there, but if I’m y’r boyfriend, people might accuse ya of favouritism.”

“You’re doing this to defend my journalistic integrity?” You jest, a low moan stuck in your throat as you rake your fingers through his hair.

He hums, lips dragging over your jaw to meet yours again. “Of course. Not gonna let anyone suggest ma girl is biased, even if she totally should be.”

Groaning in your mouth when you arch your chest into his hand, he tightens his hold and leans even closer. You’re losing yourself in the pleasure, that rush of something addictive as he lays it all out for you, and you greedily take everything.

You want more. You want all of him.

“Toji,” you whine.

Someone clears their throat. 

You part ways, panting.

“I’m still here,” is all Megumi says. 

Toji laughs and throws a balled-up tissue at the boy who slaps it away with a disgusted look on his face. “Had a good nap, kid?”

“I was until you started making kissing noises. Ew.”

You laugh and reach behind to give his knee an apologetic squeeze. Using a tissue, you wipe up that ketchup on his chin that’s been bothering you. Megumi doesn’t say a word, still eyeing you with suspicion, but he also doesn’t resist when you squeeze his teeny tiny hands. He’s just too cute. 

With a final look around at you and his brother, Toji starts up the car. “Alright, where to next?”

You don’t hesitate to announce, “My dorm.”

The car is lighter when he begins driving again. There’s a gleeful shine in his eyes as he throws you glances and clutches your hand. Your cheeks are hurting from how much you’re smiling but you don’t stop, you wouldn’t be able to even if you try. Something plays on the radio, and you hum under your breath, watching the scenery pass by. 

Megumi, lulled by the journey, falls back asleep and, after parking, Toji carries him in his arms as you lead the way to your room, making sure to keep quiet. Once inside, he lays him on the bed, tucking him in and brushing his hair back. 

For a little boy, he’s very well behaved. He sits quietly, listens and cleans up after himself. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t complain or get pouty. That just saddens you more. Sweeping his little figure, he looks a little lonely on a plain bed, hidden under feminine sheets.

There’s something wrong with the sight of a child alone at night and you know just how to fix it.

You ignore your boyfriend’s confused look when you venture over to your desk and pluck up the gift bag covered in dust. There’s no shame or embarrassment in the air as you finally address that looming object in your room, taking up space and reminding you of how quickly you opened your heart up. 

“I was gonna give this to you, but I think he’d appreciate it more,” you whisper. 

Toji takes offence to that and wrestles you into him, peppering attacks against your neck with his lips and tickling your sides. You fight him off with a barely restrained giggle. Fixing him a stern look, you distract him from touching you up by ripping the bag open and showing him what’s inside. 

“You made these?”

Shrugging, you explain, “There’s a crocheting society. I joined it so I could spy on the president because apparently, she’s been sleeping with a professor. I thought it would make for a good story.”

“Was she?”

You shake your head. “No. But she was sleeping with her cousin, so that was interesting.”

Toji snorts. 

“That happens way too damn often on this campus.”

“It really does!” You agree, with a look of disbelief. “Someone needs to do something.”

He comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your body and chin resting on your head as you both watch Megumi sleep soundly. It hurts your heart to think that the only fun the kid gets is when Toji finds the time and the opportunity to steal him away once in a while. And it hurts your heart even more to know that they have to say goodbye and wonder when the next time will come, if there’ll even be one.

Toji hums. “Kinda jealous he gets to have those all to himself.”

“You would have had them f you didn’t whore yourself out, Fushiguro.” 

He gropes your breast in apology. 

Placing the two handmade toys beside Megumi, you smile as he clutches them subconsciously, holding them close and inhaling deeply. Finally, the scene looks right. A child shouldn’t be without a toy, and from now on, he won’t be alone. 

Because, in his hands are two dogs, black and white, who’ll protect him from all that’s bad in the world now that they’ve been introduced to each other. Together, they’ll find a way to free him so that he can be with his real family. It might not be today or tomorrow, but eventually. It’s not good enough but it’ll have to. That’s what they both deserve. 

“Wanna fuck in the bathroom?” 

“Toji! Can you keep it your pants for one fucking second? Like seriously!”

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: uh oh, I'm fallin' in love

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.3k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, anthony being a big softie, mostly fluff, i still ship y/n and daphne tbh

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

June 16, 1812 - “How’s Mr Norwood?” you asked Daphne, sitting on the couch next to her in the Bridgertons’ tea room, her legs on your lap as the rain steadily poured outside.

Your best friend and her hopefully-husband-to-be had been looking particularly cozy as of late, and you knew that you had played no small part in making that happen. Unfortunately, Daphne’s happiness was often overshadowed by the small pang of guilt you felt every time you had a particularly lovely afternoon with her oldest brother.

“Oh, he’s lovely. I do think he’ll propose in the next few weeks,” she said excitedly, her legs dancing excitedly on your lap.

You squealed in response, absolutely elated at the prospect of seeing your best friend in a wedding gown before the end of the season. It’s practically all she’d dreamed about, and you couldn’t believe the time was so close.

“Where will you live? After you marry, I mean,” you asked, twirling a lock of your hair around your index finger. “If I have to travel to another country to see you, I’ll riot.”

Daphne paused, unsure. “We haven’t particularly discussed it. I think his family has a home a few hours away, but surely his older brother will inherit that…”

You sat up straight, realizing this was a sensitive subject. “That’s quite alright, I’m sure your dowry will be more than enough for a simple estate somewhere nearby,” you reassured, patting her legs comfortingly.

If they were truly in love, it wouldn’t matter how small or large their home was. But Daphne only hummed in response, looking out distractedly at the raindrops hitting the window.

Deciding not to press your best friend and potentially cause her more distress, you changed the subject.

Playing with the hem of Daphne’s dress, you said nonchalantly, “I suppose I’ll end things with Anthony right before Phillip proposes. There’s no real point in continuing the façade if Phillip has to ask Anthony for your hand anyway, so it’s not like we can keep going longer than that.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at you, smiling slightly. “Really? I thought you two were having a lovely time during your courtship.”

You paused, your hand going still for a moment. “Well, of course. We get along quite well. But it’s not real, Daphne. I don’t really have feelings for him and he doesn’t really have any intention of marrying me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” you laughed at the absurdity of your best friend’s suggestion, sounding a bit panicked. “I couldn’t truly be interested in him!”

Just then, you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

Recognizing her brother’s footfalls, Daphne called out, “Anthony, I didn’t know you’d gone out riding. It’s absolutely pouring outside!”

“I can’t believe it actually rained,” he groaned, his voice carrying across the hall. “I thought Colin just said that to be a nuisance.”

He peeked his head into the tea room, looking completely disheveled from what you could only assume was a hectic horse ride. His hair was soaking and stuck to his forehead, his sleeves were dripping water onto the carpet, and he was shivering slightly from the cold. And yet, you thought to yourself, he still looked more handsome than any other man in the ton.

“Y/N!” he yelped as his eyes fell on you, sitting comfortably on his couch as Daphne had her legs propped on your lap. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m sorry, I would’ve looked more… presentable. Or at least dry.”

It was the oddest thing, he suddenly seemed impossibly shy. You only laughed and shook your head, waving off his apology.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you smiled, recalling how reckless young Anthony was when it came to riding.

Anthony crinkled his nose, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s different now, though,” he insisted, still sounding out of sorts. “I can head upstairs quickly to make myself presentable and greet you properly.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” you insisted, finding Anthony entirely too endearing at the moment. “I should probably head home anyway; I’ve been here the better part of the afternoon.”

“Let me walk you home at least,” pleaded the positively soaking man at the entrance of the room. “Or even just call a carriage.”

Your home was only a few minutes’ walk away, and you were usually happy to do it on your own. However, looking out the window you realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to head home in this weather.

“Very well then,” you conceded, finding it impossible to say no to Anthony.

“Alright, give me five minutes, then. Just let me change out of these clothes and I’ll be back,” he yelled over his shoulder, already out the door and rushing upstairs.

“So it's all just pretend, then?” asked Daphne smugly once Anthony was gone.

“Oh, shush,” you grumbled, shoving her legs off you.

But Daphne only laughed gleefully, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

---

June 19, 1812 - Anthony had gone into town on a fine Friday afternoon in search of a new pair of hunting boots when he spotted you some distance away. You were accompanied by your lady’s maid, and you seemed to be leaving the modiste.

Apart from noticing how stunning you looked, even in a simple day dress, Anthony realized a few things.

First, you were far enough away from him and positioned in such a manner that there was no chance that you would see him. He could easily just go on with his day, quickly find the pair of hunting boots he came for, and make his way home.

However, the second thing he took note of is that a gentleman such as himself would always go out of his way to greet the lady he was courting. Perhaps it was time to shift away from the tiring rake act he so often put on and act like a Bridgerton.

And finally, he noted that, in reality, he could come back for a pair of hunting boots at any time. However, he couldn’t unexpectedly run into you every day.

So, with all this in mind, Anthony determinedly shouted your name. When you didn’t hear him and kept walking, he yelled your lady’s maid’s name, who turned around to look at who had called for her. Spotting Anthony through the crowd of summer shoppers, your lady’s maid tugged at your sleeve, turning you around so you could see him.

“Oh, Anthony, what a surprise!” you called, unable to help the bright smile that lit up your face.

How gentlemanly, you thought, for Anthony to go out of his way to say hello. Perhaps he had left behind his rakish ways.

“It’s rather hot today, isn’t it?” said Anthony as he reached you, leaning down to kiss your hand in greeting. “What do you say about going across the street and enjoying some tea?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Greeting you unexpectedly and asking to spend time together? This was quite unusual indeed.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you said, somewhat nervously. Had Daphne somehow let her plan slip? “We were due to see each other this evening at the Featherington ball."

Anthony laughed, enjoying your confusion. It felt quite good to be a gentleman, he thought. “Not at all, I just thought I’d take advantage of the fact that I saw you. I’m not particularly keen on depriving myself of the company of a wonderful lady such as yourself.”

You felt your face growing hot, completely floored by how lovely Anthony was being. It was like his usual charm turned up by a factor of ten.

Looking over at your lady’s maid, you raised your eyebrows to ask if it was alright with her if your plans were derailed.

“Nowhere else to be,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Perfect, then, let’s go,” you smiled at Anthony.

Hooking your hand into the crook of his arm, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach. Bit by bit, you were realizing you were in far over your head. So far you couldn’t even see the ground anymore. Anthony was turning out to be completely unexpected.

And though you were practically giddy every time you saw him now, you were also fighting to bury the uncomfortable thought that you might have made a grave mistake trying to mastermind your courtship with him.

---

June 23, 1812 - “Well, I suppose I should get going,” Anthony said to Colin, getting up from his chair as he looked at his watch. “Y/N will surely be expecting me, seeing as how we went to a ball yesterday evening.”

Upon hearing Colin snickering in response, the eldest Bridgerton shot his younger brother an annoyed look.

“Do you think this is funny? Wait a few years and you’ll be doing this, too,” Anthony scoffed.

“It’s not that,” said Colin, still chuckling to himself. “It’s just that she’s been here since this morning. I ran into her and Daphne a few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” asked Anthony in disbelief.

Colin shrugged. “I thought you’d surely seen her. You’re the one courting her, after all.”

“Why didn’t she ask for me?” grumbled Anthony, mostly to himself. “Well, even more reason to go see her now. Goodbye, Colin. I would say it was a pleasure speaking with you but based on the last two minutes I don’t particularly think it was.”

In response, Colin half-heartedly crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at his brother. “Say hello to your wife for me,” he teased, knowing Anthony’s aversion to marriage.

But his jab was only met with a slammed door. Anthony was too focused on finding you.

How on earth had he not noticed your presence in his home the whole day? To be fair, before you started courting, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence, with or without Daphne, and he wasn’t always aware until after the fact.

You had practically already been a part of the family, but it felt different now. He felt panicked that he hadn’t already greeted you, and he was worried you would hold it against him.

Rushing down the stairs, he ran into Daphne, who was shuffling through a stack of letters in the foyer.

“Who are you expecting correspondence from? A suitor?” he questioned suspiciously.

“She’s in the sitting room,” answered Daphne curtly.

Without a second thought, Anthony dashed across the hall, bursting into the sitting room.

There, he found you and Hyacinth sitting next to each other on the pianoforte bench. Your hands were on hers as you guided her nine-year-old fingers over the keys to form a melody. Startled, you dropped Hyacinth’s hands and turned to look over at the doorway.

“Is something the matter, dear?” asked Violet calmly from the other side of the room, quite used to the antics of her eight children.

“No, no- not at all,” gulped Anthony, not expecting to have seen you with his youngest sister. “I just heard Y/N had stopped by, is all.”

“That’s kind of you,” you said, smiling softly at the man you were courting. “Hyacinth seems to be a natural at the pianoforte.”

“Better than Gregory anyway,” said Hyacinth haughtily, eliciting a hearty laugh from you.

“Well, run along, then, Hyacinth,” urged Anthony. “I believe I should like to speak with Y/N.”

Hyacinth groaned, “She’s not yours Anthony. I believe I should like to stay," she said petulantly. "I was having such a lovely time with Y/N before you interrupted.”

She hugged you tight, lest Anthony tried to make her leave by force. Laughing, you hugged her back, patting her head soothingly.

“No one’s making you leave, Hyacinth,” you shot Anthony a playful glare. “I apologize for not finding you earlier, Gregory has just learned how to play chess and wanted to play a match. And then Hyacinth came in and thought it quite unfair that I had spent such a long time with Gregory and not her. And then, well, you know how they are…” you explained, your voice full of fondness for the youngest Bridgertons.

“Oh, do I,” said Anthony, walking over to ruffle Hyacinth’s hair affectionately. “Who won the chess match?”

Resigning himself to the fact that his little sister wouldn’t leave, Anthony made himself comfortable on the couch closest to you. And though he was hoping to spend some time alone– well, chaperoned– with you, he couldn’t deny that his heart was doing all sorts of gymnastics in his chest at the thought of the care you had for his siblings.

“We each won one and the third was a stalemate,” you responded, winking at Anthony and running your fingers through Hyacinth’s hair. “He’s quite good.”

“I want to learn how to play chess,” whined Hyacinth, detesting the fact that you and Gregory shared something she couldn’t join in on.

“I can teach you next time I stop by,” you promised, smiling fondly at her. “It’s quite a fun game, once you understand the rules.”

And at that very moment, Anthony knew he loved you. It had happened slowly, and then quite suddenly he was extremely aware of it. Much like you had made your way into the Bridgertons’ lives, you had made your way into his heart.

He knew he would be a fool not to see it. All he ever wanted was to take care of his family, and seeing you feel the same way was doing all sorts of things to his heart that he found impossible to ignore. You cared so deeply about his family, and it was difficult not to imagine the pair of you having a child of your own.

Anthony had decided. This was the first and last courtship he would ever have. He was falling faster than he could imagine, and he didn't particularly want to do anything to stop it. 

—

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[glossdebut]

study break | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Yoongi was an extremely effective tutor, until he wasn’t. As it turns out, dating the person who is singlehandedly responsible for bringing up your Fundamentals of Music Theory grade isn’t the smartest move in the world. 

✧ TAGS: college au, smut, fluff

✧ WARNINGS: oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, slight overstimulation

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so this is NOT price of fame chapter two, nor is it the seokjin fic that i’ve been teasing for weeks. this is instead a secret third thing, inspired by my own post that has been living rent free in my brain for the past couple of days. i promise POF2 and the seokjin fic are both coming, but i had to get this out before i lost my damn mind. not beta read, so feel free to inform me of any mistakes i missed. P.S. i know the header isn’t debut yoongi, don’t fucking @ me about it!! i had this photo on hand ):

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.2k words

Yoongi was an extremely effective tutor, until he wasn’t.

As it turns out, dating the person who is singlehandedly responsible for bringing up your Fundamentals of Music Theory grade isn’t the smartest move in the world. 

Things were so much easier when you—wrongfully—assumed he was an asshole. At least then, the arrangement was clear: you met him in the library, tried not to get annoyed at what a know-it-all he seemed to be for an hour, and then went back to your dorm with a slightly easier method of memorizing the circle of fifths under your belt. It went on like that for weeks. Quick and effective, mostly painless.

But then, when awkward small talk developed into genuine interest, you got to know him.

You learned that the reason he never takes notes in class is because he doesn’t have to. He taught himself all of the basics of music theory years ago, could’ve tested out and moved on to a more advanced class, but he wanted an easy A in his course load. You learned that he’s a classical piano major. He likes it just fine, but it’s really a means to an end. You learned that he writes his own raps, performs them at underground shows with a group of friends some weekends, that that’s what he really wants to do. You learned that he’s not an asshole and he’s just shy, that he’s been working up the courage to ask you out all semester.

You learned even more about him on your first date.

Such as: he’s the self-proclaimed master of grilling meat, and he’ll load up your plate for you before he even thinks of feeding himself. He may act like he’s not interested in going to the noraebang, but with just the slightest bit of insistence from you he’ll fold like a piece of paper. He thinks it’s cute when you snatch his snapback right off of his head and put it on your own. Even cuter when you fumble through a verse of Epik High’s ‘Love Love Love,’ squealing happily when he joins in. 

And: he kisses like he’s got something to prove. Knows all the right ways to use his tongue. Makes a low noise in the back of his throat when you do something he likes. Isn’t the slightest bit shy about pulling you into his lap, nor about slipping his hand into your panties right there, Epik High forgotten in favor of making you cum around his skilled fingers. 

So. Yeah.

Yoongi is no longer an effective tutor, because instead he is a fucking distraction.

You’re supposed to be studying. You had been studying, both of you putting up a valiant effort for a full hour and a half. But just as you’d gotten a firm grasp on the seven musical modes—Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, Locrian—-Yoongi was whining, insisting on taking a break. You tried to put up a fight, but you’re especially weak when Yoongi gets all sulky, soft pink lips pulled into a pout.

Notecards tossed aside, your fifteen minute study break quickly devolves into half an hour of making out on Yoongi’s bed. As soft music filters into his dorm room from his laptop, you lose track of time with his tongue sliding against yours, the occasional sting of his teeth on your bottom lip because he knows you like it. When you feel his erection pressed against your hip it quickly becomes very clear that you’re both done studying for the time being.

The way Yoongi kisses you never fails to make you crazy. His lips on yours are gentle but commanding at the same time, his hands in your hair holding your head exactly where he wants it as he licks into your mouth like he owns it. When he pulls away, you barely have a chance to catch your breath before he’s trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Your hips rock up against his, desperate for friction. 

“Baby,” Yoongi murmurs against your skin. His hands slide down from your hair to gently tug at the waistband of your jeans, an index finger circling teasingly around the button. “Wanna eat you out. You want that?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, gasping when he nips at the underside of your jaw. Your voice is high, needy, foreign to your own ears. He’s good at that—at pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t know you could make.

He wastes no time in peeling your jeans down your legs, tossing them off the bed and out of his way. Yoongi likes to have as much space as possible when he eats you out, you’ve learned. He likes to take his time, spread you out as much as he can on his shitty dorm-provided twin size mattress. Just because he can make you cum in record time—and he can—doesn’t mean he likes to. Not when he’d much rather drag it out, savor you in every imaginable way until you can’t take it anymore. 

You know you’re in for it when he doesn’t take your panties off right away. Instead, when he settles between your thighs, all he does is look for a moment, his gaze laser-focused on the growing wetness seeping through the cotton. 

It lasts long enough that you start to squirm, his eyes flicking up to meet yours at the sudden movement.

“A-are you���?” you start, but you trail off, suddenly feeling way too fucking shy for something you’ve done with him more times than you can count at this point. 

“Yeah,” he hums, looking up at you with an amused smirk. “Yeah, I’m getting to it, sweetness. I just wanted to look at you for a second. Is that okay?”

You shiver, swallowing thickly as you nod.

“You sure?” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, so close to where you want him. “You don’t have anywhere better to be?”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” you complain, sitting up for a moment to flick him on the forehead.

“Yah, so disrespectful,” he admonishes with a bite right where he’d just kissed. “I’m just playing. I know you don’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I don’t,” you agree, suspicious. He’s up to something.

“No, you don’t,” Yoongi hums knowingly, holding your gaze as he presses a kiss right to your clit. It makes your breath hitch, even with your panties subduing the feeling. “Because you love the way I eat this pussy, don’t you, baby?”

The answer is yes, of course. Yoongi always makes you feel so good no matter what he’s doing, but eating you out is definitely where he excels. But something about how cocky he’s being makes something stir inside of you—-makes you feel a little bold, a little mean. 

“When you actually get around to it, yeah.”

Yoongi chuckles darkly, snapping the waistband of your panties against your hip. When he lifts his head his eyes are all pupil. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, his tongue running over his teeth.

“Maybe,” you say, goading.

He clicks his tongue, dipping down to lick a broad stripe over your pussy without any warning. When he reaches your clothed clit, he wraps his lips around it and sucks hard, tearing a surprised moan from you.

“F-fuck!” Your fingers tangle in his hair, desperate for something to hold on to, but the overwhelming pleasure is gone as quickly as it came.

“Such a brat,” Yoongi mumbles, sinking his teeth into the softness of your inner thigh again, harder this time. “Just wanted to take my time, treat you nice. But if you want it like this, fine.”

Mercifully, his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. He roughly drags them down your legs until they’re thrown onto the floor, out of sight just like your jeans.

You gasp when his fingers instantly slide over your slippery cunt, making you gasp. “You get this wet just from pissing me off?” he scoffs, and you shake your head. 

“N-no,” you whimper.

“No?” Yoongi asks, tilting his head at you with a smirk. You feel like you’re going to die when his fingers find your clit, rubbing in punishing little circles. “Tell me what gets you this wet, then, baby.”

“You!” you moan. It feels embarrassingly fast, but you’re close. You’re gonna cum before he even gets his mouth on you properly. Maybe that’s his goal. “You, fuck, Yoongi.”

“That’s right,” he purrs. “You gonna cum already, pretty girl? Before I even get to taste you?”

Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Motherfucker. 

You wouldn’t be able to protest even if you wanted to, your brain already succumbing to the pleasant buzz of your impending orgasm. All you can do is squirm and rock up against Yoongi’s fingertips, completely at his mercy.

“That’s okay,” Yoongi continues, unbothered as you shake and moan in front of him. “I know you can give me another one. Go ahead, sweetness. Cum for me.”

Your release tears through you, sudden and intense and all-consuming. You’re sure there are words coming out of your mouth, but between the heat spreading through your body and the static buzzing in your ears, you honestly have no idea what they could be. Yoongi’s fingers keep rubbing at your abused clit until you’re trembling, gasping for breath between moans.

“Filthy girl,” he hums. Whatever you said must’ve been good, because he sounds almost proud of you as he runs his hands over your thighs. “You gonna let me take my time now?”

“Yes,” you gasp, still reeling from your orgasm. Yoongi taking his time is exactly what you need right now, or else you’ll go into complete overdrive. Absently, you think that was his plan all along, but that thought melts away as soon as Yoongi dips down and delves his tongue into your cunt, slow and thorough. 

Your brain? Empty. Brain so fucking empty.

“Shit,” he groans against you, his voice so low and gravelly you can feel the vibration of his words against your pussy. “You always taste so fucking good after you cum for me.”

You thread your fingers through his hair again, moaning long and low as he spreads you apart with his thumbs and dives back in. His nose nudges just slightly against your clit as he licks into you, the barely-there contact making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Yoongiiii,” you moan, earning an appreciative moan from him as he dips his tongue into your entrance.

Your first orgasm took you by surprise, but you can tell already that this one is going to be a slow burn, tendrils of heat that never really got a chance to fade spreading through your body, adagio.

As promised, Yoongi takes his sweet time. He sets an agonizing rhythm: licking into you, dragging his tongue up your pussy, gently sucking your clit into his mouth, over and over again until you’re practically a puddle on his mattress.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” you mewl, your thighs shaking around his head. You’d blush at the sounds he’s producing between your legs, slurping and sucking at you, if you weren’t so fucked out. Instead, all it does is turn you on even more, make you even wetter for him. 

Yoongi pulls back, huffing a laugh through his nose. “I know, baby,” he murmurs soothingly. “You ready to cum again?”

Wordlessly, you nod, squeezing your eyes shut. Two fingers tease at your entrance, getting nice and wet before Yoongi slides them in, and just like that, you’re ready to burst.

“Nnngh—fuck, ‘m so fucking close,” you slur, grasping at his hair as he pumps his fingers into you.

“Give it to me,” he says, before sucking your clit into his mouth again and making stars burst behind your eyelids.

His fingers curl just right, and then you’re moaning brokenly, bucking up against his fingers and mouth as you cum again.

It feels like it lasts forever. Yoongi moans around your clit as you clench around his fingers, squeezing tight tight tight as heat crashes over you in waves. You feel his fingers withdraw, and then his tongue is fucking into you again, licking every last drop he’s earned from you.

He only breaks away when you’re pushing at his head, overstimulated and spent.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he rumbles, climbing up the bed so he’s on top of you, bracing himself on his elbows. He’s one to talk. He always looks so good like this—swollen lips and dark eyes, the bottom half of his face slick from eating you out so fucking well. “You can just cum and cum for me, can’t you?”

“You are insane,” you breathe, grasping at the strings of his sweatshirt to pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. 

Yoongi chuckles, pulling away just to press his forehead against yours. “You like it,” he says.

“I like you,” you correct, closing your eyes. “Even though I’m going to fail my final because of you.”

That earns a real laugh from Yoongi, his nose scrunching. “You’re not gonna fail.”

“I am,” you say, nodding sagely. “But it’ll be worth it.”

“That so?” He presses another kiss to your lips, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Besides, I’ll just find a better tutor next semester when I have to retake.”

That earns you a sharp jab of Yoongi’s fingers to your side, but he’s got one of those gummy smiles on his face as you squeal under him, so no harm done.

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[soapybutt17]

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

~

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

~

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[soombee]

ଳ⋆｡˚𖦹 caught in the current of you — kim leehan ,𓆝₊ ⊹

dear diary, manifesting an aquarium date with him!!

༉‧₊˚. soombee presents… Caught in the Current of You!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 in which .. you stumble upon your classmates’ band and immediately became attracted to the most oblivious man known to earth, who, of course, has no idea you exist beyond the accidental glances you share in chemistry

or .. you unexpectedly meet your realistically unrealistic crush at an aquarium, a chance encounter that shifts the tides and, maybe, just maybe, the currents of fate will finally bring you two together—only if leehan manages to catch on !

𓇼 pairing . kim donghyun (leehan) x yn (mostly as @dessi_dessi_d on ig!)

➻❥ incl. bonedo, kiof, aespa, trainee a, iland

𓇼 genre . m.sci major!leehan x bio major!yn , obvious x oblivious , artist x fan , “got it?” x “yes ma’am!!” , bonedo as a small band , fluff , crack , half smau + half written🪼

𓇼 warnings . curse words , sensitive jokes (kys, etc.)

𓇼 status . fin! :o

୨🪼୧ taglist (closed) ! @saintriots @yourmyst4r @sftsohee @httpenhoon @alisonyus @astrae4 @lynnimini @enhacolor @mari3s @voikiraz @yveol @sol3chu @saritahwang @kazemiya @kamfaye @meoriapeuda99 @1starqi @dylanobr1ens @lisaswifey

note/s : lowkey started rhis as a one shot but then the banner i made would be a waste so here we r 😮‍💨 ++ plot may be subjected to small changes ! (comment or ask if u wanna be tagged!!)

‘’🐚,, chapter catalogue !

profiles .. boynextdoor // divas (plus sangwon)

prologue ; fine shyt acquired

ch. 1 : fish facts & a lil chemistry

ch. 2 : ionic bonds

ch. 3 : when worlds collide

ch. 4 : sangwon is fakeness

ch. 5 : 𝓲 𝓯𝔀 𝔂𝓱𝓾 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂

ch. 6 : chemistry or chemistry ?!

ch. 7 : which could mean NOTHING

ch. 8 : there’s other fish in the sea =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇)

ch. 9 : checkmate !!

ch. 10 : what are we, kim donghyun?!

ch. 11 : #takeleehanback

ch. 12 : diva down!

ch. 13 : i sea us together forever

epilogue ; our forever <3

purely © soombee ‘s work ― all rights reserved !! please refrain from copying , stealing , or translating my work ( w/o permission ) thanku!

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 6: New Introductions with a Cup of Hot Chocolate✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The frequent need to write about these two is always sitting in the back of my mind. The slow burn is burning, friends 🥹 I have so much more left for these two, so this is a little New Year’s present because the writing bug hit me this week. I hope you enjoy 🩷

Chapter Summary: An unexpected guest appears in Joel’s front door, but it’s not just any guest. It’s his daughter Sarah, and he wants you to meet her.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter Tags: Fluff, angst, meeting Sarah, soft! Joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s and Joel is late 40’s), slow burn, mentions of being trafficked, hurt Joel, yearning, so much yearning

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  November autumn leaves fall from the oak and maple trees outside the view of the floor to ceiling windows, stacking vivid piles of bright orange and dark red colors across the front lawn. Whiffs of pine and cinnamon permeate through the house, creating the perfect atmosphere to read by the crackling fireplace in the living room. 

   That’s what you spend most of your time doing these days. Reading anything and everything you can get your hands on. Joel has hundreds of books scattered around his house, so you don’t have to go far to find something you want. 

   You love the afternoons. Love being in the comfort of a home where you feel warm and relaxed. Where you feel… safe. Yes, safe. Joel does that. Makes you feel like you’re in the presence of a knight in shining armor. You guess that’s what he is to you. Your savior. But mostly, you love afternoons because that means he’s here, and he’s choosing to spend his time with you. 

   The other night when he watched Gone with the Wind with you was the first time you actually had fun in a long, long time. And he made sure you were comfortable and taken care of, made sure you got to bed okay. But the one thing that burns like flickers of embers in your brain is the moment he picked you up and took you upstairs. 

   He was so… careful. Gentle, even. You latched on so tight to him that he had to pry your fingers from his flannel. He tucked you in, that much you remember. But also, you vaguely remember the faint brush of his fingers on your cheek, a lock of hair pushed behind your ear, and whispered words of affirmation. 

   Beautiful. He called you beautiful. Even if you were falling in and out of sleep, you still heard his slow drawl float through your ears, and you’re still blushing from the electric moment. He doesn’t need to know you heard it. You’ll just keep it tucked away in your locket, save it for a rainy day when you can repeat it a thousand times in your mind. Maybe one day he’ll say it again. Or maybe, one day you’ll be strong enough to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly how he makes you feel. Safe, beautiful, whole, seen. 

   Thumbing through the colorful bookcase, you slip a book out and start scanning the back. Just when you start to flip the front page, the click of the front door opens, and then you hear voices. Joel’s and someone you don’t recognize. Pressing the book against your chest to hug away the anxiety that’s building in your system, you pause when in comes Joel with a girl with big doe eyes and long strands of curly dark hair. You take a good, long look, your brain suddenly registering who she is. 

   Sarah. 

   You drop the book from your arms and it goes tumbling to the floor, your mouth parted open in mere shock as you register the situation. 

   Joel steps forward, enough to feel the heat from his body against yours, his arm placed gently around Sarah’s back, pushing her forward to present to you. He clears his throat and smiles. “Have someone I’d like to introduce you to, sweetheart.” He flicks his brown eyes to you and then back to Sarah as she stands gleaming in the sunlight with a bright smile. “This is Sarah, my daughter.” And then he says your name, introducing you the same. 

   You stand there lock-jawed, eyes wide, arms down at your sides, your mouth parched of words as you take her in. Big smile, as kind as her brown eyes. Eyes like Joel’s. She has a light dusting of freckles across her nose, cheeks warm and pink. She looks so kind. Kind like Joel, you think. 

   She says your name brightly and flashes you a genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.” Before you register what happens, she’s throwing her arms around your back and pulling you in for a tight embrace. 

   Your eyes widen in confusion, mouth hanging open as she squeezes you tighter with your arms still draped to the sides of your body. It’s like you’re a long-distance cousin she hasn’t seen in years, but you’ve never met her in your life. But you think it’s okay because she’s a survivor like you, and you feel like you do know her. Joel’s told you so much. 

   Briefly flicking your eyes up, Joel chuckles under his breath from the foyer and gives you an encouraging smile, his eyes sparkling with glee as he takes in the sight of his sweet daughter pulling you in for a hug. 

   As if he’s encouraging you, you cautiously snake your arms around her back and hug her right back, embracing her like a sister that got lost along the way of the kidnapping. And when you finally breathe in her strawberry scent, you hold her tighter for just a few seconds knowing that she had everything stripped from her years ago too. 

   When you release your arms from her, Joel gives you a small smile and slowly retreats back from the room. “I’ll get out of your hair, let you two talk.” And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone with Sarah. 

   “You want to go out on the back porch?” Sarah asks brightly, brown eyes as big as the moon. 

   You give her a shy smile and hesitate because you’ve never actually been out there before. You kind of just locked yourself in the house, afraid to venture far from closed doors and warm air. Afraid to go far because you’re still scared. Scared someone could take you away from Joel again… “Umm, sure. I’ve never really been out there before.”

   “You’ve never been out back?” she asks, shocked, jaw dropping like you just said you’ve never seen colors before.

   You shrug meekly and say, “Kinda keep tucked away in the house.”

   Registering your answer, she closes her lips and nods. “I understand. It’s nice and cozy in here, but come on. You’ll love it.”

   She tugs your wrist and pulls you along with her toward the back glass door, only stopping momentarily to pick up two fleece blankets from a little basket tucked next to the fireplace. Handing you one before she slides the door open, she encourages you forward.

   When you step out onto the wooden back porch, your jaw drops as you take in the beautiful view. Acres upon green acres expand over the horizon. A small pond that glistens in the sunlight sits a couple miles out. A flock of birds soar in the blue sky, only disappearing behind some forming grey clouds in the near distance. And the trees… so many tall, green, large scatters of them expand over the open land. It’s almost like home…

   “Whoa. This is…” You pause, mouth suddenly dry as you join Sarah on the porch swing, eyes still roving across the beautiful view. How did you not know this was out here all this time? 

   “Pretty great, right? Dad owns all this. All the way back behind that line of thick trees.”

   You scan the horizon, but you don’t see an end anywhere in sight. He must own hundreds of acres. 

   Taking a deep breath, you part your lips and smile, pulling the blanket up over your lap to dissipate some of the November chill. “I’ve been kind of a recluse since I’ve been here. I just can’t believe I missed this. It’s beautiful…” And it is. Breathtaking, actually. It kind of takes the ache away, fills you with a little happiness that replaces all the bad things that have happened to you over the past couple of years. 

   “That’s okay,” she smiles encouragingly. “You’re seeing it now.”

   You take another moment to soak it all in. The crisp smell of autumn, the yellow and red tinted leaves that blend in with the deep greens, the open land that’s filled with picturesque views that you swore would never be in Texas. But this? This is as close to home as you’ve felt for a long time. 

   Sarah’s warm voice pulls you back to the present. “Dad’s told me a lot about you.”

   You turn your head, eyes a little weary. He’s told her about you? “Really?” you ask, taken aback.

   “Mhm,” she hums out with a smile plastered on her glossy lips. 

   “Nothing bad I hope,” you breathe out.

   She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement. “Oh, no. Only good things. He really likes your company.”

   He likes your company? 

   You smile to yourself, feeling a blush set in on your cheeks as the cool air blows against your skin. He likes your company… “Well, I like his too.” But really, you mean to say you just like him. More than his company. You like being in his space, nuzzling into his soft flannels that smell like him—Pinewoods, mahogany, and a hint of black coffee. You like talking to him, watching his dimples cave into his tanned cheeks when he’s smiling. You just like him. All of him. You like everything about him. Especially how kind and soft he is with you. You like it all. And that scares you a little, but you shouldn’t be because he makes you feel so safe. 

   Yes, safe.

   She pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her pink hoodie, the blanket loosely draped across her shoulders, and then she takes a good look at you, like she’s doing a deep dive into your mind. “How are you doing, really?”

   You let the question simmer, let it bubble inside you as you contemplate exactly what you’ll say. How are you really feeling? Drained, worn down, discarded, hurt. But there’s a chip inside you, one that’s filled with a little warmth, a little healing. A part of you is being stitched back together. One thread at a time. And it’s not because you’re away from that awful house, away from their clawing hands and sharp commands. You think maybe, just maybe, Joel’s healing a teeny tiny part of you. Inside and out. He’s making you whole again. Even in the short amount of time you’ve been here, you think he’s making you brand new. 

   He’s making you feel not so alone. He’s making you feel safe, wanted. He’s giving you wings…

   “I’m hanging in there,” you say quietly, fingers brushing lightly over the fleece blanket. ”Kinda just taking it one day at a time.”

   “It’s been a little over a month now, yeah?” she questions, tilting her head as her brown eyes glisten through the clouds now hanging over the covered porch.

   “Yeah, that’s right,” you nod, eyes wandering back to the big, open field. You could get lost in those sea of trees. Run, disappear forever. But you don’t think you want to anymore. At least, not right now. 

   “How long were you gone for?”

   You fiddle with your bottom lip, wincing at the lost time that’s gone by. “Almost two years. Seems more like ten, if I’m being honest. Time seems to blur together when you’re… Well, when you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night.” 

   A lump forms in the back of your throat, making your eyes a little blurry from the thought of being gone for so long. How had you managed to survive all those days of abuse and torment? How’d you ever get saved by the likes of someone like Joel? Warm, kind, safe. 

   She twirls a strand of her dark curls around her index finger, eyeing you with big sad eyes that make you want to choke out a sob, but you don’t. “I wasn’t gone nearly as long as you. And I can’t imagine what you went through. Two years, that’s… God. I’m so sorry.” Regret fills her eyes, and then she places a hand softly on your shoulder, saying just as much in her touch. 

   “Yeah, I am too,” you say a little dazed as her hand slips away from you, back into her lap.

   You mull over what you’ll say next while your emotions are running rampant. You feel everything all over again. The fear, the blinding pain, the inconsolable ache in your bones that won’t go away. You’ve been scared for so long, so how are you supposed to navigate your way through life again? How are you supposed to go on when the weight of the world rests like cement on your chest?

   Turning your head toward her slowly, you ask something that’s been bothering you. “How do you do it?”

   “Do what?” she questions; her tone gentle and patient.

   “Keep living a normal life,” you whisper, letting your words float across the frigid air, right back to Sarah.

   She shifts in her seat and takes a beat before answering, her voice calm and collected. “I wouldn’t exactly call my life normal. It’s gotten almost to that point, but there’s still days I can hardly get out of bed, nonetheless eat. But my boyfriend, Ryan, helps me when it gets like that. Or I talk to Tess. Have you seen her yet?”

   Tess. That’s right. You forgot about Tess.

   You shake your head. “Not yet.” But you’d really like to.

   “She’s great. She’s really helped. Even my dad sees her sometimes.”

   “Your dad sees her?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

   She nods. “Yeah, she’s actually helped him a lot too with everything. Especially with his line of work. He really needs someone to lean on on the hard days, you know?”

   You let your mind settle on her words, your thoughts turning back and forth over the endless images of Joel’s sleepless nights. The deep shadows under his chocolate eyes. The restless image of him hunched over a laptop with his fingers lacing frustratedly through his dark locks. The late night runs he has to do periodically. The stressful calls he takes right when he’s about to head to bed. The times he’s not home when it’s three in the morning. The pacing back and forth he does when Tommy’s talking to him about a job. But there’s one thing you don’t ever miss. The pain that flares behind his brown irises, blending in with the inky flecks that remind you of dark chocolate. 

   Something hurt him. Something continues to hurt him, and you don’t even know what that something is.

   Jesus. You don’t even know half of what Joel goes through, but you think he might need someone just as badly as you do. Maybe, just maybe, you can be that something he needs because he’s that to you. He’s your foundation when you had nothing.

   “Your dad, what he does, he’s helped so many girls…” you murmur, your voice caught in your throat as you think about everything he’s done specifically for you. But really, it just takes a toll on you thinking of everyone he has saved. He’s… incredible. 

   She smiles, her cheeks bright from the crisp air. “He’s saved countless lives. And for that, I really couldn’t ask for a better dad.”

   No. She really couldn’t. He is the best dad, and she’s so lucky to have him.

   After a moment of silence passes, she speaks again. “He seems happier lately.”

   Your eyes flick over to hers while your heart does a somersault in your chest. “Really?”

   “Yeah,” she smiles gently. 

   “What makes you say that?” The knot tightens in your stomach, and maybe you’re a little scared of the answer. Was it… was he happier because you were here? No, that couldn’t be possible, could it? 

   “I don’t know,” she laughs, shrugging casually as her hair tumbles past her shoulders. “He just seems lighter, maybe a little brighter. His eyes, they’re a little clearer. I think… I think ever since you came here. Yeah, that’s when I noticed the change.”

   Your eyes widen, lips part in awe. Did she just say… No. You must’ve heard wrong.

   “Me? But I…”

   She stops you mid-sentence and smiles. “He likes your company, like I said. I can tell. He’s never been… Well, he hasn’t been happy in a while. It’s nice to see him smiling for a change.”

   You bite your bottom lip out of habit and curl your fingers into the fleece of the blanket, tossing ideas back and forth in your mind. Maybe he has been smiling more lately. Like on movie night. You’ve never seen him laugh so carefree before. He did seem happier. A little more teasing, maybe even playful in a way. You wanted to see more of that. Carefree Joel is heart stopping.

   “And you think I’m the reason he seems happier?” you laugh, a pang of disbelief flowing through your body. Could you really be the reason he was happier? 

   “I really do,” she confirms with the imprint of a dimple in her cheek, solidifying the question. 

   You’re the reason he’s happier… 

   “Hey, umm. I just wanted to say you can reach out to me anytime. I’m always available if you need a friend,” she smiles, her eyes sincere and warm. “And just know that you’re a survivor. You’re a strong one, and there’s nothing you can’t overcome. Never give up. Keep fighting the long fight. You’ve got this. I believe in you, my dad believes in you, Tommy does too.”

   They believe in you. Joel believes in you. And that in itself means so much to you…

   “Thanks, Sarah. I’m so glad I got to meet you.” A tear forms in the corner of your eye, but you brush it off just as Sarah squeezes your knee in encouragement. 

   Before you can say another word, you hear a shuffling noise by the door. “Hope I didn’t intrude on anything.” Joel slides the glass door open, balancing mugs with two hands and one braced against his flexed arm, making you almost lose your balance at the sight of him. Tall, fitted blue flannel around his muscular arms, slicked back hair with silver streaks glistening even under the cover of a grey cloud. So handsome, so put together, so…

   “Oh, no. Not at all, Dad!” Sarah chimes in, giddy as she reaches for the pink tinted mug in his firm grasp.

   “Thought I’d whip up some hot chocolate for you two. It’s a bit chilly out here. Don’t want ya to catch a cold. Plus, I know how much you like my homemade recipe, Sarah.” He smiles as she takes a big gulp, groaning when she swallows the first taste.

   “Yes! I knew you’d make me your famous hot chocolate. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” She throws him a toothy grin and settles back against the swing, kicking her legs carefree while she indulges in the warm hot chocolate, eager for you to try a taste yourself.

   “Here ya go, sweetheart. Reckon you like hot chocolate.” He smiles, reaching his arm out, offering you a warm mug with swirls of steam billowing out the top.

   “Yes.” You extend your arm, palm open with an invitation. And when he slides the cup into your hand, his calloused fingers brush against yours, causing goosebumps to rise on your shivering skin. You gasp, feeling how warm and welcoming his hand feels against yours, but it’s only there a second, the next he’s whisking his arm back to his side. You already miss it—his hand sliding against yours implicitly. 

   Physical contact is not in your book of things that make you feel good anymore. But with Joel? It feels more than right. It feels… perfect. Like his hand was made to brush against yours. Or maybe it was made so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, thread them together like your stitched-up heart. You think you’d like that. One day. And maybe he would too.

   “Put some extra whipped cream and marshmallows in jus’ for you. Know how much you like everything extra sweet.” He gives you a gut-wrenching smile. One that could bring you to your knees. Especially once that dimple forms on the middle of his cheek. 

   God. What did you ever do to be worthy of looking at that angelic face? Carved to perfection, tanned, smooth like his tousled curls. And his eyes. Big pools of warmth that instantly make my insides all fuzzy and warm. 

   “Thanks, Joel. You didn’t have to go through all that extra trouble though,” you smile bashfully, still trying to get a grip on this reality.

   “‘Course I did. You’re worth the extra mile.”

   Your mouth parts at the words. You’re worth the extra mile. Sarah giggles under her breath, but she keeps to herself. But you can’t help but notice her eyes keep roaming from Joel and then back to you. She must see it. See just how much we affect each other. Just one look and you’re melted butter. It just takes one glance from those big brown eyes until you’re nothing but dust in the wind. 

   “Dad makes the best hot chocolate!” She brags, taking another sip of her steaming hot chocolate. “Don’t for a second let him tell you it’s nothing special.”

   But it is special. Every single particle of him is special. How’d you ever get so lucky to be sitting here on his porch, drinking his hot chocolate that he made specially just for you? 

   “You know,” he drawls. “Thanksgiving’s next Thursday.”

   Thanksgiving? How had you forgotten it was Thanksgiving? To be fair, you weren’t really in the mindset to think about holidays. You overlooked Halloween already, what used to be your favorite. 

   “Already?” you laugh uneasily, afraid he’ll be upset you forgot.

   “Sure is,” he chuckles back, but he gives you an encouraging smile, saying you’re just fine. 

   “Dad makes the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted! I’m so excited,” Sarah squeals excitedly beside you. “Well, I guess everything he makes is the best, but this is to die for!” 

   “Oh?” you ask while Joel nods shyly. “What about blueberry pie?”

   He tilts his head and looks at you a beat before he says, “I can make that, but only if you help me.”

   “You want me to… help you?” you gawk, mouth parted in surprise. You’re not a cook, never really been one in the first place. Do you even remember how to do anything? 

   No… you really don’t.

   He nods as he takes a sip of his warm coffee, brown eyes locked on yours. “Can’t do it without you. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

   He’s not making this easy, is he? 

   “Okay,” you break after a beat. “You’ll just have to guide me. I’m not the best at baking.”

   “Well, I’ll jus’ have to teach ya then,” he smirks, sending a wink your way and making you blush all over again.

   “Perfect,” Sarah giggles, like she knows something we don’t. But she’s been watching us like a hawk; silently tapping her talons and sharpening her ears. Maybe she sees the chemistry swirling between us like the smoky fog hovering over the glassy lake. If she does, the only thing that gives her away is her sneaky smile and bright eyes flicking between us.   

   He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath while he leans against the wooden porch fence. One elbow propped lazily up on the edge, his other hand flexed around his royal-blue coffee mug. You follow the map of lines on his forehead, memorizing every crevice, every wrinkle like the constellations in the sky. 

   He catches you staring, which makes you look down, a deep blush burning in your cheeks. But when you look back up, he’s still watching you. Almost like he’s memorizing your face just the same. 

   Soft. His eyes are so soft. Warm, big, his brown irises full of promises of something. It makes your breathing hitch, makes you a little off center. But yet, he keeps watching like he can’t quite believe you’re there, sitting right in front of him too. 

   And it stays just like that until Sarah starts up the conversation again. But he still doesn’t take his eyes off you. It’s almost like he’s just as mesmerized as he makes you feel. 

   There’s a spark, a lapse in time where fireworks go off somewhere in the far distance. You can almost hear the sizzling and booms as they light in the sky. But instead, you hear Joel’s name whooshing around your mind, lighting you up a variety of colors. He painted you a multitude of shades and brought life back in your eyes when all you could see was black and white before. 

   You’ve never seen such pretty shades of brown before until you looked up and saw his eyes. You think he lit you up the very moment you became his that night he saved you…

   “Joel?” you call, a few minutes later when the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves in the distance.

   He turns his head toward you, coffee cup snug in his big hand. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

   You hesitate a second, looking from Sarah and then back to Joel. Yes. You think it’s time. “I think… I think I’m ready to talk to Tess.”

   His brown eyes light up like Christmas lights, a soft smile splaying across his lips which nearly takes your breath away. And the way he’s looking at you? All soft and warm. Well, you think you’ve just fallen all over. “Why don’t you give her a call this week? I’m sure she’d be happy to get you in soon. In fact, I’ll drive you to your appointment. Whenever you’re ready, you can count on me.”

   You can count on me. He’s so reliable, so sweet, so genuinely caring. It makes a smile crack over your lips, makes another wave of warmth rush through your chest, filling you up with sunshine and the hot chocolate he made for you. With extra sugar, you can’t forget that part. 

   When Sarah congratulates you on taking that step forward, Joel can’t help but to smile even bigger and brighter. He even goes so far as mouthing the words “I’m so proud of you” to you through the air. Even though you didn’t hear them, you swear you can taste them as they simmer through the chilly air, along with his thick Southern drawl. 

   And just like that, you’re falling through cloudless skies, crashing down to earth. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore of dying because he’ll be right there waiting to catch you. 

   Later, when Sarah’s gone for the night, you’re wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket, knees tucked up underneath you while you silently read under the bright lamp. The fireplace crackles in the corner, making for the perfect night to read in the living room. But this is kind of a ritual now, a normal routine you’ve slipped comfortably into. 

   And then there’s Joel—the man who completes these relaxing nights. He’s here. Right where you need him. He’s perched on the leather couch, his guitar between his legs, gently taking a rag and dusting off the smooth wood, carefully cleaning each string with rapt attention. It’s a little distracting you think—watching his hands slide over the instrument, oh-so-carefully polishing and refining something that seems like it means the world to him. 

   To be honest, this is the first time he’s actually taken the acoustic guitar out of the reading room. He’s never really talked about it before. Which means, it’s something he hides deep inside his chest, careful not to show emotion when he glides over the colorful moth that’s etched in the wood. You think it means a great deal to him, whatever it symbolizes. 

   Putting the book down on your lap, you sit up straighter and muster enough courage to call his name. “Joel?”

   He looks up, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners when he focuses on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

   “I, umm. I was wondering…” You bite your bottom lip, suddenly nervous as he zeroes in on you, waiting for your question. You muster up enough courage to ask, but you don’t want to overstep. “Would you… Do you think you could play me something?”

   His jaw ticks, his lips quiver as he muddles over your big ask. There’s a glimmer in his eye, a faint recognition of something hiding deep behind those brown pools. Uncertainty, maybe. Or was it just sadness? 

   Grazing the tip of his thumb up one of the strings, he sighs. “Haven’t played in quite some time, sweetheart.” His deep drawl is filled with anguish, and the last thing you want to do is make him sad. 

   Taking back your ask, you whisk it back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You don’t have to…”

   He stops you before you can finish your stammering. “S’alright, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything.” But it feels like you did. After a beat, he huffs out a breath. “I’ll, uhh. I’ll try, sweetheart. For you, I’ll try.”

   Those words mean more to you than he knows. He’ll try for you. That’s all you can ask for. Putting him in a vulnerable position, and he still wants to try? You don’t think you could be more smitten. 

   He straightens his back, mulls a little more over what he’s doing, then he’s placing the guitar carefully over his lap, adjusting his arms as he cradles the instrument like it’s the most fragile things he’s ever touched. 

   You fall silent and watch the way his thick fingers flex, eyebrows thread together, eyes close, lips slowly part. It almost feels like he’s keeping something down—something that’s hurting him, cutting him deep, bleeding him dry. You wish you could sew the wound up, wipe away his invisible scars that only show beneath the surface. You want to take his pain away like he takes yours. 

   After a silent fist fight in his mind, he slowly places his fingers gently on the taut strings and oh-so-carefully begins to play a steady, melancholy tune. You can feel the weary emotion he wears on his face, can see the hurt lined in his weathered stare, can feel the debilitating pain he wears on his slouched shoulders, can even hear the grieving through the deliberate cords he strums. 

   You feel the backs of your eyes burn with held-back tears the longer you watch Joel wear his heart on his flanneled sleeve. And as the melancholy tune carries throughout the stifling room, you feel every single emotion he’s ever poured out into that guitar. That special, one-of-a-kind, gem of a guitar. Whatever it means to him, you see it so clearly now, even if you don’t really know what’s got him so torn up. Was it the moth etched to perfection in the wood, or was it the person that gave him that guitar. Or, had he lost someone, too?

   When he plays the last note, his jaw goes slack, and he lays the guitar flat on his lap, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the little moth. Tears well in his big brown eyes, but he doesn’t dare let one fall. He holds them back, like the strong man he is. But strong men are allowed to break too. And right now, you’re fighting every single particle in your body not to tiptoe over and fall into his arms. 

   Joel deserves that. Someone to take his pain away, lock their arms around his neck and promise him that he’ll be okay. Just like he promised you…

   He looks up slowly, steadily, his head still hanging low, but his eyes meet yours for a brief second. It almost kills you to see those big, sappy brown eyes lathered in such sadness. Makes you want to just rush into his arms and never let go. 

   Who hurt Joel? That’s what you want to know. Who tore his heart from his chest and ripped it in two? 

   You slowly peel yourself off the couch, leaving your book open, laying face down in the blanket. You silently tiptoe over to him, careful not to disturb his sulking, keeping your eyes glued to the way he’s brushing the pads of his fingers against the scarred strings. He’s got his heart spilled all over them like black ink. 

   Carefully, you slide in next to him, fully aware you’re about to play Russian roulette in the next few seconds. “That was beautiful. The song you played,” you whisper out, afraid you’ll shatter his glass box that’s cased around him. 

   He shifts against the leather, dragging his thumb smoothly across the polished wood. A sad smile crosses his lips, but it doesn’t meet his darkened eyes. “I uhh… I wrote that for someone. Someone who meant a lot to me…” The pain in his strained voice is etched in his clenched jaw, his palms a little shaky as he speaks. 

   You almost reach your hand out for his, but you think better of it. Someone did hurt him. Or maybe, he lost them… “Joel, that’s… that’s…” You can’t even finish your sentence without your own voice cracking. What could you say to that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

   He rasps out a sigh and slumps his broad shoulders a bit more, one hand dragging over his silvery scruff, all the way across his mouth. And his eyes. Still glistening with held-in tears. 

   Oh, Joel… 

   “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask bravely, clenching your fingers as the words leave your lips. 

   Sniffling, he murmurs, “Not tonight. Not right, at least.” 

   You let his words simmer, let them soak into your sweater until you feel it’s safe to respond again. Shifting just a little closer, you brush your fingers just inches away from his hand, enough to where he might be able to feel the warmth coming from your palm. “Joel?”

   “Hm?” he hums, his deep bravado echoing around the room. 

   Your fingers dance closer, just enough to lick flames from your skin. If you were brave enough, you’d thread your fingers through his until he let you take away some of his held-in pain. “You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything.”

   He lets out a breath and slowly looks up at you. His eyes are hazy, a little cloudy with the fog from his watery eyes. It makes pain flood inside your chest. You freeze when he brushes his knuckles gently down your cheek, a light touch that means he appreciates you when words surely fail him in this moment. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the center of his gravity, making a tear leak from the corner of your eye. But of course, he wipes it away before you can blink. 

   “Thank you, sweet girl,” he smiles, letting his thumb trace your jawline before he snaps his hand back to his side. And there you go, wishing his warm palm was still lingering across your skin. 

   The way he touches you—it’s not sexual. Not in the least bit. It’s warm, filled with so much care and attention. Just like the special recipes he conjures up in the kitchen. It’s filled with extra care. And God, how he cares for you. Just like you care for him…

   He stares at you for a beat, crystallized brown flecks dancing across your vision, soaking you up like you want to do with his pain. He tilts the guitar against the leather couch and lets his palm drag down it, eyes flicking back and forth from it to you repeatedly. He looks like he wants to tell you something. Maybe the reason he’s hurting?

   Please, Joel. Give me your pain. 

   Once he’s settled his mind, he blinks a couple times and looks at you with hurt-filled eyes. He focuses on a strand of your hair, lets his fingers fall over the silky surface while you hold your breath from the contact. And he fixates on it while his mouth twitches to let the words he really wants to set free out. “The reason I haven’t played in so long is because… Because I…”

   You hold your breath, waiting for that something to come tumbling from his lips like an old wound he just won’t let go of. But before he can finish, his phone starts ringing off the hook, deflecting him from the one secret he was about to share with you. The one thing you might’ve been able to remotely help him with. 

   Pulling his phone free from the front pocket of his denim jeans, he sighs, carding his free hand through his slicked-back curls. You get the faint view of Tommy’s name scrolled across the screen which means it’s probably going to be another late night for Joel. He deserves a break. He works too hard, pushes himself past his limits most nights. He deserves someone to stop the madness for just one single night. 

   Could you stop it? Press pause on the world for just one night? Just long enough for him to get a decent night’s rest. The dark circles beneath his tired eyes never go unnoticed. He’s got so much weight on his shoulders, so much baggage to pull around. Would he let you take some of that weight off, just for one night? 

   Groaning, he pushes off the edge of the couch and stands, his thumb hovering over the answer button. “I’ve gotta take this,” he mumbles heavily, dragging all his pent-up frustration and pain right back on his shoulders. But before he clicks the button and walks away, you recklessly reach your arm out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling the thick flannel just enough to get his attention. 

   Stay, Joel. Don’t go. That’s what you really want to tell him, but you’ve said enough through your rampant movements.

   Looking down at your closed hand around his wrist, he lets the phone keep ringing, just stares into your eyes while his big, wide brown irises cross with yours. There’s a hesitation there, a moment in time where everything just stops. It’s just you and him for the second, the flickering embers that crackle like pop rocks in the flames of the fireplace. 

   Parting his lips in awe, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, tears pooling in the backs of his irises, you think he might crack right on the spot. But the world begins to spin again, bringing you back to the present where his phone continues to ring and ring and ring repeatedly. 

   Don’t answer it, Joel. Let it go to voicemail. Stay. Stay with me. But the disappointment bubbles up inside you the moment he clicks the green button to life, letting Tommy’s voice slip through the end of the receiver. “Yeah?” His voice cracks, strains as he swipes at his teary eyes. It makes you crack just the same.

   Just when you let a puff of air leave your lips, he fills the empty space by just a smidge. Slowly, carefully, he reaches over and cups the back of your head affectionately, letting his fingers linger in your hair, tangling for just a second as he fights to pull away. He’s talking on the phone, nodding his head and repeating what Tommy says, but his wide eyes are tethered to yours in a wave of emotions tossing through his beautiful brown eyes. He’s said enough in that touch, even as he pulls away. He’s saying thank you, that he appreciates you being here, that he revels in the way you’re trying. He’s trying to let his walls down too. Just enough to let you creep in and slip into the parts he keeps tucked away, afraid to show just how vulnerable he is too.

   Taking one more good look at you, he snaps his hand back inside his pocket and disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with the flickering fireplace and solid guitar next to the now empty couch. 

   You close your eyes and let your head fall back into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest as you blow out a heavy breath. You were this close to getting a glimpse into his mind. And now? You didn’t know if you’d get that chance again.

   Joel… He barely touched you, barely grazed his fingers across your skin. But that last touch? The way he ran his hand down your hair and cupped the back of your head? That was everything all at once. He was everything. Gentle, kind, and so very soft. 

   You don’t know how long you stay there, but it’s long enough that you’ve faded off to sleep. Long enough that you feel him slip his strong arms around your body and carry you back to bed in the early morning hours of dawn. This time you don’t fight the need to sleep; you just curl into his chest for those few short, blissful seconds, breathing in his woodsy scent until he tucks you safely into bed. And you don’t miss that same brush of knuckles across your cheek before darkness takes a hold of your body. The last thing you remember is hearing his soothing Southern drawl whisper sweet nothings through the air.

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[ace-of-zaun]

Kiss Me More. Pt 3:

silco x f!reader - 2.8k words - SFW

cw: angst, Silco being the most clueless mf to ever live (but he’s also a sweetheart, so we’ll forgive him just this once), fluff, Vander being lovely, mentions of poverty, arguments, references to sex, Seven is the actual worst, kind of an angsty end to the chapter (thought i'd mention it just in case)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4

-

Silco has mentioned Seven and your date with him that many times in the past week, you’re genuinely starting to worry he’s got an unhealthy obsession with the boy. 

In fact, he’s brought it up so often, you can tell just by the way Silco takes a breath that he's going to start yet another rant about your situationship, prompting you to scuttle away from him the second he opens his mouth to speak. 

It doesn’t put you off going on your date. If anything, it makes you even more determined to push back against Silco and prove to him that you can do this, with or without his support.

So, you go on your second date with Seven. 

He’d somehow managed to visit you every single day at work following your first date, which caused a giddy, cherished sort of feeling the first two times it happened, but now kind of irritates you after eight consecutive days of it. 

Now, it just feels clingy and suffocating, and you’re getting slightly worried your boss is going to get mad at you for wasting time at work. 

Luckily, Seven hadn’t asked you to go swimming on your date, (or, skinny dipping, as Silco had told you was his actual meaning, approximately six thousand times). Instead, he’d walked you to one of the little piers overlooking the river, where you’d sat side by side and shared a simple picnic. 

It was nice. Mostly. 

Seven had pretty much just talked about himself the entire time (again), and had even interrupted you the one time you tried to tell him about the new vinyl you’d excitedly bought on sale at the market. (So what if you can’t play it or listen to it just yet, Seven, you’ll be able to afford a phonograph one day, and you can just admire the sleeve artwork until then!)

Towards the end of the date, he’d finally kissed you, softer than you were expecting after the bold way he’d previously tried to kiss you outside your apartment.

But there hadn’t been any butterflies, or that wonderful, little spark you’ve often heard people describing when they speak of their first kisses. (Kinda, sorta like the way you felt when you’d kissed Silco…)

Kissing Seven, you hadn’t really felt anything at all, except, slightly icky and a little bit disappointed.

So now, you arrive home from the pier on your own (Seven had apparently been too busy to walk you back this time) with a strange sort of empty feeling emanating from your chest. Like someone has stolen a couple of your ribs while you weren’t looking. 

But a warm sense of relief and delight quickly replaces that feeling when you spot Vander sprawled out on the sofa, arms spread out across the back, head tilted up to the ceiling. 

It’s rare to see him at home, what with his long hours down the mine and evenings tending the bar. And it shows. Tired eyes and limbs betraying just how shattered he must be after all those hours of work. 

You’re desperate to tell him to give up the extra shifts at the bar. But you’re genuinely not sure if the three of you would be able to stay together without it. Maybe you should ask if you could pick up some of his shifts instead, give him a few nights off. Janna knows he deserves it.

Vander looks up when you gently click the front door closed, sitting up properly while you toe off your shoes to join the line along the wall. 

“Hey, you’re home,” you say. 

“I am,” he replies, easy smile to mask his exhaustion. “How was your date?”

Part of you had hoped he’d forgotten so you wouldn’t have to talk about it. But Vander’s far too thoughtful for that. 

“Ah, you know…” you say, looking down at your feet bashfully. 

“That bad?”

“I wouldn't say bad.” You sigh, dropping down next to him on the sofa.

You rest your head against his shoulder, tucking your feet under your legs in an attempt to get comfortable. Vander places his arm around your shoulder and gently pulls you towards him, until you’re leaning against his side.

You’ve always secretly thought of him as your wise, older brother. The one who always knows what to say and how to say it. The person you can always rely on.

"But not good?" he asks, genuinely. 

This time, the sigh you give feels like it radiates from your whole body. 

“It’s just…I didn’t expect any of it to feel like this, I thought I was supposed to feel…”

You don’t really know, to be honest. You’ve only ever heard people describe their experiences with love or dating, so you’re not completely sure what you’re supposed to feel. 

But something deep down is telling you, ‘not like this’.

“Feel what, lass?” Vander prods gently. 

“I don’t know,” you finally admit. 

Van nods in understanding, gently tapping your bicep twice before rubbing up and down your arm soothingly. 

“Maybe you just need a bit more time to get to know him,” he says, offering you the advice you’d been too nervous to ask for. “D’ya think you’ll see him again?”

You tilt your head to the side, worrying your lip with your pointer finger and thumb. 

“He asked me to go on another date with him tomorrow,” you say, pushing down the fact it feels like a shameful confession. “I said yes but-”

And then Silco storms into the room, looking like he’s spitting nails. 

“You're not seriously going on another date with that greasy-haired freak?" he demands, apropos of absolutely nothing. 

Immediately, you push yourself from Vander’s embrace to sit up and glare at him. Trust Silco to ruin the nice moment you were having. 

“Seriously, what have you got against him?”

Silco ignores you, clearly on a rampage that could only be fuelled by pure insanity. 

“You can't go on another date with him,” he announces firmly. 

"What? Why?" 

You wait, with a truly impressive amount of patience if you do say so yourself, for Silco to explain himself. To present his infallible, incredibly coherent, astonishingly well-thought out argument as to why you can’t go on another date with the person you are currently dating. 

"Because he's gross,” he says. 

You could really, honestly smack him. 

"No, he's not." 

"I don't think you should see him anymore," he continues. 

“Silco. I’m not a child, you can’t just tell me what to do,” you say, feeling the anger beginning to bubble away inside you. Silco knows exactly how to push your buttons and he knows it. 

“Yes, I can,” he argues, arms crossed against his chest. 

You narrow your eyes dangerously. 

“No, you can’t.” 

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Vander interrupts before one of you tackles the other and turns the argument into a childish scrap in the middle of the room.

Sil huffs dramatically and uncrosses his arms. Then, clearly not knowing what to do with them as they hang awkwardly by his side, he decides to cross them again. 

“Fine. I wasn't going to say anything, but I spoke to a guy at the mines who knows him and he's… got a bit of a reputation."

"What do you mean, ‘reputation’?"

"I mean, he's dated just about every girl in the Undercity," Silco stresses.

You frown at this new information, but honestly, deep down, you don’t really care. Even the mental image of Seven kissing other people doesn’t spark that jealousy in you that it did when you’d pictured Silco experiencing his first kiss. 

But admitting that to him feels like defeat so instead you say, "Well, maybe he just hasn't found the one yet." 

Silco scoffs obnoxiously.

"What, and you think you're the one?" he says sarcastically. His tone is a little bit on the mean side. Like he’s implying that you’re not good enough for Seven.

And honestly, it stings. It hurts and it makes you angry. You thought after all these years that Silco cared about you, that he wanted the best for you. 

But all he’s done for the past few weeks is question you constantly when all you needed was just a little support from your best friend.

And, gods, you know that you don’t really mean any of it, but there’s a burning, horrible impulse to hurt Silco like he’s been hurting you, so you stand up to face him square on.

"And what if I am, huh?” you begin.

Of course, Silco immediately goes to interrupt, but you steamroll ahead. 

“You know what, Silco, maybe I’ll just go and stay with him if you’re that wound up about it. Actually, yeah.” You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, before looking him dead in the eye. “No need to wait up for me after my date tomorrow, I’ll just stay at his for the night.”

Silco looks absolutely horrified, face draining at the implication (that you don’t mean at all, honestly, you can’t think of anything worse than spending the night with Seven). 

But Silco doesn’t have to know that.

He steps forward a little and says your name, really quite desperately.

“Wait-”

There’s no way you’re letting him get the last word, so you stalk out the living room and into your bedroom without a backward glance, slamming the door shut behind you for good measure.

You drop onto your bed, desperately trying not to cry as you slap your hands over your face, like it’ll hold everything in. 

You just don’t get why Silco is acting like this. 

And the more time you spend with Seven, the more sure you are that he’s actually quite a repulsive, self-centered person. But you don’t know how to fix any of this mess you’ve gotten yourself into and all you really want is your best friend back. 

You just want everything to go back to the way it was.

Is that too much to ask? 

-

You haven’t spoken a word to Silco since your argument. Even after Vander had carefully explained that Silco probably didn’t mean what he’d said, you don’t want to hear it. The hurt is still too raw to forgive him yet. 

Everything has changed since you kissed. Now, your heart does this breathtaking little flip in your chest every time you see him, and all you can think about is kissing him again. But you're dating Seven and it's not like Silco likes you anyway, so there’s no point in entertaining it. 

Gods, you wish you could just stop feeling like this. 

You force yourself to go on another date with Seven, even though you had originally been planning on cancelling when you were talking about it to Vander. Now, you’re going just to spite Silco. 

So that’s how you find yourself walking through the city’s sprawling market stalls with Seven, kinda wishing you were anywhere else. You’re not really buying any of the products for sale because neither of you can afford much of anything at the moment, which just makes you feel all deflated. 

And Seven is holding your hand as you stroll along, but honestly, you wish he wasn’t. His hands are a bit sweaty and he’s gripping your knuckles just a bit too tightly for comfort. You have to keep letting go to wipe your hand on your leg and it’s starting to get really quite embarrassing. 

Just as you’re on the cusp of deciding whether to fake some kind of horrific illness or whether it’d be too dramatic to just flee Zaun and adopt a whole new identity, you’re saved by a tall figure stumbling into your side.

You only just manage to stop yourself from tripping to the ground, thankfully righting yourself before you can fall, just to look up in confusion at-

Silco. Who looks down at you with the most unapologetic expression you’ve ever seen in your life.

It’s clear he’s followed you because why else would he be in the market, he hates the market when it’s busy. He once said he’d rather run naked through the streets of Piltover in front of the Council building than risk the ‘throngs of dawdling idiots’ on a busy market day. 

"Hey, fancy bumping into you!” Silco acts surprised, completely over the top and almost embarrassingly unconvincing. He’s not getting a job in the Piltie theatre anytime soon, that’s for sure. 

Then, his expression drops when he glances at Seven, like there’s suddenly a bitter, bitter taste in his mouth. “Oh. What’s he doing here?”

You resist the urge to scream, finally letting go of Seven’s hand to step away from him.

"Silco-" 

"We're on a date." Seven finally speaks, looking thoroughly annoyed at the interruption. Even more annoyed than when Silco was rude to him outside your apartment. 

"Really?" Silco questions. He looks pointedly at the distance between the two of you and then stares obstinately at Seven. "Doesn't look like it to me." 

"Look, mate-" 

Silco cuts him off with deadly sharp precision. 

"You know, Six, I think we have a mutual acquaintance," he says, timbre turning positively dangerous. "Her name’s Lia. Works at the mines? That ring any bells in your dense, little head?" 

At this, Seven’s face pales. Rapidly. 

"Never heard of her," he insists, far too quickly to be anything but a lie. 

Then, he turns to you, snatching up your hand again. 

"Let's go, doll, we don’t have to put up with this." 

Silco’s expression darkens immeasurably, clenching his fists by his sides as he steps forward, but you beat him to the punch, ripping your hand out of Seven’s grasp. 

Fuck this. 

"You know what, I've just remembered that there's something that I need to do," you snap, borderline shouting over them when they both jump to speak. "Alone." 

Turning on your heel, you stalk off in the opposite direction, automatically heading towards the River without even really thinking about it. It’s the place you usually end up when you need to clear your head, and right now, you just need some peace and quiet.

You’re only a few streets away from the market when you hear Silco following you, knowing after all these years the loping strides of his gait by heart. When he makes no sign of stopping, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. 

"Please don’t." 

He says your name pleadingly but you shake your head. 

"I don't want to hear it, Silco," you say, a wave of exhaustion sweeping your bones.  

You’re far, far too tired for this.

"But he's-" 

"Why are you going out of your way to sabotage this for me?" you ask, absolutely detesting the way your voice wobbles on the last few words. 

Silco’s expression flickers, clearly torn between giving you space and stepping forward to comfort you. He ends up shoving his hands into his pockets defensively, but not without inching just that little bit closer to you. 

"I'm not trying to sabotage anything, I'm just trying to protect you," he replies, tone soft. An attempt at reassurance. 

"From what?" you ask.

"From getting hurt.”

He bites his lip, determined and desperately worried all at once. 

You sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over your face.  

"I just don't get it, Sil, I don't get why you're doing all this," you say, letting your arms drop wearily by your side. 

He seems almost startled by your need for an explanation, uncharacteristically sheepish for the briefest moment as you watch him expectantly. 

"I… I just…" 

And then, as you continue to wait, his expression shutters, turning stony and closed off, and you know you’re not going to get anything from him now. Certainly not anything honest or in the least bit vulnerable. 

You bite your lip hard to stop the burning tears from falling. 

"Just go home, Silco," you say. You sniff back the tears, dejected but accepting. "I'll see you later.”

It breaks your heart to watch the way his shoulders slump but his expression still doesn’t crack. And he still doesn’t say a word when you slowly turn and walk away from him. He doesn’t stop you. 

The next few days feel like a haze of misery; a looping, unfathomable rhythm of going to work and returning home in silence, trying to ignore the way he watches you walk through the flat with a terribly lost expression, like you’ve slipped from his grasp.

You can’t bring yourself to talk to him, even though it physically hurts you to ignore him like this, the irony of not being able to talk to the one person who you can always go to. 

And with Vander gone so often, you’re left to just sit silently in your bedroom, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering where the hell it all went wrong. 

PART 4

-

a/n: I’m sorry for such an angsty end to this chapter, lots of fluff and comfort in the next one, i promise!! (and this story will def have a happy ending, i think i’m physically incapable of writing sad endings, it’s just not in my dna)

-

super secret taglist 😎: @oceansssblue, @inolaphoenix , @holographicgarden , @darlingimafangirl , @rainyforest777 , @kikiiswashere , @deviantgamergirl , @miffysoo , @eternallyvenus

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part 4)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: edited by the ever so lovely karmiccc on ao3! Comments and criticisms are welcome!

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts @blooket-scares-me @amararosesblog @talanyra @spideybv28 @sadslasher13 @night-spectrum @eveieforeve02

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

On Your Left Babygirl

Wade watches from the corner of his eye as your feet drag behind you, the now limp Wolverine was pressing his full mass into the two of you, and you were clearly struggling with the newly added weight.

“One Anchor Being coming right up, on your left, baby girl!”

“This Logan has everything! He can do pretty much anything the old model could plus he even sings musicals! And he’s actually wearing a costume like he’s not embarrassed to be in a superhero movie for once!”

“I don’t understand.”

“You said my universe is dying, because this sad sack of nuts got himself killed. Well, problem solved!”

“Y-you actually think you can replace an Anchor Being with this?” Paradox says between laughs pointing at Wolverine still on the floor. “I wouldn’t have accepted any other Wolverine bee tee dubs, but you’ve brought me the absolute worst Wolverine there is!

“What do you mean the worst one?” Wade asked, walking closer to Paradox.

Just as Wade was less than an arm’s length away from Paradox, you saw the off brand Mr. Darcy reachout and grab something behind his back. You jump forward placing yourself in between the two men just as Paradox drew his weapon.

“Wade watch-!” You don’t get to finish your sentence as Wade watches in absolute horror as you disintegrate into nothing in front of him.

Wade falls to his knees as if trying to catch your particles that were still floating about in the air before disappearing entirely.

The distinct snikt of Wolverine unleashing his claws breaks Wade out of his trance as he watches the Wolverine, now back on his feet, lunge for Paradox with his claws in pure rage before disappearing too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan groans as he sits up, cracking his neck back into place. He raises a hand to shield his face from the harsh rays of the sun above him as he lets out a sharp hiss from the incoming headache he was starting to get from the combination of the fall and all the alcohol he drank earlier.

Barely starting to sober up, he looks around himself with a grunt as he stands, taking in the environment around himself.

If he had to guess he’d had no idea where the fuck he was. The scene around him was dry and arid like a desert, only this one didn’t seem familiar to him at all. There was all kinds of trash and debris around him like it had been dumped here and forgotten. Taking in a few greedy inhales, Logan scented the air, coming back with only faint traces of smoke, dirt and something else, something sweet and fresh and familiar but still different at the same time.

Turning his head to follow the source of the smell Logan spots you, laid out face first on the ground. He walks up to you apprehensively, not knowing if he could trust you or not but as he approaches he realizes you’re out cold.

Getting a closer look at you now he’s able to take in your features up close. If you were a shapeshifter of some kind like he previously thought, you were a hell of a good one. At first glance you looked just like her, the same hair and big doe eyes that used to look up at him. You were even dressed the same way.

Squatting down to your level Logan’s able to get a much better whiff of you from here. There’s no mistaking a scent, even when Morph and Mystique used to try and trick him back in the day but it never worked because they could never change their smell.

There was no doubt about it, the smell was definitely yours. Shamefully Logan found his eyes wandering down your frame slowly as he drank you in, eyes lingering on your ass for a few seconds before turning you over onto your back, and God, even your face was the same. The longer he looked at you the more he realized you really were her. Only, you had less pronounced smile lines, and were less muscular, having probably only known peace in your life, you had appeared more softer than she had been. Just as his gloved hand was a breath away from caressing your cheek, he’s ripped from his inspection by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind him.

Standing to his feet, he looks back at you one last time before looking at the disfigured body of the guy in red from before as his bones snap back into place. He sniffs the air again, realizing the man that had just fallen from the sky. He smelled absolutely rancid to him, stinking of blood, gunpowder and a distinct sickly cancerous smell.

Definitely a threat. Logan concludes as he starts to walk up to him.

Wade coughs as he rolls over onto his back, looking down between his legs as Wolverine walked up to him, stopping right as his feet, “Don’t just stand there, you big ape. Give me a hand!”

Wolverine stared down at him, his hazel eyes swirling with contempt and silent fury as he unsheathed his claws.

“No, I’m actually okay, thank you,” Wade barely finishes his sentence before he’s being stabbed through both his sides, letting out a sharp curse as Logan hoists him in the air like a kebab.

“Where the hell are we?!” He demands.

“I don’t know! It all looks kinda Mad Maxy but that would be copyright infringement, wouldn’t it?!” Wade cries out as Wolverine harshly drops him to the ground.

“Fucking jokes,” Logan scoffs before turning his back to him, walking towards your still unconscious form.

“Hey hey! You stay away from my pookie bear, you hear me?” Wade warns as he cocks his gun pointing it at the back of Wolverine’s head.

“Or what?” He dared the man to continue.

Wade lowers his gun as he realizes how fast the situation was starting to escalate, his eyes dart back and forth between you and the very ready to rip his guts out Wolverine before he curses to himself. After putting his gun away, Wade raises his hands up in the air as a way to appease Logan as he began to warily approach him.

“Look, we don't have time for this alright? If we don’t make it back to that Paradox asshole. Everyone I know is going to die,” Wade starts to explain the situation to him but Logan rolls his eyes as he turns back around, continuing to walk towards you.

“No, my fucking problem,” Logan replies coldly as he waves him off.

Wade felt his blood boil. He was never a patient man, nor a very nice one, but compared to this guy? He was a fucking saint. It was an insult to everyone that his Anchor being replacement had to be such a dick.

“Is that what you said when your world went to shit?” Wade shoots back to Wolverine, stopping him in his tracks again.

“Come again?” Logan growls, turning back to face him.

“Yeah, I heard all about you.” Wade began as he turned around, becoming increasingly exasperated by the situation at hand, ”You screwed up everything, but you really should be thanking me for pulling you out of that bed you shit-“

Wade let out a scream as searing pain shot through his body. Looking down he sees the infamous adamantium claws of Wolverine protruding through his chest.

“Oh, you backstabbing son of a bitch!” Wade grunts in agony as he’s hoisted in the air again, this time on his back.

Fighting back against the pain, Wade uses his own momentum to flip himself behind Wolverine, throwing them both onto their backs on the ground, the blades of the Wolverine’s claws tearing more of his flesh and bone on their way out as he did so. Without missing a beat Wade pressed his guns against Wolverine’s sides and shot out several rounds as the older man let out a guttural scream of pain.

“Are you ready to be calm now?” Wade asks almost mockingly, guns still pressed to Wolverine’s ribs.

He’s met immediately with a headbutt, no doubt breaking his nose underneath the mask.

“Fuck!” Wade swears in pain as Wolverine rolls off him.

Not giving Wade any time to gather his bearings, the older mutant grabs him by his ankles before throwing him into a wall. Wade heard the bones in his arm snap as he crashed through the cement wall, tumbling backwards against a sunken monument that seemed familiar to him. Wade groaned as he stumbled back up to his feet, his arm snapped back into place painfully as he reloaded his gun.

“I don’t want to fight you, Peanut! Doesn’t matter what you did. I just need your help.” Wade called over to Wolverine as he stood across from him in the wasteland.

“I don’t fucking care,” Logan snaps back as he spits out a smoking bullet, the rest falling from his torso, his healing factor working over time to push them out.

“Fuck, this is gonna hurt,” Wade says more so to himself than anyone else, “Alright! Fuck it! Let’s give the people what they came for!”

“Let’s fucking go,” Logan says as he crouches down to his knees, readying himself for whatever Wade was about to throw at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You take a sharp much needed inhale through your nose as the final bone in your spine snaps back into place. Sputtering out a cough you sat up bltrying to block out the blinding light of the sun with your hand as a headache pulsed through your skull. Looking around you slowly take in the dilapidated scenery around you.

Where the hell were you? You thought to yourself as you looked down at your watch to check the time.

The screen was broken, a crack having spiderwebbed across the screen. You weren’t exactly sure when it had broken but from what you could tell from when it had stopped working it was well beyond midnight.

“Oh I’m so fucking fired tomorrow,” You say with a groan as you rise to your feet dusting yourself off.

The sound of shouting and rapid gunfire drew your attention in the distance. Approaching the sound as cautiously as you could, you peek over a mound of rubble to find Wade being held down by an enraged Wolverine with Wade’s katanas and baby knife sticking out of him, reminding you of a human pin cushion.

“Let’s see you grow your fucking head back!” He shouts as he goes to sink his claws into Wade’s throat.

Picking up the first thing you see laying around you run up behind the Wolverine hitting him in the head as hard as you could, breaking the branch in your hands on impact. With a heavy grunt, he stumbles off of Wade onto the ground.The Wolverine clutches his ear as he snaps his head up to glare at his assailant. The rage in his eyes shifts to shock as you stand over wade protectively, glaring down at him with your broken branch raised high and at the ready for you to swing at him again if need be.

Snapping out of his daze, Wolverine gets to his feet and with his claws sheathed going to strike the red suited clown again, when hastily Wade rises to his feet, immediately moving you behind him with his hands raised up in surrender.

“Wait, wait, I can fix it! I know how to fix it!” Wade shouted at the Wolverine not willing to put you or himself in the Wolverine’s wraith.

“Fix what?” Wolverine asks has he slowly starts to lower his fist as he looks back and forth between you two.

“Whatever it is that you did that made you so bad! Those freaks in the TVA, they have the power to end our universe, but they can also change yours!” Wade says pushing you further behind him, not liking how the man was eyeing you.

Logan looks between the two of you incredulously as if trying to understand if what Wade just told him was true or not.

“Well?” He asks gruffly, eyes now completely focused on you.

Realizing he was talking to you and that your answer might be his deciding factor on whether or not to help you, you take a deep breath as you walk out from behind Wade who looks at you skeptically for a moment.

“We just traveled the multiverse trying to find you because of the TVA,” You began with a surprised chuckle still reeling in that fact that you actually did do that as you returned Logan's intense gaze,“Until today I didn’t think any of this kinda stuff was possible… But it is so I believe him,” You said exchanging a look with Wade as you finish, he nods his head to you almost in thanks.

Logan stares at you a bit longer before letting out a frustrated huff as he looks away, sheathing his claws. You nearly let out a beath of relief at the sight until the older man resumed his attention on you two again. The Wolverine looked back and forth between the two of you as he felt his nerves starting to grate again.

“How the fuck do you know this clown?” Logan asks annoyed, his fists were down at his sides but still balled up ready to fight again if he needed to.

Peeking over Wade’s shoulder, you part your lips about to answer him when suddenly you're cut off by a new voice.

“Hey! We fight each other, we lose,” Said a voice from above you all.

Puzzled, you all look up in the direction the voice came from.

“Who the hell is that?” You asked scrunching your face up in confusion as you use a hand to block out the harsh rays of the sun from your vision.

“Dear God its him…” Wade said, astonished.

“Who?” You asked as you and Wolverine share a confused glance.

Above you, on a worn down billboard, stood a man. He was covered in loose fitting dark clothes with a hood draped over him, blocking his face from view.

“That my little chocolate drop is the One. The superhero equivalent to comfort food or molly. White guys’ answer to all the disappointments in another A-lister,” Wade went on rambling as the cloaked man jumped down and landed before the three of you.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!” Wade clapped as the cloaked man turned to point out into the desert

“They're coming,” The man said.

Alarmed, you all look in the direction of his focus. On the horizon you all could see three cars speeding towards you, all three of the giving off serious Mad Max vibes.

“Well they’re definitely driving angry,” Wade joked, though you could tell by the drop in his voice that he was assessing the entire situation very much aware of the danger you two were about to be in.

“I got this,” The cloaked man said pulling down his hood to reveal a familiar face, “Stay close.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Wade says walking up behind him to wrap his arms around the man before he pulls them off of him awkwardly.

As the cars neared they circled around the four of you a few times, some of the men blew out crude whistles making you cringe in disgust as you clutched your broken branch to your chest. Finally they stopped, their vehicles parked around you, caging you four in.

“Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught!” A man with stringy greasy hair grins, showing off his filthy teeth to the group, “You know you can’t run.”

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” The cloaked man retorted.

“Oh my god, he’s going to say it!” Wade says smacking one of his katana’s that still protruded from the Wolverine’s chest.

Logan stumbled back a bit with a weak ‘ah fuck’ as you instinctively reached out to steady him. He turned his head to look at you as soon as he felt your hands on him. You held his eyes for less than a second before abruptly removing yourself from him, now focusing on looking at anything else but him.

“Avengers Assem-!” Wade begins to shout as if anticipating what the cloaked man was about to say, however that’s not what he said at all.

“Flame on!”

“Sorry, what now?”

The cloaked man shot out into the sky in a ball of fire. He hovered over everyone for a moment before blasting out a stream of fire directly at the greasy man that had spoken before. The greasy man grins as he holds his hand out, absorbing the flames before he twists his fingers cutting off the cloaked man’s power like a faucet. The man barely had a second to register what happened before he began his miserable descent from the sky. He hit the billboard he was standing on before twice before flopping on the ground, completely unconscious.

“We don’t know that guy,” the Wolverine was quick to say.

“We thought we did,” Wade agreed as he looked over the unconscious man before turning back to the group of thugs.

“Oh but I know you,” A beastly looking man with pitch black eyes said as he dropped down to their level from atop a car.

His dark orbs were fixated on Wolverine, who returned his glare with his own as he bared his teeth at him with a growl.

“Holy shit… Sabretooth… your brother,” Wade said, a hint of excitement in his voice as he looked between the two.

“Ready to die?” Sabertooth asked as he stalked towards them, eyes never leaving Wolverine.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Time!” Wade calls out as he begins to remove his weapons from Wolverine’s body giving him a long winded nonsensical pep talk in normal Wade fashion.

“Shut the fuck up!” Wolverine growls out, shoving him back into you.

What an asshole you thought to yourself with a scrunched up face.

The Wolverine lowered himself into a fighting stance before the two mutants lunged for each other. The two collided briefly in the middle as the familiar sound of metal tearing against bone and flesh rang through the air, before sliding past each other entirely. Both brothers stood on opposite sides of the dry field.

“What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” Wade mocked with an innocent tilt of his head.

You might’ve laughed at the Lassie reference if it wasn’t for the fact that not a second later Sabretooth’s head rolled off his shoulders and right at your feet. You scrunched up your nose again, turning your head away in disgust as Wade picked it up.

“Behold! The head of your precious Queen, Furiosa! I have the Wolverine! I alone control her! You come for me! You come for her!” Wade declares as he raises the head in the air like a prize before he leans over into Logan’s ear, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced him. I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear.” Logan simply rolls his eyes at him.

“Who’s next?” He challenges looking around at the men who were left, waiting for someone to step up to him.

The greasy man let out an amused chuckle before calling out to one of his partners “Toad! You’re up!”

You look towards the other mutant and resist the urge to cringe again as he shoots out his slimy green tongue and pulls a lever. Instantly it activates a giant metal magnet that drags both Wade and Wolverine off their feet and into its pull.

“Wade!” you called out, unaware as a giant sentinel leg comes flying at you from behind, stunning you as it flies towards your companions, carrying you with it.

“Oh fu-“ Was all Wolverine had managed to get out before you and the sentinel leg crashed into him and Wade, knocking out the three of you on impact.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 30

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: Talia is ... not a great mom. Luckily Reader is! Fluff, some hurt/comfort, some big emotions and intense conversations, more fluff, and holiday themed Wayne family shenanigans!

wc: 4.2k

Chapter Selection

 “I don't fully understand what you've done to make that girl so loyal to you, but it is impressive. Well done, Damian.”

Damian breathed slowly, forcing a calm, emotionless exterior. “Mother?”

“The girl who tried to tell me she was ‘just doing Jason a favor by doing his father a favor’ by being your emergency contact at school.” Talia smirked. “Someone obviously warned her about me, and yet she was willing to lie to my face for you. It was almost believable too. Almost.”

Damian stayed very still, hands held behind his back, posture perfect, face blank. Talia observed him, frowning slightly. “What is not at all believable … is you pretending you don't care about her too.”

He clenched his jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly; “... I don't know wha-”

“Don't lie to me, Damian. This girl means something to you. What?”

He slowly met his mother's firm gaze; “... She's Todd's girlfriend. She has a bigger heart than is good for her; she is no threat to anyone.”

Talia raised an eyebrow, “... And what is she to you?”

“... She is kind.”

Talia frowned a bit, leaning forward to examine his face for any hint of his true feelings. Moments passed before she pulled back to her full height, a dissatisfied look on her face. “... Be wary of that girl, Damian. Kindness is the wrapping, but what you will actually receive is weakness. … I will allow you to stay, but this is the final straw. Your strange affection for those animals was one thing, but this… If you still wish to live here, you must get yourself under control before I am forced to bring you home for retraining.”

“I understand. I will not disappoint you, Mother.”

She nodded once, looking him over again. “... Bruce is treating you well?”

“Father is good to me.”

“And the others?”

“... They have accepted me as family. … They are also kind.”

She nodded. “... Very well. The League is watching you, Damian.”

He nodded once before she turned to leave. “... Goodbye, Mother.”

Talia finally left Gotham, and Jason and I prepared for Thanksgiving at the manor. Jason's Thanksgiving traditions started the day before, so on Wednesday afternoon we headed over. Alfred invited us in, hugging Jason tightly. We tossed our overnight bags in his room, and Jason led me down toward the kitchen. I brought down two large tupperwares full of ma'amoul cookies I had made for everyone.

Alfred was standing by the counter, mixing something, and Jason and I washed our hands. He took a seat at a large table where there were some washed vegetables. I sat beside him, and he grinned; “ever since my first Thanksgiving at the manor, I've helped Alfred with some of the holiday meal prep work. Mostly cutting veggies and stuff.”

“Cute~” I chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Can I help?”

“If you'd like, but if you want to just sit with me, you can do that too.” He smiled softly.

“I'd like to help. I hate to feel like a mooch.”

Alfred chuckled, bringing over another cutting board and knife. “You could never be a ‘mooch’, dear girl. You are our guest.”

“Thank you, Alfred, but still. If my mother heard I was invited over for the holidays and didn't help with something she'd be incredibly cross with me.”

He chuckled, nodding once. “Very well then. Master Jason knows what needs to be done.”

I nodded, and Jason offered me the bowl of potatoes. “You wanna peel and cube potatoes?”

“Works for me!” I got started, and moments later Dick, Tim, and Cass peered into the kitchen. “... Hi guys?”

Tim frowned, stepping forward and circling me. He seemed to be examining me for something. “... Look at me.”

I frowned, but turned to look at his face. He peered into my eyes, frowning deeply. “... What?”

“... Well, she doesn't appear to be possessed, and she's definitely not a zombie.” He turned to the others.

“What?? What's going on?”

Jason frowned deeply, giving Tim a pointed stare; “explain.”

Dick piped up; “did you really manage to lie to Damian's mother?”

“... I mean, I survived.” I shrugged.

“And she believed your lies?”

“No, she did not.” Damian piped up, entering the kitchen. He pushed a chair close to mine and sat down; “however, she said it was almost believable.”

I froze, clenching my jaw. Fuck. What had I done? “... I- is she taking you away? Jason said she might…”

Damian shook his head, hesitantly squeezing my wrist. “She said I can stay, for now.”

I slowly released my breath, dropping my potato and peeler. My hands were shaking, and my vision blurred. I rested my elbows on the table and pressed my palms to my forehead, trying desperately to calm down.

“… Good…” I barely heard the strained, sharp approximation of the word that I managed to force out. My pulse was thrumming in my ears, and I could feel my heart beating much too fast. My face was hot and wet, and my breathing was strained.

Tim cleared his throat awkwardly; “... H- hey, it's ok. She's gone now.”

Jason gently rubbed my back, and I felt Damian shift closer. “... Sister? … Why are you crying?”

I kept trying to control my breathing; “... I … I just can't lose ya, kiddo … i- if she took you away because of me, … I don't know what I'd do…”

A gentle hand pressed between my shoulder blades, and Alfred leaned over me, setting a cup of tea in front of me, along with a soft white hankie. “Breath, Miss. … Miss Talia did not take Master Damian. We will never allow her to take him against his will.”

I slowly nodded and he rubbed my back a few times before stepping away. I shakily reached down for the cup. Dick and Tim awkwardly smiled at me.

“Yeah, what Alfred said.” Tim nodded.

“Yeah, finders keepers - Damian's our problem now, she doesn't get to take him back.” Dick chuckled.

I carefully sipped my tea, smiling weakly. I didn't know how he knew, but Alfred made it exactly how I liked it. Once I set the cup down, Damian took my hand, squeezing tight. I turned toward him, a bit surprised by the determined look in his eyes. “I will never leave you, Sister. I promise... Not unless you tell me to go.”

I sniffled softly and nodded. “I will never send you away, baby brother.”

Before I could open my arms to offer a hug, he leaned in to take one. Dick and Tim stilled, staring like toddlers at the zoo as I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tim fumble with his jeans pocket, trying to covertly get his phone.

“Do it and I end you, Drake.” Damian growled softly.

I giggled, stroking his back gently. He pulled back and I reluctantly released him. I saw the boys shift toward the doorway, and I looked over. Bruce smiled awkwardly, and I hesitantly smiled back.

“B, tell me you saw that.” Dick pleaded softly. Bruce nodded once.

Damian scowled, pushing his chair back a bit. I chuckled softly, going to the sink to wash my hands again. “Don’t make a big deal, Dick.”

“But it is a big deal! I mean … seriously, Damian, where did that come from?”

Damian shoved past them to escape the kitchen and his brothers’ questions as I returned to the table, peeling the potatoes in front of me. “And that is exactly why he doesn't usually do that. So, once again, please, don't make a big deal.”

Dick sputtered a bit more as Alfred ushered them all out of the kitchen. As the man headed into the pantry, Jason leaned over to kiss my shoulder; “good job, mama~”

I blushed a bit, hushing him softly. “Jay!”

“What? Damian can't hear me. And you've made it very obvious, you care more about him than his actual mother. I know he insists you're ‘Sister’, but that's just because he knows his mom would lose her mind over being replaced.” He smirked a bit, whispering; “you and I both know, whether we call it that or not, you're being his mama. And you're doing a damn good job of it too.”

I blushed more, smiling into my chest. “... How so?”

“Last time Talia came to check on him, he was withdrawn and broody for a month after. This time she's been gone for a day and he's already socializing with the family. That's all you, ma.”

I smiled softly, finishing cubing the potatoes. “... You're a sweetheart, Jay. But you shouldn't give me credit for his progress. He does the work, he fights for it tooth and nail, I just provide a safe space. Just like I do for you.” I leaned in to kiss him gently; “you both work so hard to heal from your pasts; to be better and do better…”

His cheeks and ears turned pink as he leaned in, whispering; “you make it possible.”

I dried my hands and cupped his cheeks, whispering back; “you do the work. I just make sure you're safe and taken care of while you do it. It is so much easier to sit in your trauma and just accept that that's how things are now. Fighting your demons is painful, and complicated, and incredibly brave. You are fighting an enemy that doesn't tire, doesn't fall back to regroup, doesn't even die. And yet you have pushed them back. You’ve told your demons that they do not own the territory of your mind, you do. You've made remarkable progress, and you should be proud of yourself. Don't ever give away the credit for your victories; they are yours, you earned them. I'm just here to support you in the fight.”

He blinked a bit, hugging me tightly. “... Damn, baby girl. … Ok.”

I smiled softly, tilting his head up to kiss him gently. He sighed happily, kissing back. A moment later, Alfred cleared his throat from behind us.

Jason jumped back, blushing bright red as Alfred spoke in an intentionally calm, measured voice; “if you two are done with those vegetables, I believe the others are starting a movie in the family room.”

Jason cleared his throat, nodding. “Y- yeah, thanks Alfred.”

We brought the veggies over and Alfred offered Jason a bowl of popcorn. He gently gripped my elbow, gesturing for Jay to go, before offering me a small piece of paper. “My mobile phone number, Miss.”

I blinked a bit, taking it. “Oh… thanks. … Why?”

He chuckled; “you said it yourself, Miss. You are here to support them. … Young Miss Barbara and I have been the only members of the support team for quite a while; it will be nice to have a third teammate to work with.”

I smiled softly. “I see. Then I look forward to working with you, Alfred.”

He nodded, offering me a large bowl of popcorn. “Master Bruce mentioned you'll be providing medical care.”

I nodded, gathering the cookies I'd brought before taking the bowl. “That's right, once I have the necessary training.”

“... It is a big job, taking care of the Waynes.”

“It’s not a job to me, Alfred, it’s just love. … The trick is loving people the way they need to be loved. The way they’ll accept love. Jason is … so brave, and kind. He’s good to everyone but himself. He needs someone to be good to him. Someone to tend to his wounds, to chase away the nightmares, and be a safe port in the storm. I can do those things for him. Damian needs space to be a child. Someone he can trust to take care of the responsibilities, and just let him experience being young. And I can do that for him. … It’s not a job to love them, it’s my greatest pleasure. And it’s an honor to be someone they trust, especially when they have been punished so harshly for their trust in the past…”

He smiled warmly, nodding. “Exactly, dear girl. Love is not a mere emotion, or empty words. It is action, and loving the Waynes, loving them well, … it takes a certain fortitude. Fortitude I believe you have.”

“Thank you, Alfred. … I won't let you down.”

“Oh, you mustn't do this for me, Miss. There must be something inside you calling you to serve.”

I chuckled softly; “not to worry, there is. Obviously I love Jason and Damian very much, and the others, … they've all been such good friends to me. I was taught to take care of my friends. … The world is not always the beautiful, bright place we were promised as children. But I know how to make candles. And if my candles aren't enough to push back the darkness, I can make more. If there still aren't enough candles, I will build a bonfire. And if that’s not enough, if the darkness presses in anyway, … I will lasso the sun if I must.”

Alfred smiled at that. “... I believe you would, Miss. … Go now, enjoy the movie.”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Thank you, Alfred.”

I headed to the family room, taking a seat on the couch between my boys. Damian stared at the tupperwares in my hands intensely. “... What did you bring?”

I chuckled, offering him one of them before setting the other on the table. “This one is just for you, and the other is for everyone to share.”

He slowly opened the tupperware, grinning. “... You … made ma'amoul?”

“You said your mother used to make them for you during the holidays. Your holiday traditions are just as important as the rest of ours.”

He held the tupperware to his chest and leaned against me for a moment, mumbling; “... Thank you, Sister.”

I smiled softly, running my fingers through his hair. “You're very welcome, baby.”

I was woken in the morning to Dick playfully pounding on Jason's door with both fists and singing; “Waaakeyyyy waaakeyyyy! You two better not be nakeyyyyy!”

Jason groaned, grasping blindly at his bedside table. He got ahold of his alarm clock and threw it. Dick cried out, startled, at the noise of it crashing against the door, making me giggle softly. Jay's arms pulled my back against his chest as he grumbled softly; “... Fuckin’ Dick …”

“... Hm ... Think his parents named him that on purpose?”

After a moment of silence, Jason snorted softly, burying his face into my neck. “Dork …. Ughhh, ’s too early… wha' time is it even?”

I chuckled, grabbing my phone to check the time. “... 9am.”

He growled, pulling me closer. “... Mh. … Much too early.”

A soft knock on the door drew a more aggressive growl out of him. I laughed, calling out; “yeaaah?”

“Dick was supposed to get you for breakfast.” Duke called through the door.

“Thanks Duke, we'll be down soon. Start without us, ok?”

“Kay.”

I slowly turned over to face Jason. He sighed, opening one eye. “... Now that's not fair.”

“What?” I frowned.

“You got startled awake just like I did, but you’re already fully recovered and you look like a goddess. Meanwhile I look and feel half-dead.”

I giggled, running my fingers through his hair. “Aw, but you look cute all sleepy like this~”

He grunted softly, blinking slowly. “Oh do I?”

“Very cute. Plus, your voice sounds extra amazing in the mornings~ that's truly unfair.”

He smirked softly, kissing my forehead. “Mh~ ... Let's blow off breakfast. Just stay in bed and cuddle all day.”

I chuckled, stroking down his chest. “But I'm hungry … plus, you know Dick or Steph will come knocking if we're not down there soon.”

He sighed, stroking my hip. “... Yeah … ok, fine.”

We slowly disentangled, getting dressed for the day. Jason had told me family holidays were always a casual-clothes affair at Wayne Manor, thank goodness, so we ended up at breakfast surrounded by sweatpants, joggers, and pj's. 

Dick grinned, already done with his food by the time we came down, and watched us eat. I blinked a bit; “... Dick?”

“Hm?”

“... Ya good?”

“No, I'm not good. You aren't eating.” He frowned.

“You're staring.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “He wants to start on the tree, but we don't start the tree until everyone's had breakfast.”

“... I see. Well, stop staring and I'll eat.” Dick sighed, his leg bouncing uncontrollably.

We all finished breakfast, and Dick practically herded the group to the family room. I looked around, frowning a bit. “... Is Bruce not joining us?”

“Ah, he's in the cave…. Bruce doesn't do much on holidays. Especially Christmas, so … he doesn't do this part of Thanksgiving.” Tim smiled weakly.

“... Why?”

“... He misses his parents.”

“Oh. … Well that's super sad.” I frowned.

Dick shrugged. “It is what it is. He'll be up for dinner though.”

I nodded slowly. Dick made us all sit in a semi-circle on the floor around a large pine tree. The tree had been set up at some point in the night after our movie, and I hoped Alfred hadn't been made to lug it in on his own.

“Now,” Dick grinned, surrounded by plastic tubs; “as most of you know, there will be other trees in the ballroom and foyer, for the Christmas gala. But, the family room is our room, and as such, this is our tree. Where the other trees will be elegant, themed decorations, fit for the public eye, this tree, our tree, will be the gaudiest, ugliest, least public-appropriate Christmas tree in all of Gotham! As Bat-family tradition, the youngest present family member will provide the first ornament on the chopping block.”

Damian rolled his eyes affectionately, standing. He approached a tub and removed the lid, selecting a cardboard and construction paper star. It had clearly been a child's craft project; the points were uneven, the glitter was half gone, and there was a small photo of Batman and one of the Robin's in the center. “I present the ugliest ornament in the Wayne Family Collection; made as a present to Father by one Jason Peter Todd for his first Christmas at the manor, age 12.”

There was a round of applause as Damian put the ornament on the tree and Jason bowed dramatically. I giggled, watching everyone take turns presenting their bid for the ugliest ornament in the collection. There were some truly hideous options, and a few I wasn't sure were meant to be kept past the Christmas they were made for. Finally, Dick gestured for me to stand.

“Now, as this is your first Christmas with our family, tradition dictates that you act as our judge.”

“Judge?”

“If you would.” He gestured to the tree. “Which decoration is the absolute worst in the Wayne family collection?”

I looked them over, chuckling softly. “... This is a no hurt feelings contest?” Everyone agreed. “And what does the winner get?”

“Bragging rights, and the offending item is finally thrown away.”

I chuckled again. “I see … ok, well … this ceramic mouse has incredibly unsettling eyes …” Tim pumped his fist. “Buuut, the name of the game is ‘ugliest’, not ‘unsettling’, so … I think I will give it to Cass.”

I pointed to the popcorn garland Cass had put up. What little popcorn remained was mostly flattened, and had been spray painted white and yellow, creating a poor illusion of fresh buttered popcorn. Cass smirked, bowing while the others groaned and clapped.

“Thank you for your service to our family, Judge.” Dick shook my hand, grinning. He ripped the ‘garland’ off the tree, dramatically handing it off to Cass who threw it in the trash. “I hereby declare this tree ready to decorate!”

We spent the afternoon eating snacks, watching seasonal movies, and taking turns adding ornaments, lights, and other decorations to the tree. Periodically Dick went up and rearranged things, he was apparently unusually particular about ornament placement. By the time we were done, it had the strangest assortment of decorations I had ever seen. Craft projects, tinsel, lights, vintage, modern, every color and theme imaginable, it was all there! It was everything Dick's speech had promised; ugly, gaudy, and not at all something the public would expect to see at Wayne Manor.

Once our movie was done, Dick called us all back to the tree. He made a few more adjustments, circling it slowly. “Well done, team! This is by far the ugliest tree we've ever done! You should all be proud of yourselves for your efforts. … But, it's not complete just yet.”

He pulled out a selection of velvet boxes and opened the first one. “Let's see … looks like Duke is first this year!”

Duke grinned and took the box, popping out a glass sphere ornament, about the size of his fist. It had a pearlescent finish, and his name painted on it in black in an elegant cursive font. He found a spot for it -one of the spots Dick had so carefully constructed during his ornament rearranging all afternoon- and sat back down. Dick opened the next box, and Stephanie was called up to put an identical ornament, this one adorned with her name, on the tree. One by one everyone put up an ornament with their name on it, until there were four boxes left.

“As we all know, Babs is with her dad today. She will add her ornament when she visits tomorrow. Alfred will be in after dinner to add his, and Bruce will come in when he's feeling up to it. … So, that just leaves…” he held a box out to Jason; this one was adorned with a red bow.

I tilted my head, curious. Jason had already put up his ornament. He turned to me, beaming, and offered me the box. “This one is for you, my love.”

I blushed bright red, slowly taking it from his hand. I popped it open, and there it was; an ornament, identical to all theirs, with my name painted in a swirling cursive font.

“I … I don't know what to say …” I blinked, trying desperately not to tear up.

Tim chortled; “oh no, we broke her!”

Damian shushed him, scooting closer. “You don't have to say anything, Sister. Just put your ornament on the tree.”

I chuckled softly, carefully removing it from its box, and stood. Dick helped me find an empty spot for it, and I delicately hung my ornament. He grinned, offering me a tight hug. “Welcome to the family, little sister.”

I got a glass of water before heading up to bed. Dinner had been incredible, we'd played some games, and the house was finally settling in for the night. I put my glass in the sink and made my way up the stairs, going down one hallway and then another, slowly making my way toward Jason's room.

“Father?” I heard Damian’s soft voice around the corner.

“Yes?”

“... Do you know any lullabies?” I could barely hear the whispered words.

“Of course?….”

“... Ok.” After a brief silence, Damian walked briskly past me, staring at the floor in front of him. Bruce turned the corner and watched him go, a confused look on his face. We made eye contact and I hesitantly smiled.

“... Bruce, can I ask you something?” Damian’s door snapped shut at the other end of the hall.

He sighed; “... yes?”

“What did Damian just ask you?”

“If I know any lullabies.”

I shook my head; “those are the words he used, but … that’s not what he was asking.”

“Fine, why don’t you tell me then, since you’re so smart? What was my son asking?” He snapped.

I bit back the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue. This was for Damian, I had to be gentle; “... As I’m sure you know, Damian struggles to request things. He’d rather die than suffer the humiliation of asking for something he desperately wants if there’s any chance he’ll be denied. Most especially when he views his desires as childish, or inappropriate. It’s much easier for him to ask a question that is designed to guide you to make an offer. … So, when he asked if you knew any lullabies …” I trailed off, hoping to let Bruce fill in the blanks.

He frowned deeply; “... he wanted me to offer to sing one?”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Exactly.”

“... He’s fourteen…”

“When he was a baby, his mother taught him to kill. She gave him no chance to be a child. Now, here, he is allowed to be whatever he wishes. It is perfectly rational, healthy even, for him to seek the childhood experiences he didn’t get at the traditional ages. And seeking them from you implies that he views you as a safe person to be vulnerable with.” His shoulders fell as he sighed. He looked so defeated. “… It’s not too late Bruce, why don’t you go prove him right?”

Bruce blinked a bit and nodded, rushing toward Damian's room. He stopped beside me to mutter; “... Thank you.”

I smiled softly, looking up at him. He seemed so unsure of himself; like a new father worried about holding his baby wrong. “You’re welcome. … Go take care of your son.”

He smiled a bit and went to knock gently on Damian’s door. I continued down the hall to Jason’s room, knocking before I slipped inside.

Next ->

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[breaddippedinorangejuice]

no thoughts except Gojo Satoru experiencing his first true love.

contains: fluff and hurt/comfort. also gojo satoru fucking cryin'

Gojo is obviously the guy who has a facade of cockiness, some one who's overtly arrogant to the point he's deemed narcissistic, which he is.

That's why when he felt attracted to you, he used all his sub surface charms to woo you, and mostly, bring you to his bed (He thinks he could only be loved for his body because his soul is way too riven with pain. ) To his dismay, it wasn't successful. He was being rejected over and over again, a hearty laugh vibrates in your lungs each and every time.

So when he got fed up, he cried in front of you. Calling you cruel and heartless.

"You're s-so fuckin... hic.. mean" his eyes glossy, lips curling upwards as it trebles against his will.

And you looked at him confused. In your mind, you were grabbing pieces of memories you two had to try and grasp what's happening.

Then it clicked.

"Toru... did you seriously like me?" and the man glared at you

"Of course, goddammit!.. The hell you think I was doin' ..." he pouts

"... to pass time?"

"..."

After that messy situation, he told you he did all of that because that's the only way he thinks it'll work so you told him he's lovable, not because he's the strongest but because he's satoru. Just satoru, no titles or ranks attached. Then he cried again, this time in your arms, heart heavy with all the love he craved since he was young. Feeling warm and fuzzy with all the affection you gave unconditionally.

Finally got this out cuz my brain was rotting FOR DAYS with the idea of satoru experiencing his first love. He would act like a teenager but painfully aware so🥹 God, I love this man sm. That's why I stopped reading since the chapter he got cube'd. Anyways, this is extremely shirt cuz I'm still sick (unfortunately)

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 3

chapter 3. the new normal

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

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

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

word count ↠ 13.3k

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

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

notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;) also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3

17th July 2009

The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.

“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.

Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.

Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”

Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”

“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.

“They mean nothing to us.”

“But they were loyal to Sehun.”

Upon hearing this, Jimin went still, realising what’s happened. 

“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”

Han-Jae said nothing else of the matter but his face did little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”

Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”

The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."

Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."

"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."

"Foolishly?"

"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.

Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.

“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”

Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”

Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”

Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."

Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.

Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.

Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.

“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.

“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”

Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.

The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them. 

Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.

Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.

Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.

Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.

Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.

Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.

Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”

Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now, Jimin."

Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.

Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.

"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”

Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”

Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”

Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”

Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.

Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”

But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”

Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”

Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.

Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”

The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.

The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.

Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”

The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.

The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.

The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.

He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.

His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.

When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.

“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.

His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.

Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.

Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.

As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.

Present day

It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.

But it doesn’t happen. 

As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.

The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe. 

Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…

It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you. 

You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun. 

There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you. 

Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too. 

There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here. 

As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.

Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that. 

Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly. 

A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

“Yoongi.” 

He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.

He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that… 

You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew. 

 “I need something in return.”

Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”

At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated. 

Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”

“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”

There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.

“I want to know who killed my dad.” 

The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi. 

Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”

He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”

The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”

Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”

“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”

Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap. 

“Do you know why?”

“Y/N, please, don’t–”

“You promised, Yoongi.”

Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Everything.”

So he did…

Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving. 

The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,

“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..

“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”

“Lee’s son?”

“Yes.”

You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance. 

“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”

“The Benitoite.”

Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”

“They killed her?”

Another nod.

Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.

Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”

“Fine. Tell me.”

“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”

Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.

“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out.  Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was. 

“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”

You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.

“So that’s why they killed my dad?” 

Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”

Your stomach curled.

“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”

It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly. 

Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”

You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”

Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting. 

Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue. 

“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”

Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”

“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.” 

Now, this was news to you. 

“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.” 

The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him. 

“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so…  he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”

Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”

Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.

Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”

And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”

Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”

Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.

That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.

“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.

“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile. 

Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.

Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”

Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil. 

Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”

Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi.  “This is what it said.” 

Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”

Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”

Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain. 

As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained. 

“Why?”

“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”  

The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”

Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.” 

Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur. 

He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”

Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.

Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”

“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in. 

When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”

“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him. 

“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”

The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.

“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.” 

“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.” 

“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of. 

“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”

“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”

“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.

“Why?”

“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”

Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.

Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”

Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy. 

“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”

“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..

Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.

He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too. 

Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.

“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”

“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”

Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well. 

After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”

“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”

“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.

“Only if you want me to.”

After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”

Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.

“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”

Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”

Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N,  better than anyone else.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”

“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”

“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”

“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”

He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”

Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.

“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply. 

Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself. 

As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”

“Kind of.”

“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.

“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”

“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.

“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”

“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”

“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.

Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”

“I already called her.”

A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”

Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”

For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.

“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.

“What did she say?” 

“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”

You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again. 

“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”

“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.

Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?” 

“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.

The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge. 

Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg. 

As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on. 

“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.

The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.

Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is. 

As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.

“Lightning…  is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel. 

“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint. 

“What does it mean?”

“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”

You looked up, frowning.

He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”

“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky.  In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.

Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”

The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia. 

“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas. 

He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.

Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.

“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.

It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.

You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.

“Admiring the art?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring. 

He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”

Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.

“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”

“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts. 

“Good. And the leg?”

“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.

He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.

You shrug.

 “I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.

 “What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”

Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again.  “I guess I like getting shot at.”

“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”

“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell. 

He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?” 

“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark. 

“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”

You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?” 

He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”

Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin. 

“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you. 

They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads. 

“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. 

“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”

“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly. 

“Hi, Y/N,  I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand. 

“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine. 

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg. 

“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”

He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge. 

Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly. 

Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down. 

Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.

“Are there more of you?” 

Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums. 

Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”

“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly. 

“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.” 

It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.

“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.

“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”

Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”

You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”

“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.

Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”

“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.

“Ah, speak of the devil!” 

You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.

“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.

The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.

Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”

You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”

Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.

There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.

“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”

“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.

Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”

As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.

You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”

“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”

Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”

You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”

Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.

The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.

“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.

When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.

Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”

You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.

On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”

Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.

"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.

"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."

"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.

"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.

"More for us then."

As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”

You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”

He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”

Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.

Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.

“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.

“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.

Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”

“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”

“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.

Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”

You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.

Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”

“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”

“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.

As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate. 

“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”

“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”

“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”

“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.

“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.

Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.

“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.

“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.

“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”

“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”

You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.

After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”

The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come. 

Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you. 

“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.

“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”

He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.

You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.

Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.

Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly. 

Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.

Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.

“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.

“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. Akira has been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”

You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.

As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.

Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”

You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You wanna stay here or go back up?”

You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”

Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”

You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.

The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.

Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.

“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.

The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”

She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."

You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.

You nod. “Nothing.”

She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”

Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.

“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”

Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”

“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”

“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.

You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.

She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."

“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”

She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.

You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”

You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.

“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."

She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”

“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”

The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.

“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”

Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”

"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.

As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.

Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.

As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.

Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.

As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.

Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.

“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”

The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.

Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier.

There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.

You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.

Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.

Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features.

As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence.

Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.

“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”

Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”

“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”

You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.

“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.

You smile faintly. “He was.”

After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”

Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”

“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.

He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”

As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”

Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”

You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”

Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.

You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”

Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”

“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”

“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.

You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”

Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.

You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming.

“You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.

The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”

You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.

“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.

His presence feels closer now and you find yourself smiling faintly, glancing back at the painting.

It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.

note. thank you all so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader :’) this fic takes me forever to write and I’d love for you to share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333