#the love was there and it changed everything and nothing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mandoalorian · 16 hours ago

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lessons in love

──── ୨୧ ────

lesson five: loving

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x f!reader

synopsis: it was never supposed to go this far. these lessons were meant to teach you how to love someone else. but somewhere between soft touches and whispered praise, you started falling—for the only man who’s ever made you feel safe. lesson five is the final one, and it’s supposed to be everything: slow, intimate, full of trust. one bed, two best friends, and a night that changes everything. this time, you’re not sure either of you will be able to walk away.

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content ahead, minors do not interact! ⚠️ protected p in v, handjobs, f recieving oral, m recieving oral, praise kink, overstimulation, biting, pain during sex, feral!bucky needs a warning, trust me, bucky talks you through it, making out, cum eating, betrayal, miscommunication leads to angst, mentions of sexual harassment, implied sexual assault (nothing explicit), canon typical violence.

word count: 10.5k

ෆ series masterlist | previous part

Bucky woke slowly, not because of the sun filtering in through the window or the quiet hum of the refrigerator across the room, but because of the weight pressed against him — warm and soft, breathing slow and steady. Your leg was slung over his hip, your cheek resting on his chest, one arm tucked between your bodies like you were trying to anchor yourself there forever. His vibranium hand lay gently against your back, splayed protectively. Even asleep, he held you like something precious.

He hadn’t slept much, too aware of your warmth, of the way your fingers had curled into his skin like you didn’t want to let go. Too caught up in the memory of your mouth, your moans, the way you had looked up at him with wet lashes and swollen lips. He had memorised the moment you fell asleep in his arms, and still, it didn’t feel like enough.

The vibration of his phone on the coffee table startled him slightly. He shifted just enough to reach for it, careful not to wake you. You stirred anyway, humming softly in protest as his chest moved beneath you. The screen flashed: Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Of course.

Bucky sighed quietly, answering in a low rasp. “Yeah?”

Valentina didn’t waste time. “You’re needed at the office by eleven.”

He blinked at the ceiling. “It’s Saturday.”

“It’s important. Serious business. Don’t be late.”

She hung up before he could reply.

You mumbled something against his chest, then slowly lifted your head. Your face was warm with sleep, your hair tousled, your lips parted as you tried to focus your eyes. You looked up at him like this was the most natural place in the world to wake up. Like he was home.

“Why’re you on the phone?” you asked, your voice thick and groggy.

Bucky brushed his thumb along your spine. “Valentina. Wants me at the office.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“In an hour.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face back against him. “Tell her no. It’s Saturday.”

“I did. Didn’t work.”

You stayed curled against him for a moment longer before slowly sitting up, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. You were still wearing his sweatshirt, something he’d tossed you in the middle of the night when you said you were cold, sleeves pushed up over your forearms, exposing the faint red marks he’d left on your skin the night before. He was already pulling over his shirt, rumpled and half-open, and his dark hair was a mess from the way you were carding your fingers through it the night before. Everything about this morning felt soft and sleepy and too delicate to break.

“Do you think it’s about Blake?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. It was an instinct more than anything else. Something in your gut had known he’d done something wrong.

“Could be,” Bucky said, not meeting your gaze. “But probably not. Just more politics.”

You didn’t press, but the anxiety lingered between you like a shadow. You’d felt Bucky retract, just like he’d been doing a lot lately, when you mentioned Blake.

Eventually, you both got up, pulling your clothes on from the crumpled pile on the floor. There was a reverence in the way Bucky helped you find your sock, in the way he tucked your hair behind your ear and smoothed the fabric of your shirt before stepping back. Like he didn’t want to stop touching you, but didn’t know if he still had the right.

Once you were dressed, you grabbed your phone and keys, glancing at him with a little smile. “You might be working, but we’re not skipping our Saturday morning tradition. Coffee and raspberry coconut loaf cake.”

His mouth tugged upward at one corner, the barest hint of a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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The walk from the coffee shop to Capitol Hill was quieter than usual. The July morning was cooler than expected, a gentle breeze brushing against your skin and sending the scent of fresh grass into the air. You held your iced latte between your hands, letting the condensation chill your fingers. Bucky walked beside you with his flat white and a small brown paper bag containing the coconut and raspberry loaf you always split, albeit 90/10. You’d decided to take the coffee to go to ensure Bucky got to his office in time for Val’s deadline.

Usually, you’d be talking non-stop. You’d complain about the noisy new neighbours, or laugh about the man on the corner who always tried to pet dogs that clearly wanted to maul, or eat him. Bucky would tell you about his week, about Valentina’s latest dramatic outbursts or the new intern who kept calling him “Mr. Barnes.”

But this morning was different.

There was a quiet between you. Not cold or distant — just heavy. Like both of you were too full of words you didn’t know how to say.

You sipped your drink and glanced at him. His shoulders were tense, eyes distant. He looked like he hadn’t slept much.

You didn’t ask why. You already knew.

Last night had changed everything. Or maybe it hadn’t — maybe it had just revealed everything you’d been ignoring. You’d spent so long pretending the lessons were just about sex, but now... you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he touched you. The way he looked at you. How his voice got low when he called you “sweetheart.” How safe he made you feel.

And then there was Blake.

You thought about the night at his place. The way he ordered your food for you without asking. The way he had touched you like it was his right. How it had felt clinical, selfish, and over too quickly. How he hadn’t even noticed that you hadn’t finished. You thought about the shame, the emptiness. The ache that had followed you home.

You glanced at Bucky again. His jaw was clenched, fingers wrapped tight around his cup.

He was thinking, too. You could tell.

You didn’t know he was thinking about the sound you made when you moaned his name. The way you said please with tears in your eyes and silk on your tongue. He was thinking about how he’d give anything to be enough for you — not just for the lessons, but for real.

But neither of you said any of it.

You just walked, side by side, with sugar on your tongues and love buried under your skin, heading toward a day that would change everything.

──── ୨୧ ────

You didn’t expect it to be so loud.

The usual hush of the congressional offices on a weekend was replaced with the slam of a door, raised voices, and the heavy thud of footsteps down marble floors. You turned the corner behind Bucky, confused, heart climbing into your throat—then you saw it.

Blake.

Box in his arms. Jacket half on. Face red with fury and humiliation. Two security officers flanking him like bookends.

“What the hell?” you breathed, stopping in your tracks.

Bucky stopped too, shoulders tense beside you.

“Get your hands off me,” Blake barked, jerking away from one of the officers. “I can walk myself, thanks.”

He looked disheveled. Less polished than usual. His tie was gone, shirt wrinkled, hair out of place. A storm of papers teetered in the cardboard box he held like he’d thrown it all together in a blind rage.

You stepped forward. “Blake?”

His head snapped toward you—and whatever veneer he was wearing cracked right down the centre.

“Oh, great,” he sneered. “Perfect. You just had to be here to see this, huh?”

You blinked, stunned. “What’s going on?”

Bucky moved closer behind you, subtly shielding your side with his body, but you didn’t even register it.

“I got set up,” Blake hissed. “That’s what’s going on. One stupid little intern decides she’s uncomfortable and suddenly I’m a goddamn monster?”

Your stomach dropped.

“I didn’t even touch her,” he added quickly, like that made it okay. “I flirted, big deal. You think I’m the only one in that office who does it?”

Your heart sank in your chest.

“Blake—” you started, but your voice was barely a whisper.

“Oh, don’t act surprised,” he snapped. “What? You didn’t think I noticed the way people looked at you? Like they were wondering what I was doing with the virgin?” He laughed. Loud and cruel. “Guess they know now.”

It hit you like a slap. Your chest caved inward. Everyone in the hallway turned. You wanted to shrink, to disappear into the floor.

Bucky moved in a second.

“Watch your mouth,” he growled, stepping directly between you and Blake. “You say one more word, I dare you.”

Blake scoffed. “What are you gonna do, Barnes? Beat me into chivalry? Oh wait—that’s right. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? All the blood on your hands… Getting to play white knight for your sweet little neighbour across the hall.”

He leaned in, eyes wild. “You always wanted her, didn’t you? That why you kept your mouth shut while she came crawling to me?”

That was it.

Bucky’s fist connected with Blake’s face — a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone as the congressman’s head snapped to the side. Blood spattered against the stone wall. Blake slumped, dazed, but Bucky didn’t let go.

“You used her,” Bucky spat, voice darker now, unrecognisable even to himself. “You humiliated her. You knew what you were doing. And I fucking warned you.”

Another fist. Metal, this time. It didn’t hit — not fully — but Bucky’s vibranium arm pressed hard against Blake’s chest, pinning him like a rag doll, the threat of crushing force barely contained. Blake choked, panic setting into his bloodied face.

Security came charging in. It took two agents to pull Bucky back — one tugging his right arm, the other wedging between him and Blake. Bucky didn’t fight them, not really. He just stared at the man still slumped against the wall, eyes swollen and blood leaking from his split lip.

“You don’t deserve to say her name,” Bucky said again, quieter this time, breathless. “She’s ten times the person you’ll ever be.”

As they dragged him back a few steps, Valentina appeared at the end of the corridor, heels clicking, jaw set. But she didn’t interrupt. She just watched, silent and unreadable.

Blake groaned, clutching his nose. “Fucking psycho…”

Bucky didn’t even look back. He adjusted his tie, straightened his shoulders, and said calmly to security, “I’m done now.”

“Let’s go,” one of the officers muttered, tugging Blake’s elbow.

Blake weakly shoved him off and glared at you. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Letting your best friend pull the strings. Pretending like you’re pure when you’re just a goddamn tease.”

“Get him out of here!” Bucky snapped, and the officers didn’t hesitate this time.

They dragged Blake down the corridor, his voice echoing behind them until he was gone.

Gone.

You stood frozen, heart pounding in your ears, vision blurred with the sting of hot tears. People were still staring. Whispering. Your limbs felt heavy. Numb.

You turned to Bucky. “Did you know?”

He opened his mouth—but before he could speak, Valentina’s voice rang out sharply from the hallway:

“Barnes. My office. Now.”

He hesitated. Looked at you—guilt swimming behind his eyes—then turned and followed her without a word.

You were left standing in the hallway.

Alone.

Your hands were shaking.

You didn’t realise how tightly your hands had curled into fists until your nails bit into your palms.

The hallway had emptied in the chaos’s wake, only the distant echo of voices lingering behind Bucky’s retreat. The air felt too still now, like time was giving you a moment to absorb the blow—but you couldn’t. Not fully. Not when your head was spinning and your chest was burning and your vision swam.

Your stomach twisted. Blake humiliated you. In front of everyone. And worst of all, he knew.

He knew you were a virgin. That was private. That was something sacred you’d shared with Bucky—not Blake. Not the rest of the goddamn office. How did he know? Did you just make it that fucking obvious?

You were still standing there, blinking at the carpet, your thoughts snarling into knots, when someone cleared their throat gently behind you.

“Hey… are you okay?”

You turned, startled.

Marianne. You’d met her a few times when you’d come to office with Bucky, the new intern who worked at the reception. She looked different outside of her workwear—softer, gentler, like she’d exhaled. Her cardigan sleeves were pushed to her elbows, clipboard clutched in her arms like armour, but her voice was kind. No judgment, just quiet concern.

You tried to answer. Couldn’t.

Marianne took a cautious step closer. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You swallowed thickly. “What happened?”

She hesitated. “Do you want to sit down?”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. If you sat down, you’d break open.

So you shook your head.

Marianne nodded slowly, glancing toward the office door where Bucky had disappeared minutes before. “We filed the formal report last night. I wasn’t the only one. Five other women came forward.” Her voice lowered. “The story was the same for all of us. Unwanted comments. Touching. Leering. Texts late at night.”

You blinked.

She continued. “We weren’t sure if anything would come of it… but then one of the newer interns said something happened at the holiday party. She didn’t feel safe being in the same room as him anymore. That was the tipping point.”

A cold wave rolled through your gut. “I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Marianne said gently. “No one wanted to drag you into it. Especially not Bucky.”

Your chest tightened. “He knew?”

Marianne paused. “He didn’t just know.”

You looked up sharply, heart suddenly thudding.

“He stood up for us when no one else would,” she said. “He backed the report. Made sure the complaint reached Valentina directly. Went out of his way to make sure every woman who came forward felt heard.” Her voice softened. “He was the one who made this happen today.”

You felt the blood drain from your face.

“He said he couldn’t stand by and let Blake get away with it. That he didn’t care if it made things complicated between you two—he just wanted to protect us, and protect you too.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out.

Marianne stepped forward, lowering her clipboard. “I know it probably feels like a betrayal… finding out this way. But he never stopped looking out for you. Not for a second.”

You felt something sharp twist behind your ribs. You thought of the missed calls. The unread texts. The way Bucky kept trying to tell you something all week but held his tongue every time.

You thought of how he looked at you—really looked at you—and how you hadn’t understood it until now.

He’d been protecting you… from the truth. From this.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

You drew in a shaky breath, blinking fast. “I need to go.”

Marianne didn’t try to stop you. She just offered a soft, understanding smile. “He’s a good man,” she said gently. “Even when it’s hard to see it.”

You nodded once, stiffly, and turned on your heel.

The marble underfoot felt cold and too loud as you stormed down the hallway.

You didn’t look back.

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You’d never known silence could feel so loud.

The moment you stepped inside your apartment, it hit you like a punch to the chest—the hush of your home pressing in around you, wrapping around your shoulders like a too-tight, suffocating blanket. You shut the door behind you with shaking fingers, the quiet click of the latch sealing in the ache building behind your ribs. You leaned back against it, blinking hard, your breath shallow as the weight of it all sank in. Your stomach twisted. Your throat burned. And somewhere, far below all of that, was the unmistakable, rising pulse of rage.

Bucky knew. All this time—he knew what kind of man Blake was. He knew what people were whispering about him, the complaints, the reports, the warnings. And still, he stood there, beside you, week after week, watching you get dressed for dates, teasing you when Blake sent you messages, holding your hand while you gushed about how special he made you feel. He looked you in the eye, told you he had your back—and never once told you the truth.

The betrayal sat like a stone in your chest, heavy and hard-edged, cutting deeper the longer you stared at the messages he’d sent.

Missed call from Bucky.

Missed call.

bucky: Are you okay? bucky: Can you call me?

Now he cared?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until your bare feet started to sting from the hardwood. You’d circled your living room three, four, five times, fists clenched and breathing shallow, the afternoon sun slipping lower and lower through the windows. Your thoughts were a blur, looping through images of the office, Blake’s smug face twisting with cruel satisfaction, the way everyone had looked at you when he spat that word—virgin—like it was something to mock. Your skin crawled.

And beneath it all, every memory of Bucky rushed to the surface like a tide—his voice, his touch, the way he held you when you were cold, how gentle he was when you were nervous, the way he kissed your forehead when you couldn’t sleep. You let him in, completely, and trusted him with every part of yourself. And he didn’t even trust you with the truth.

The soft creak of the hallway floor outside your apartment jolted you from your spiral. You froze. A key turned in the lock across the hall. His door swung open.

Bucky was home.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You stormed across the hallway barefoot, ignoring the thud of your heart, and knocked—hard—three times, sharp and fast like gunfire. Before you could even prepare yourself, the door opened, and there he was.

Hair tousled, jacket still on, his blue eyes widening when he saw you standing there. “Hey—”

You didn’t let him finish. You pushed past him, stepping into his apartment like it belonged to you, fury burning through you like wildfire.

“How long, Bucky?” The words came out tight and shaking.

He closed the door gently behind you, brows drawn. “What—?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” You spun to face him, voice cracking. “How long have you known what Blake was? What he did to those women? How long were you planning to let me date him while you stood there saying nothing?”

His expression shifted, mouth parting. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” You stepped closer, voice rising. “Please, for once, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “Look, I knew he was a nepotist jackass from the day I first started in Congress. But Marianne and the other women… I only found out yesterday, I swear.”

Your lungs seized.

He swallowed. “He was off. I noticed right away. The way he talked, the way he looked at women in the office. At you. I started asking questions, and the answers were worse than I expected.”

You stared at him, the sting behind your eyes too sharp to fight. “And you just… let me fall for him?”

“I didn’t let you—I tried, okay?” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I tried to warn you without telling you everything, but every time I brought it up, the words tasted wrong on my lips and I thought I was just being overprotective or jealous or—”

“Because you were!” Your voice broke, shaking with heat. “But you never told me the truth, and now everyone knows that I’m—” Your throat closed. “He said it in front of everyone.”

“I didn’t want that to happen.” Bucky stepped forward, his voice raw. “I was going to tell you everything, but last night was a fluster. I swear. I thought if I just got him fired, it would be over and you wouldn’t have to—”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you spat. “You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of the truth I get to know, Bucky. Not when I trusted you. Not when I—” You stopped short, breath catching painfully.

He looked at you like you’d just punched him.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he whispered. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“But you weren’t,” you said, quieter now, voice trembling. “You were protecting yourself. From what, Bucky? From the truth? From how I’d react? Or from the fact that you knew you were crossing a line the second you let me crawl into your apartment and teach me how to touch you?”

His face twisted. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You exhaled, shaky and raw. “You were supposed to be the one person I could trust.”

“I am,” he said, stepping forward again. “I’ve always been that for you.”

You shook your head. “No. Not today.”

You turned, storming for the door, blood hot and fingers trembling—but before you could open it, his voice cut through the silence like a whip.

“Wait.”

You paused. Barely. Just for a second. But it was enough for your heart to split.

Your hand was still curled around the doorknob, heart pounding in your ears like a war drum. The weight of him behind you—his presence, his voice, his regret—hung heavy in the air. It would’ve been easier to keep walking. Slam the door behind you, bury your heartbreak under a blanket and forget he ever touched you. But the second he said that word, your resolve cracked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky said softly. “You have to believe that.”

You turned, slowly.

His blue eyes were raw, pleading. His whole face looked tired—no, devastated. Like he’d been holding his breath all day and finally exhaled only to realise it wasn’t enough.

“You did hurt me,” you said. “You watched me fall for someone who didn’t care about me. And you knew.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “And I was wrong. I should’ve told you. But I didn’t want to come between you and something that made you happy. And at the very start, you seemed happy. So I stayed silent. Even if it killed me to watch it happen.”

Your breath hitched.

His words echoed — even if it killed me.

Bucky’s voice lowered, thick with emotion. “You think it was easy for me? Watching him touch you in the office? Show you off like you were his property? Knowing he didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you?”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling, the anger inside you beginning to twist into something hotter. Something heavier.

“You think it was easy for me,” he continued, “to keep my mouth shut when all I wanted to do was rip his fucking hands off every time he looked at you like you were something to own?”

Your fingers trembled.

“Bucky…”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he said, stepping closer. “But every time I looked at you, I wished it was me. Not him.”

You didn’t think. Couldn’t.

You reached for him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

Your hands tangled in the lapels of his jacket and you surged forward, slamming your mouth to his like it was the only thing that could make the pain stop. Bucky gasped, the shock of it jolting through him, but then he grabbed you—grabbed you—and pinned you to the nearest wall like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing into his shoulders, his hair, his neck. He kissed you like he was starved—like he’d been holding himself back for weeks, and now that the leash had snapped, he didn’t care who saw.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, and Bucky pressed into you, his hips slotting against yours, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding down your side like he needed to touch every inch of you to believe you were real.

“I’ve wanted this,” he rasped against your lips, “so fucking bad.”

You whined, tilting your head back as his mouth dropped to your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “Then take it,” you breathed.

He growled—growled—and kissed you again, deeper this time, hungrier, tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to taste your every thought.

But it wasn’t just lust. Not even close.

There was too much in the way he held you, too much pain in the way his fingers trembled against your waist, too much feeling behind every kiss like he was trying to apologise, confess, and worship you all at once.

Your hands moved without thinking—down his chest, yanking his shirt loose from his waistband. He hissed when your fingers brushed bare skin, and you felt him hard against your thigh, unmistakable and urgent. It only made you kiss him harder.

But then—suddenly—he pulled away.

You blinked, breathless, lips kiss-swollen and dazed. “What—?”

Bucky’s chest was heaving, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold something back.

“You were going to leave,” he muttered.

Your breath caught in your throat. You’d never seen him like this before; his eyes practically black with lust, expression outright feral.

“You storm in here, screaming at me, prodding your finger into my chest and then walk out?” His voice dropped, gravelly rough. “Like this doesn’t mean something.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “I wasn’t going to—”

“Where were you going?” he asked, stepping forward again, backing you against the wall. “To cry? To fall asleep still hurting, still confused, still wondering if I care about you?”

You swallowed hard.

He reached for your waist again, gentler now, grounding you. “You don’t get to leave until I remind you how someone should treat you.”

Your hands shook.

“Bucky…”

His mouth ghosted against yours. “We still have one more lesson, sweetheart.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“No need for lessons anymore,” you whispered, but you were already pressing into him again, drunk on the heat of his body, the rasp of his voice, the look in his eyes that told you he meant it.

It was true, things were over with you and Blake now, so really, there was no need for the final lesson. But that didn’t mean you didn’t want it. And Bucky had been programmed to finish the job. You curled your fingers into the column of his neck, causing him to hiss as your nails bit into the skin there.

“But if we’re going to do this, tell me, Bucky,” you continued. “what is lesson five?”

His hands slid to your hips, voice low and sure.

“Lesson five?” Bucky chuckled darkly. It made you nervous. His teeth nibbled at your jaw and he ran his tongue along your skin before whispering, “I’m going to fuck you until you don’t even remember Blake’s name.”

Your gasp barely made it past your lips before Bucky crashed into you again, kissing you with a brutal kind of hunger — all teeth and tongue and desperate heat. There was nothing patient about him now. This wasn’t the gentle encouragement of previous lessons. This was something else entirely. Something territorial.

His hands gripped your hips so tight, you felt the press of his fingertips even through the fabric of your leggings. He spun you around, walking you backward until your spine met the wall. His vibranium arm slammed beside your head, making you jump — not from fear, but the shock of raw desire it sparked down your spine.

“I should’ve done this the night you came to me,” Bucky growled, voice a low rasp against your throat. “The second you said his name, I should’ve claimed you right there.”

Your stomach twisted, arousal blooming, breath caught in your chest. “Bucky…”

He kissed the underside of your jaw, then bit down — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper, enough to mark. His flesh hand dragged down your body, possessive and rough, squeezing your ass, then sliding between your thighs like he owned you.

“You’ve been his in name only,” Bucky muttered darkly, fingers teasing the hem of your panties. “But every moan, every lesson… that was mine. You were mine the whole damn time.”

You whimpered when his fingers pressed against you through the thin lace, already soaked. His smirk was vicious. “Dripping for me, huh? Not for him. Never for him.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, hips rolling toward his hand. “Please.”

“Oh, now you beg?” he teased, kissing the corner of your mouth, dragging his lips across your cheek. “You don’t even know what begging is yet.”

With one quick motion, his vibranium hand gripped the back of your thigh and hoisted it up onto his hip, opening you up for him. You clung to his shoulders, thighs trembling. He ground against you — slow, hard, and deliberate — letting you feel the thick press of him through his slacks, letting you know exactly what you’d invited in.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured hotly, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You want lesson five? It’s not sweet. It’s not slow. It’s me showing you how it feels to be ruined.”

His words punched the air from your lungs. Your body arched toward him, mind fogged with the sheer weight of him — his mouth, his voice, his presence. He wasn’t just touching you. He was devouring you. Worshipping and punishing you all at once for giving yourself to someone who never deserved it.

He kissed you again — harder, deeper, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until you whimpered. His hand slipped under your panties, finally sliding against your slick folds, and he groaned deep in his throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, like he was reverent, like he was angry at how good you felt. “So wet for me already. You were made for this.”

His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, brushing up again to circle your clit with slow, devastating precision. You jerked in his grip, crying out softly, but Bucky didn’t stop. He watched your face as he worked you, eyes blown wide with desire and something darker — something protective and furious and worshipful.

“I’m going to make you forget every time he touched you,” Bucky promised, breathless now. “I’m going to fuck you so good, I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“Was that your goal this entire time?” You retorted teasingly, but the words died on your tongue the second Bucky removed his fingers from your dripping core. A punishment for being snarky.

You should have known better.

“What do you think?” Bucky smiled, a wicked glint in his eye.

Bucky walked you back toward the bedroom, his hands everywhere—palming your waist, gripping your ass, tugging your shirt up over your head. You stripped him in return, your fingers trembling as you shoved his slacks down his hips. He stepped out of them without breaking the kiss, and you gasped into his mouth when his cock brushed your stomach—hot, thick, already leaking.

Your knees buckled.

You sank to the floor.

He let out a ragged breath above you, bracing himself on the wall, his hand tangled in your hair like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

You mouthed over his hip bone first, then down his thigh. His cock bobbed in the space between you, flushed red at the tip, already glistening with precum. You wrapped your hand around the base and gave one slow stroke, licking your lips as his abs clenched.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you whispered.

“Shit—” he breathed. “Gonna make me come just looking at you.”

You smirked, then leaned in and licked a long, deliberate stripe from base to tip. His cock twitched in your hand. He cursed again—louder this time—his hips bucking forward.

Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue flicking beneath the ridge. He groaned, head falling back, mouth open and desperate.

“God, your fucking mouth—”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, your throat stretching, spit sliding messily down your chin. Your hand stroked the base as you bobbed your head, faster now, wetter. His thighs flexed beneath your palms, and you moaned around him—loudly—just to feel the way he twitched.

“Fucking hell, baby—don't stop—don't fucking stop—”

You pushed lower, pushing until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged and pulled back, then did it again. Determined. Tears burned the corners of your eyes but you didn’t care. Not when he sounded like that. Not when you could feel him unraveling with every stroke of your tongue.

You swallowed him down, again and again, your hand stroking in tandem, twisting at the head just how he liked it. He was panting now, bucking into your mouth, losing control.

“Shit—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

You didn’t slow down. You wanted it—wanted to see him break.

And then he did.

With a choked cry and a full-body tremor, Bucky spilled into your mouth, thick and hot and endless. It painted your tongue, dripped from the corner of your lips onto your hand, and you sucked him through it until he was twitching.

When you pulled back, a string of spit and come connected your lips to the tip of his cock.

He looked down at you, dazed, chest heaving.

“You okay?” he rasped.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at the mess across your hand—his mess—and brought it to your mouth. You sucked his come off your fingers like it was something sweet, something sacred.

His jaw dropped.

“I—Jesus fucking Christ—”

You smiled, lips slick, then stood, dragging him down with you onto the bed. You pushed him back against the mattress, straddling his thigh, already yanking your underwear down your legs.

“You wanna taste me now?” you asked, breathless.

Bucky groaned like it hurt. “Get over here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

He flipped you easily, dragging you down the bed and settling between your legs, mouth already kissing your inner thigh. You were soaked, slick running down your folds, and when he dragged his tongue through it, his moan rumbled deep in his chest.

You gasped, grabbing the sheets, your hips arching up into his mouth.

He groaned against your clit, tongue flicking fast and wet. Obscene sounds echoed throughout the walls of his bedroom. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open, locked in place. He sucked hard—just once—and you nearly came undone right there.

“Bucky—fuck, please—”

He gave you everything.

His mouth never left your clit, but his fingers slipped inside you—one, then two, pumping slow, curling just right. He knew your body now. He knew where to touch, how to make you fall apart.

“You taste like heaven,” he muttered against you. “Could live between your legs.”

You cried out, heels digging into the mattress. His fingers were relentless, working that sweet spot inside you, and your stomach was already tightening.

“C’mon,” he whispered, licking circles around your clit. “Come on, sweetheart. I want it. Let me feel you.”

You broke apart with a sob—your whole body shuddering, clenching around his fingers, your thighs squeezing his head. He didn’t stop until your cries turned to whimpers and your legs gave out.

He crawled up and kissed you hard, messy and hot and open-mouthed, and you moaned into it, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Bucky was trembling above you.

Not because he didn’t want this—God, no—but because it felt too much. Like the moment he let himself sink inside you, everything would change. He was on the edge of something he didn’t know how to return from.

And you? You looked wrecked in the most beautiful way. Kiss-swollen lips, hot cheeks, soft whimpers still falling from you. Your thighs were still trembling from the orgasm he’d coaxed from you moments ago, his fingers glistening with the proof of how badly you needed him.

His cock throbbed between your bodies—already hard again—resting against your belly, heavy and flushed and aching. His eyes fluttered shut when your fingers wrapped around it again, curious and reverent.

“I want to do it,” you whispered. “Can I…?”

He didn’t even need to ask what you meant. He just nodded, breath stuttering in his throat. “Yeah. Christ, yeah.”

He reached to the nightstand with a shaky hand, pulling open the drawer where he’d already stashed the condom he’d bought for this night, just in case—because some foolish, aching part of him had dared to hope. He ripped the packet open with his teeth, then handed it to you with trembling fingers.

You sat up a little, swallowing hard as you looked at him—naked and gorgeous in the low lamp light, chest dusted with hair, abs tight with restraint. He was solid under your hands, thighs flexed, arms braced beside your head. And his cock was massive. Thick and veiny and heavy in your palm, curved slightly upward, with a bead of precum already welling at the tip.

You looked up at him shyly, condom still in your hand. “How do I…”

“I’ll show you,” Bucky said, his voice raw with need. He leaned in, guiding your hand gently. “Hold it like this… yeah, perfect. Pinch the tip. Now roll it down slowly.”

You followed his instruction with delicate care, watching as the latex slid over his length—inch after inch until he was fully covered, twitching in your grip.

He let out a shuddering breath, eyes locked on your face like he was memorising you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You blushed under his gaze, chest fluttering with nerves and warmth. “I just want to make it good.”

He pressed his forehead to yours again, exhaling slow. “It already is.”

He shifted, lining himself up with your entrance. The head of his cock slid through your soaked folds and you both gasped. It was hot, thick, and pulsing—and you could feel the stretch already, even before he’d entered you.

Bucky paused.

His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, voice low and reverent.

“Are you ready for the final lesson?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

He kissed you like a promise, and then he started to push inside.

The pressure was overwhelming. Even with all the careful prep, your body tensed around the intrusion, instinctive and tight. He was so big—your walls struggling to accommodate him, your nails digging into his biceps.

He stilled the moment he felt your breath hitch.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, your temple, the corner of your eye. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. So fucking good for me.”

You whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He didn’t move. Not yet. He held you, grounded you, let your body adjust.

The first few moments were sharp — a tight, unfamiliar stretch that made your breath hitch and your muscles instinctively clamp down. It wasn’t just physical; it was the weight of vulnerability, the fear of the unknown, the electric tremor of trusting him so completely.

Bucky stayed still, completely still, giving your body all the time it needed. His eyes locked on yours, full of nothing but unwavering support and gentle encouragement.

“You’re okay,” he murmured softly, his voice like a warm blanket wrapping around you. “I’m right here. You’re doing so fucking good.”

His hand slid from your hip to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t even realised had fallen. You wanted to pull away, embarrassed by the ache — but his touch grounded you, reminding you that this was safe, this was love, not pain.

Slowly, the sting began to dissolve, melting into something altogether different — a fierce, white-hot pleasure that bloomed and radiated through every fibre of your body. The tightness shifted into a delicious fullness, like the most perfect kind of ache.

Bucky’s fingers found your clit again, tracing slow, loving circles, coaxing waves of heat and light through you. Your walls fluttered around him, trembling, loosening just enough for him to sink a little deeper, inch by inch, each movement more natural than the last.

His breath hitched as he felt your body begin to open to him. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and need. “You’re so perfect like this.”

He kissed your jawline, down to your neck, nipping gently as if to say I’m yours, completely.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered against your skin, fingers never faltering in their tender rhythm. “You’ve got this.”

His words were like a lifeline, pulling you higher, giving you the courage to let go of the last bit of fear. Your muscles clenched again, this time not from pain but from the flood of pleasure rolling through you.

“Let it go,” he urged softly, voice low and coaxing. “I’m right here. You’re safe with me.”

Your breath hitched as the tension in your body shattered, replaced by a shattering, beautiful release that left you shaking in his arms. Your legs trembled as the wave crashed through you, your walls pulsing around him in response.

Bucky groaned deeply, his chest rising and falling fast, his own need flaring in tandem with yours. He shifted, sinking further inside you with reverence, as if trying to become one with every part of you.

“You’re incredible,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “So fucking incredible.”

His hands held you steady, his metal arm warm and sure around your waist. His lips brushed your temple. “I’ve never felt this before. With anyone.”

You clung to him, heart pounding wildly, overwhelmed by the raw intimacy, the blend of pleasure and love.

As the waves of your release slowly faded, Bucky’s hips pressed gently into yours, rocking slow and steady — careful, patient, filled with a reverence that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re perfect,” he repeated, voice soft but certain, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

You whimpered at the praise, arching up into him, helpless under the weight of his body and the feelings rising between you. This wasn’t just sex anymore. This was something that had always lived between you two, growing quietly in the dark.

And Bucky felt it too.

His rhythm faltered — just for a second — and he pulled back to look at you. His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the world fell away. His thrusts slowed as his expression shifted into something almost pained, like he’d been holding something back for too long.

“I love you,” he breathed, voice cracking. “Fuck—baby, I love you.”

It hit you like a bolt of lightning — the desperation in his voice, the way his forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut like saying it hurt and healed him all at once. There was no hesitation, no fear—only a deep, aching need to finally say it aloud.

And then he came.

His hips stuttered and his breath broke as he spilled into the condom, his face contorting in a mix of bliss and emotion. His hands tightened on your waist, anchoring himself to you like he needed to feel every inch of you while he came apart.

He collapsed against you with a low, wrecked moan, panting hard into your shoulder, his body trembling faintly from the force of it. For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held him as his weight settled over you, your fingers stroking through the damp hair at the back of his neck, your heart beating too fast and too loud.

Bucky lifted his head slowly, still catching his breath, his cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.

Your body trembled beneath him, warm and open, every nerve ending humming with the newness of this—his presence, his touch, the way he filled you completely. The soft weight of his metal arm wrapped around your waist grounded you, a steady anchor amid the storm of sensation curling through your limbs.

For a long, perfect moment, you stayed locked together like that—two hearts beating in sync, two souls finally home.

You lay curled against Bucky, the heat of his body warm and steady beneath your cheek. The city noises outside faded into a distant hum, muffled by the thick curtains and the soft rhythm of your shared breathing.

Tears blurred your vision, but they weren’t just sadness — they were relief, love, and something fragile yet fierce blossoming in your chest. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the gentle pulse of his heart just beneath the surface.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice barely louder than a breath. The words spilled free, raw and honest, carrying the weight of everything you’d held back.

For a moment, Bucky was still, his gaze locked on yours with something so deep and tender it made your heart skip. Then, slowly, he smiled — that rare, genuine smile that always melted you — and cupped your cheek in his large hand. His thumb stroked your skin softly, grounding you.

“You do?” He asked, and you nodded wordlessly, unable to hide the smile on your face.

“I love you too,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “God, I’ve loved you for so long. Every lesson, every moment we shared… it all led here.” He swallowed hard, vulnerability shining in his eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled even harder through your tears, feeling warmth bloom through your chest. You’d never imagined love could feel this safe, this real.

Bucky shifted gently so he could look at you better, the moonlight catching the scars on his skin and the steel of his arm — marks of his past, of battles fought, but to you, they were beautiful, a part of him you adored.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked quietly, nerves flickering beneath his calm exterior. “Not just my best friend, or the girl I teach lessons to… but really, truly mine?”

Your heart surged, pounding loud in your ears. You laughed softly, a sound full of joy and disbelief. “Yes,” you breathed, “I want that more than anything.”

His smile widened, and he closed the distance between your lips again — this kiss deeper, more sure, full of promises yet to be kept. Your hands found his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. He tasted like home, like safety, like everything you’d been searching for.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. His voice was soft but certain. “We’ve waited long enough. From now on, it’s just us.”

You nodded, feeling a blissful certainty settle inside you. “Just us.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you let the world fall away. For the first time, you were exactly where you belonged.

──── ୨୧ ──── 3 months later...

Three months.

That’s how long it had been since everything changed.

Since late nights turned into mornings in his bed. Since soft touches no longer came with apologies. Since Bucky stopped pretending you were just friends and finally allowed himself to hold you the way he’d always dreamed.

Three months of secret smiles across meeting rooms. Of sneaking kisses in elevator corners. Of long nights curled up on his couch, learning each other’s bodies and boundaries. Of building something real.

And now… tonight was the first time you’d show up together—really together.

In public.

Hand in hand.

The inside of the SUV was quiet, save for the faint hum of the engine and the muted city noise outside the tinted windows. You sat side by side in the backseat, the air between you buzzing with restrained touches. Dressed in a silky black gown that hugged your curves and left just enough to the imagination, you were a vision—and Bucky looked the part of your counterpart, suited in sharp navy with a black shirt open just enough to show the glint of a dog tag he never took off.

He couldn’t stop staring at you.

You glanced at him from under your lashes, catching his gaze for what must’ve been the tenth time since pulling away from the curb. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it,” Bucky murmured, voice low and rough.

"You okay?" you asked softly, brushing your knee against his.

He blinked, like you pulled him out of his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?” you pressed, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Because you’ve checked your tie three times and I think you just wiped your palms on your pants.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know me too well.”

You leaned in slightly, your perfume drifting into his senses like a trap. “So what’s got you so tense? It’s just a party.”

“It’s not just a party,” he muttered. “It’s the first time they see us together. Publicly. Officially. The whole damn Capitol will be there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you think they’re gonna boo when we walk in?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned to you, finally meeting your eyes. His fingers reached for yours, brushing your knuckles, then sliding in between them slowly. His palm was warm. His grip was tight.

“I just… I don’t want anyone talking shit about you.”

Your expression softened instantly. “Bucky.”

“I know how they are,” he said, eyes drifting back to the dark window. “Politics is a viper pit. Half those assholes would chew you up and spit you out if they thought it would hurt me. And if anyone starts saying you’re with me for the wrong reasons, or that I’m—”

“Hey,” you cut in gently, lifting his hand to your lips and kissing the scarred ridge across his knuckles. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I'm not scared of them,” you whispered. “And I don’t care what they say. We know the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he was trying to memorise you. Like you were something he'd waited his whole life to have, and still couldn’t believe was real.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said finally, voice low.

You smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Barnes.”

His hand slipped from yours, fingers grazing your thigh instead, the slide of his metal knuckles teasing your slit-high dress. He didn’t go higher—just left it there. Possessive. Protective.

You shifted closer, unable to help yourself. “We’ve got ten more minutes in this car,” you murmured. “Want to make out like teenagers?”

That earned a laugh. “You trying to get us kicked out before we even arrive?”

You shrugged. “Could be worth it.”

Bucky’s smile softened, his eyes dipping to your lips like he was considering it.

And then the car slowed.

You both turned toward the window as the Capitol came into view, lights flashing, cameras already gathering outside the entrance.

Showtime.

Your pulse kicked up. Not from nerves, but because Bucky squeezed your thigh gently—just once—and leaned in to murmur something against your cheek:

“Whatever happens tonight… you’re mine.”

Your breath caught.

And you nodded. “I always was.”

The black car rolled to a stop outside the grand entrance of the event venue, its marble steps glowing under the soft gold of the Capitol’s evening lights. The flash of cameras was instant—blinding and relentless. You could hear the muffled shouts through the closed doors.

"Here we go," Bucky murmured, sitting upright. He ran his thumb once more over the back of your hand before letting go.

A beat passed.

Then he reached for the door handle, looked at you one last time, and said, “You sure you’re ready?”

You nodded, pulse fluttering. “Only if you are.”

He gave you that boyish, quiet smile—the one that said he wasn’t quite sure how the hell he got so lucky—and then he climbed out.

The moment he stepped into view, the crowd erupted.

Click. Flash. Click.

Dozens of photographers shouted his name, crowding the velvet rope. He ignored them all as he turned back to offer his hand to you.

You placed your fingers in his palm and stepped out, heels clicking on the pavement.

The crowd paused.

The flashbulbs came twice as fast.

There was a murmur—an audible shift in energy—as you came into full view beside him, your hand snug in the crook of his elbow.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes was not alone.

You gave the cameras a small, polite smile.

Bucky didn’t.

He looked straight ahead, shielding you slightly with his body as the two of you ascended the steps. He didn’t let go of you—not even as one of the party coordinators approached to escort you in, stammering through a greeting as if unsure what to make of the scene.

The grand ballroom inside was filled with Washington’s most influential—politicians, donors, journalists, and aides. People who had seen Bucky a hundred times in tailored suits and tight-lipped photo ops. But not like this.

Not with you.

The whispers followed.

You held his arm tighter.

“Let ‘em talk,” Bucky muttered close to your ear.

The first friendly face you spotted was Marianne—wearing a glittering midnight-blue gown and smiling like she’d just seen two celebrities. She practically ran across the room in heels.

“Oh my god,” she squealed, hugging you. “You two are finally public?”

Your laugh was small, but genuine. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honey, he looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Bucky chuckled, and Marianne turned to him, giving him a firm hug too. “I mean it, Barnes. Proud of you. About everything.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding back emotion. “Thanks, Marianne.”

Before she could say anything more, a familiar voice cut through the crowd behind you.

“Well, would you look at that?”

You turned to find Sam Wilson, all charm and sharp suit, grinning ear to ear. He gave you a wink before pulling Bucky into a one-armed hug.

“Took you long enough, Barnes.”

Bucky huffed. “Don’t start.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t fall for someone smarter,” Sam teased, then turned to you and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But seriously, if he ever messes this up, just say the word. I’ll set you up with someone from Wakanda. You deserve royalty.”

You laughed, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sam.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m happy for you. Both of you. It’s good to see him happy. Took years off his face.”

You looked over at Bucky then—at the way the tightness around his eyes had softened, at how his hand kept drifting toward your waist like he needed to touch you just to believe this was real.

You knew exactly what Sam meant.

As the evening wore on, you mingled and danced and accepted congratulations from those who mattered. You smiled through the stares and questions. You held your own in conversation. And every time Bucky reached for you—your waist, your hand, the back of your chair—you leaned into his touch without hesitation.

It wasn’t just lessons anymore.

It was real.

──── ୨୧ ────

Bucky leaned against the ornate marble railing of the terrace, the night cool against his flushed skin. The party hummed behind him—music, champagne flutes clinking, polite laughter—but out here, it was quiet.

He needed the break.

Too much attention. Too many eyes. Too many people whispering about the woman on his arm like she hadn’t already owned his heart for years.

“She’s got you whipped, man.”

Bucky startled slightly and turned—Sam stood behind him, two glasses in hand. He offered one out with a smirk.

“Didn’t peg you for the kind of guy to sneak out during your own big debut.”

Bucky accepted the drink with a grumble. “I’m not hiding.”

“You’re hiding.”

He sighed and took a sip. “Maybe a little.”

Sam stepped up beside him, gazing out over the Capitol lawn. “You nervous?”

“I feel like everyone’s staring at her.”

“They are.”

Bucky scowled.

“Because she’s gorgeous. And because she’s with you,” Sam added, bumping his shoulder. “They’re just surprised it took this long.”

There was a pause.

Then Bucky muttered, “I still don’t know what she sees in me.”

“Oh god,” Sam groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious, that’s why it’s annoying,” Sam said. “You’re not some lost cause, Buck. You’re a good man. A damn good one. She knows it. And everyone who matters knows it too.”

Bucky stared down into his glass, jaw tight.

Sam softened. “You think I’d let her get with you if I didn’t believe in you?”

That made Bucky laugh under his breath. “You’d stop her?”

“I’d try. I mean, she’s terrifying. But I’d give it a shot.”

A smile tugged at Bucky’s mouth.

They stood in silence for a while—just two men in suits under the stars, watching Washington buzz beneath them.

Then Sam snorted suddenly into his drink.

“What?”

“Just remembered—Blake got arrested yesterday.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“Tax evasion,” Sam said, smug. “Turns out Mr. ‘I’m Untouchable’ was touching a few too many offshore accounts. IRS caught wind, and he folded like a wet napkin.”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Dude tried to write off strip club visits as ‘client dinners.’ Can’t make this shit up.”

Bucky shook his head. “That guy…”

“Hey,” Sam said, nudging him. “You did good. Got her away from that asshole. She’s better off. And so are you.”

There was a beat.

Then Bucky murmured, “I love her, man.”

Sam didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease.

Just nodded. “I know.”

The door creaked open behind them, and Bucky turned instinctively—there you were, scanning the terrace until your eyes landed on him.

Sam followed his gaze and grinned. “Looks like you’re being summoned.”

Bucky hesitated for half a second—then set down his glass.

“You coming back in?” he asked.

“Nah,” Sam said. “I’ve seen enough PDA for one night.”

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder once, warm and grateful, before making his way across the terrace and straight into your orbit.

You looked up at him, glowing under the string lights. “There you are.”

He leaned in, voice low and full of promise.

“Come with me,” he said. “We’ve got one more thing to finish tonight.”

──── ୨୧ ────

You hadn’t meant to sneak away.

Not really.

But when Bucky brushed his fingers across the small of your back while you both stood politely nodding through yet another conversation about bipartisan infrastructure, you leaned in. Just a little. Just enough.

And he murmured against your ear, “Upstairs. Now.”

So you followed.

The White House guest wing was quiet, deserted, dimly lit. Ornate carpet, gilt-trimmed wallpaper, portraits that seemed to watch you pass—but you were barely aware of any of it. All you could hear was the pounding of your pulse. All you could feel was Bucky’s hand wrapped around yours, dragging you behind him like something stolen.

The second he found an empty room and shut the door, his hands were on you.

You crashed into each other in the dark, mouths meeting like magnets. His tie was already loosened, his jacket discarded on the floor. Your dress was hiked up, his hands greedy at your waist, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on the edge of an antique desk.

He stepped between your thighs, pulling your lower half flush against his. His lips found your neck, your jaw, the soft part behind your ear that made you shiver.

“You looked like a dream tonight,” he murmured, voice deep and rough. “All fucking mine.”

Your breath caught. “You’re being possessive.”

“You love it when I’m possessive.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Your fingers moved quickly, popping the buttons of his shirt open one by one, pushing it back to reveal his undershirt. Your palm pressed against his chest. His heart was hammering.

“I thought you hated these kinds of parties,” you whispered.

“I do,” he muttered, lifting your dress higher, exposing the tops of your thighs, his vibranium hand gripping your flesh with reverent urgency. “But I’ll go to every single one if it means I get to leave with you.”

You cupped his face, made him look at you. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and full of heat—but underneath it, that boyish vulnerability still lingered.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He nodded slowly, brushing his nose against yours. “Better than okay.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, letting it simmer—tongue sweeping his bottom lip, his hand curving around the back of your neck like he needed the anchor.

Then you broke apart, breathless. He stared at you, chest heaving. And then he smirked.

“What?” you asked.

He didn’t answer at first—just stepped back slightly, hands skimming over your thighs, thumbs pressing little circles just above your knees.

Then, in that low voice that never failed to wreck you, he said:

“So… ready for your final exam?”

Your mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” His hands slid higher. “I’ve taught you everything I know. Now I wanna see what you’ve learned.”

You huffed out a laugh, biting your bottom lip. “I don’t think we’re allowed to defile White House property.”

Bucky leaned in again, nipped at your jaw, and whispered, “Then you better be quiet.”

The tension snapped taut between you—sharp and electric, but layered with something deeper. He stared down at you like you were sacred. Like this meant everything. Like you were the reason he’d made it out the other side of all that pain.

You hooked your arms around his neck, your lips brushing his.

“Come on, Barnes,” you whispered. “I’m ready for anything.”

He lifted you off the desk in one swift motion, your legs wrapped around his waist, your giggle swallowed by another kiss. He made it to the couch at the far end of the room and laid you down gently, reverently, his body sliding over yours like he was built to fit there.

You touched every inch of him. He touched every part of you.

And then he made good on his promise.

You never did tell anyone the truth about the lessons. Because somewhere along the way, between shy kisses and whispered instructions, between laughter over cheap wine and gasps beneath soft sheets, it stopped being a curriculum and started becoming a love story. One written in stolen glances, accidental touches, and every time Bucky Barnes looked at you like you were his entire future. And maybe that was the final lesson after all—not how to kiss, or touch, or please—but how to fall in love with your best friend… and have him love you right back.

The End.

──── ୨୧ ────

author's note: if you read this far, to the very end of lessons in love, i just want to say thank you so much. thank you for being patient with me, and enabling me to write something i was so passionate about. my heart is full and i appreciate each and every one of you who reblogged, left a comment, sent me a message or showed their support in one way or another. certain elements of this story were challenging for me to write but it really was your support that helped me keep going. i love you lots and if you like my writing, please check out my masterlist in my pinned or feel free to submit a request :)

all my love,

rach

──── ୨୧ ────

Sebastian Stan taglist: in comments due to taglist limit

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all-my-love-for-harry · 2 days ago

Text

Call Sign: Daddy

pairing; jake seresin x wife!reader

summary; Everyone thought Hangman’s biggest secret was his ego—turns out, it’s a wife, two kids, and a killer marshmallow recipe.

word count; 6.6k

warnings; nothing. fluff, fun, the daggers being chaotic and dramatic

a/n; you ask i deliver! here's girl dad!jake! this was SO much fun to write, i love these kinds of pieces. i am SO down to keep writing for this little family or just dad!jake in general (i am incapable of writing anything short i'm sorry)

masterlist

The new house still smelled like paint and sunlight.

Boxes towered in the living room like a cityscape, half-labeled and already a little rumpled from the drive. The front door stood open to let in the sea breeze, and the soft whir of ceiling fans stirred the scent of fresh wood floors and cardboard.

“Daddy! This one!” Cami’s voice rang through the hallway like a firecracker. Her curls bounced as she darted from room to room, barefoot and beaming. “This is definitely the best one.”

Jake, still in a gray t-shirt and jeans dusty from the move, peeked around the corner with a smirk. “Didn’t you say that about the last two?”

She planted her little fists on her hips. “Yeah, but this one’s got the biggest window. And look—” she ran over to it and flung her arms wide, “I can see everything!”

From the kitchen, you laughed softly, adjusting the baby sling on your chest. Lex was snuggled close, soft and warm against your body, her tiny fist curled against your collarbone. She made a sleepy noise but didn’t wake, lulled by the rhythm of your movements and the muffled excitement around her.

“She’s going to change her mind five more times,” you called over your shoulder. “Minimum.”

Jake walked in and leaned against the doorframe, watching you unpack a box labeled Kitchen - Fragile in your handwriting. “That’s generous. I was guessing eight.”

He crossed the room to you, brushing a hand along your spine in that absent, instinctive way he always had—gentle, grounding. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, smiling up at him. “Lex is asleep, I haven’t dropped a mug yet, and Cami hasn’t tried to climb on the counters. I’m calling it a win.”

Jake glanced down at Lex, and his whole face softened. He reached out to cradle her head briefly with one palm, then kissed your cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you out of assembling the crib again.”

“Worth a shot.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable crash of a box being tipped over, followed by Cami’s delighted giggle. “I’m helping!”

Jake’s eyes closed with a sigh, but he was smiling. “That’s my cue.”

He turned and jogged off in the direction of the chaos, and you watched him go, heart aching a little in that sweet, full way. Seeing him like this—barefoot, hair a little messy, completely wrapped around his daughters—it was everything you’d always wanted for him. For all of you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, San Diego,” you whispered to Lex, who sighed in reply.

You went back to unpacking, and in the next room, Jake’s voice rose in a playful protest: “No, honey, that’s not a hammer. That’s a whisk. Where did you even get that?”

Cami shrieked with laughter, and you swore your heart couldn't grow bigger.

The sun had started to dip low in the sky, casting soft gold across the living room floor where half-built furniture lay in various states of disarray. Instruction manuals fluttered open beside tiny screws, wooden pegs, and the mysterious metal contraptions that always seemed necessary but never quite explained themselves.

Jake sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, brow furrowed and tongue caught in the corner of his mouth as he studied the baby dresser. He had gotten the frame halfway done. Maybe. Depending on how generous you were feeling.

Cami, perched on her knees next to him, had a tiny screwdriver clutched in her small hand like it was a magic wand. She wore a tutu over her leggings and one of your old t-shirts, which hung off her shoulders like a dress. Her curls were a riot around her face, and her fingers were smudged with something suspiciously marker-colored.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, Lex still tucked snug to your chest. She was asleep again, her little cheek pressed to your sternum, one leg dangling out of the wrap like she owned the place.

“Okay, Daddy,” Cami said with authority, poking the air like a tiny forewoman. “This piece goes on top of the other piece. Like a sandwich.”

Jake blinked at the board she was pointing to. “That’s the bottom panel, baby.”

“But it looks like the top.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s upside down.”

Cami frowned, then flipped the piece over with both hands. It clunked to the floor, just missing his foot.

“See?” Jake said, trying not to laugh. “Now it’s a bottom that looks like a bottom.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

From his spot on the floor, Jake glanced up and caught you watching. He grinned, wide and slow and just a little sheepish. “Hey, darlin’. How’s the supervisor?”

You adjusted Lex’s head gently and whispered, “She’s napping on the job.”

“Slacker,” he murmured with a wink, before turning back to the pieces in front of him.

Cami leaned in close beside him, pressing her head to his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was made Jake laugh under his breath, then glance back at you with mock-seriousness.

“She says we should throw away the instructions and just use our feelings.”

“Oh God,” you said, laughing. “That explains so much about you.”

Jake chuckled and ruffled Cami’s curls. “You hear that? Mama’s roasting me again. Typical.”

Cami grinned like she’d won something, then leaned against her father’s shoulder, tucking her tiny feet under her.

For a moment, everything was still.

Golden light spread across the wood floors. The air smelled faintly of new furniture, baby lotion, and the faint salt of the ocean drifting in through the open window. The soft rustle of palm trees outside, the distant echo of a car door down the street, and the occasional creak of the settling house were the only sounds besides Jake humming tunelessly as he tightened a bolt.

Jake leaned back, resting his weight on one palm and looking up at you.

“I know we’re not done unpacking,” he said, voice low and a little rough with feeling, “but it already feels like home.”

You smiled, walking toward him slowly. “That’s because you brought your girls home.”

He reached up and touched your wrist, brushing a finger over the baby’s foot.

“We’re lucky you came with us,” you said.

Jake looked up at you, eyes soft. “No,” he murmured. “I’m lucky you waited for me.”

Cami blinked between the two of you, then laid her cheek against his shoulder again with a sigh. “Okay, but are we building this dresser or what?”

Jake snorted, grabbing a screwdriver. “Yes, boss.”

And with his firstborn on one side, and the rest of his world standing just steps away, Jake Seresin went back to building his life—one drawer at a time.

The California sun beat down on the tarmac, sharp and dry, but not even the heat could keep the familiar buzz of energy from crackling through the air.

Top Gun had changed. Sleeker buildings. A brand-new hangar. The same stretch of runway, but with fresh paint and a higher security presence. What hadn’t changed, though, was the group clustered just outside the ready room, voices overlapping as they swapped stories, insults, and half-serious bets on who’d forget their callsign first.

“—told you, man,” Fanboy was saying as Jake approached, sunglasses perched on his head and a wide grin on his face. “He puked in the rental van. Twice. And then tried to blame it on the dog.”

Coyote laughed, arms crossed. “Please tell me that was your neighbor and not your cousin again.”

“Nope. Cousin.” Mickey smacked a hand to his chest like he was proud. “And I had to deep-clean the whole backseat before I drove out here with Bowie.”

“Wait,” Phoenix cut in, squinting at him. “You brought your dog across the country?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy, golden mutt hanging its head out the passenger window, tongue flapping. “Look at that face. He’s the real MVP.”

Rooster whistled low. “You’re braver than me. I left my plants behind.”

“They were fake,” Bob said dryly, getting a chorus of laughs.

Jake slid into the circle with a nod, arms folded, boots scuffing a mark into the concrete. “What, no one’s moved with a houseplant, a dog, and a messy break-up? Come on, you’re telling me I’m the only one who had a peaceful move?”

That earned a few snorts.

Rooster elbowed him lightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything?”

Jake gave an easy shrug. “Couple duffel bags. My truck. That’s about it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “No roommates? No girlfriend clinging to your bumper? No tragic love story in your rearview mirror?”

Jake let out a short laugh. “Nope.”

He didn’t look at Javy. Not directly.

The lie wasn’t heavy—not yet—but it was sharp. Quick. A reflex. The same one he’d used a hundred times over the years. It felt different now, though. Dirtier. Because this time, he wasn’t hiding a fling or dodging a label. He was leaving his family out of the picture.

Not forever. Just… not yet.

Coyote gave a low whistle beside him, too casual to be anything but a cover. “Guess some people travel light,” he said, and if the words held a second meaning, no one noticed but Jake.

“Hangman, a minimalist,” Phoenix said with a scoff. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “New year, new me.”

Rooster snorted. “You said that last year.”

“And look how great I turned out.”

They all groaned, but the mood held, rolling easy like a wave that hadn’t quite crested yet.

“Alright,” Maverick’s voice cut across the courtyard from the ready room doors. “Let’s see if you all remember how to fly.”

The squad moved in a pack, still joking as they filtered inside.

Jake walked a beat behind the rest, sunglasses shielding his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing a little more firmly against his ribs. It was only a matter of time before they found out.

But for now?

For now, it was just him, his girls, and the silence between.

[..]

It had been a week since Rooster arrived in San Diego and he was already sick of takeout. His fridge held nothing but mustard, half a lime, and a six-pack of beer. It was time to act like an adult — or at least pretend to.

He pushed his cart through the grocery store with a lazy rhythm, sunglasses tucked into his collar, and a list on his phone that he was half-ignoring. Eggs, coffee, something green… cereal.

He turned into the cereal aisle, already reaching for the same red box he always bought, when a familiar figure ahead caught his eye.

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Back turned.

Rooster paused mid-step.

Seresin?

It looked like Jake — same relaxed posture, same stupidly perfect haircut. But the guy was wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, not his usual base uniform or something annoyingly designer. Casual. Normal.

Rooster took a step forward, ready to call out a sarcastic, "Didn’t peg you for a Cheerios guy," when the man turned slightly to the side.

And that’s when he saw her.

A baby.

Strapped to his chest in one of those soft, wraparound slings. A tiny baby — maybe six or seven months old, by the size of her — nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth. One of her socks was missing, her little toes peeking out like she’d kicked it off mid-nap.

Rooster froze.

And then—

“Daddy, look! They have the cinnamon ones!”

A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and excited.

A little girl — maybe five — stood up in the shopping cart seat and waved dramatically at the shelf of cereal boxes like she’d discovered treasure. Her curls bounced as she wiggled, and she wore a pink t-shirt with sparkles on it and denim overalls with a sticker stuck to one leg.

Jake turned to look at her fully, the side of his face now visible, and Rooster’s heart tripped over itself.

No way.

“Alright, alright, Cin-a-mon Swirls it is,” Jake said, stretching to grab the box while carefully balancing the sleeping baby on his chest. “But only if you promise not to sneak handfuls before breakfast again.”

The little girl giggled. “I don’t sneak. I sample.”

Jake laughed under his breath — that soft, genuine laugh Rooster had never heard from him on base — and dropped the box in the cart.

Rooster ducked quickly behind the display of oatmeal, heart hammering.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Those weren’t nieces. That baby was practically grafted to Jake’s chest, and the little girl had his eyes. The same green-gold color. The same crooked grin. The same exact nose.

Rooster peeked around the endcap.

Jake had one hand resting protectively on the baby’s back and the other guiding the cart while she chattered away, telling some elaborate story about a dragon and a breakfast castle. And Jake? He was listening. Actually listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling to himself like this was the best part of his day.

What the—

Rooster stepped back, the shock settling into something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief.

Hangman has kids?

Real kids. Not nieces. Not a girlfriend’s kids. His. There was no mistaking it. That little girl might as well have been a clone.

And he’d said nothing.

Rooster stood frozen, cart forgotten, eyes still locked on the aisle corner where Jake had just turned out of sight, baby and child in tow.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there in the cereal aisle, trying to process the impossible.

Jake Seresin — Hangman — had a secret family.

And now, Rooster wasn’t sure who the hell he’d been working with all this time.

Rooster didn’t remember checking out.

He was pretty sure he paid — probably — because the cashier smiled and told him to have a good day. But everything from the cereal aisle to the parking lot felt like a blur. His brain was short-circuiting, looping through the same impossible images like a broken projector.

Jake. Baby. Little girl. Daddy.

He sat in his Bronco, staring blankly at the wheel. The cinnamon cereal he'd ended up grabbing by accident sat in the passenger seat like evidence.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “This is literally insane.”

He could not be the only one to know this. He didn’t want to be the only one. Someone had to validate this reality — and someone had to help him process what the hell was going on.

Which is how he ended up at the base gym, tossing his keys into a locker with a little too much force, pacing past the row of squat racks, and scanning the room like a man on a mission.

Phoenix.

There she was, finishing up reps on the bench press like a total machine, earbuds in, hair tied back, towel around her neck.

“Hey,” he called, voice slightly too loud.

She didn’t hear.

“Hey!”

Phoenix startled, pulling one earbud out with a scowl. “Jesus, Bradshaw. I almost dropped that on my face.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you. Right now. Privately.”

She raised one eyebrow and sat up slowly. “What, did someone die?”

“No, but—close. I mean—no. It’s not a death death, it’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just—can we?”

Phoenix stood, towel in one hand, already skeptical. “Okay, drama queen. Come on.”

They ducked into the hallway outside the locker rooms, still sweaty and smelling faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. Phoenix crossed her arms.

“Alright. Spill.”

Rooster opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shook his head.

“Rooster.”

“I saw Hangman with a baby,” he blurted, eyes wild. “And a kid. Like a five-year-old. And he was grocery shopping with them like it was normal. The baby was strapped to his chest like one of those little marsupial carriers and the kid called him Daddy.”

Phoenix stared.

He waited.

She didn’t blink.

Finally, she said, “What?”

“In the cereal aisle! I thought it was him, and I was about to say hi, but then I saw the baby, and the little girl looked just like him and then she said ‘Daddy’ and I—I panicked, okay? I hid behind the oatmeal.”

“You hid behind the oatmeal?”

“I was caught off guard!”

Phoenix let out a snort-laugh. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious, Nat. They looked exactly like him. The girl had his eyes. His smile. And he was being all—dad-like. It was weirdly gentle. I didn’t know he had a tone like that.”

Phoenix was quiet for a long second, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No mention of kids. No ring. No pictures. No weird schedule conflicts. If he has a family, he’s gone to serious lengths to hide it.”

Rooster nodded like a bobblehead. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Are you sure they weren’t his sister’s kids or something?”

“The baby was drooling all over his shirt and the other one was bossing him around like she owned him. And he was listening. Patiently. Hangman doesn't listen patiently to anyone.”

Phoenix stared into the middle distance.

“...Holy shit,” she said under her breath.

Rooster folded his arms. “So what do we do?”

Phoenix blinked at him. “We?”

“You’re involved now!”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But you know.”

Phoenix gave him a look. “So what—you want to confront him?”

“No,” Rooster said quickly. “God, no. What if it’s, like, a secret family on purpose? What if it’s some Witness Protection-level thing? Or he’s on the run from the PTA?”

Phoenix barked a laugh. “Okay, calm down, you're not in a TV show.”

“I just—I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Rooster muttered.

“And I can’t un-see it. Like, every time he opens his mouth now, I’m going to hear that little girl’s voice saying ‘Daddy.’”

Phoenix scrubbed a hand down her face. “Alright. We sit on it. For now. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “Then we accidentally run into him again. Maybe outside work. Maybe at the grocery store.”

Rooster looked appalled. “You want to stake him out?”

Phoenix shrugged. “What? You already started the recon mission. Might as well finish it.”

Rooster groaned. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradshaw,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It already has.”

Jake had been minding his own business. Genuinely. For once.

He’d gotten through the morning flight briefing, his simulation review, and even a cup of coffee without roasting anyone. It was a personal record. But then—suddenly, for no reason at all—Bradley and Natasha started acting weird.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster said casually, sliding into the locker bench beside him, half-dressed in his flight gear. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Jake squinted at him, one boot half-laced. “What?”

“Just curious,” Rooster said, far too quickly. “Normal question. People ask each other that.”

Jake stared. “I did laundry. Took the truck in for an oil change. Nothing exciting.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoenix chimed in from across the aisle, leaning against the lockers like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Did you, I don’t know, go to the store?”

“The store?” Jake echoed slowly.

“You know,” Rooster added. “For… groceries.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Got some eggs. Why?”

“No reason,” they said in unison.

Jake looked between them, brow furrowing. “Did I miss a memo about getting really into meal prep?”

Phoenix gave a tight smile. “We’re just... interested in nutrition lately.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “Very into breakfast.”

Jake opened his mouth, paused, then slowly tied his boot. “You guys are so weird today.”

Phoenix pushed off the locker. “So you live around here, then?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Obviously.”

Rooster jumped in. “Yeah, yeah, but like... where?”

Jake pulled his boot tighter. “You wanna come over for dinner, Bradshaw? Is that what this is? You finally caving to my charm?”

“No! I mean—unless you’re offering.” Rooster looked at Phoenix. “He could be offering.”

Jake stood, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?”

Phoenix played it cool. “Nothing. We’re just making conversation.”

“You’re never just making conversation.”

Rooster crossed his arms. “Maybe we’re trying to be your friends.”

Jake paused mid-zip on his jacket, one eyebrow climbing like it was headed for the stratosphere.

“My friends?” he repeated. “You think this is the first week of kindergarten and we’re picking lunch buddies?”

Phoenix shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Stranger things have happened.”

Jake gave her a long look. “Are you both dying?”

“No.”

“On drugs?”

Rooster smirked. “Only caffeine and a burning need for the truth.”

Jake stared for a beat longer, then shook his head and walked out of the locker room with a muttered, “Y’all are exhausting.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster once he was gone. “Okay, new plan. We’re terrible at this.”

Rooster groaned. “I thought the grocery question was subtle.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He’s too smug. He has secrets and he knows we want to know them.”

Phoenix sighed. “And he’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

Rooster tilted his head thoughtfully. “He might be just confused. That would track.”

They both stood in silence for a moment before Phoenix said, “We need to try again. Cooler. Smarter.”

Rooster gave her a long look. “You gonna say ‘do you have kids’ in Morse code or something?”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. “...Maybe.”

Jake pushed open the front door with his shoulder, juggling his keys, a bottle of wine, and the pink glittery water bottle Cami had insisted on bringing to preschool. The house smelled faintly of laundry and lemon cleaner, and somewhere in the background, Taylor Swift’s voice floated out from the kitchen speaker.

You were at the counter, barefoot in leggings and one of his old Academy hoodies, hair piled on top of your head like a soft crown of chaos. Lex was in her bouncer on the floor nearby, babbling softly to her toes like they were telling her secrets.

Cami was on the couch with a coloring book and a stack of markers that had no hope of staying uncapped for long.

Jake dropped his keys in the bowl and stepped into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I survived another day of being interrogated by two weirdos.”

You smiled without looking up from the dishwasher you were loading.

“Phoenix and Rooster.” He opened the fridge and tucked the wine onto the bottom shelf. “They’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

Jake pulled out a leftover container and leaned against the counter. “Asking where I live, what I did this weekend, if I’ve been to the grocery store. They were so subtle it was almost adorable.”

You bit back a smile. “Huh.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe they already know.”

Jake froze, Tupperware in hand. “Know what?”

You turned and gently nudged the fridge closed with your hip. “About us. About me. About the girls.”

Jake blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, scooping up a bib from the table. “Maybe they saw us out. Maybe someone mentioned something. Cami does talk to strangers like they’re long-lost cousins.”

Jake groaned. “Oh God. Did she tell the cashier I’m a Top Gun pilot again?”

“She told the woman at the post office that your call sign is Hangman because you ‘always hang upside down on the monkey bars.’”

He dropped his head to the counter with a muffled laugh. “She’s gonna get me court-martialed.”

You smiled as you stepped closer and gently carded your fingers through his hair. “You said you liked them. The squad.”

“I do,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled. “Most days.”

“Maybe it’s time they knew the truth.”

Jake lifted his head, watching you carefully. “You think so?”

You tilted your head, soft and teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? They start calling you Daddy-man?”

Jake winced. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

You laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Seriously. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a great life. You have a family who loves you. And a baby with thighs so chunky they deserve their own zip code.”

Jake looked down at Lex, who had stopped babbling long enough to blow a spit bubble.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “I know.”

Cami’s voice floated in from the living room. “Mom! Daddy! Where’s the sparkly purple marker? It’s an emergency!”

Jake shouted back, “Check under the couch! Or in your hair!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “Well… when you’re ready, we’re ready too.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms sliding around you with a quiet, grateful squeeze.

The squad had claimed their usual table on the outdoor patio of the base commissary — sun shining, aviators on, trays full of fries and whatever passed for lunch that day. It was the kind of afternoon that made everything feel like summer break, even if they were technically on duty.

“Well, I hope you’re all happy,” Bob was saying dryly as he unwrapped a sandwich. “I checked my mailbox today and it was filled with glitter.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, beaming. “You’re welcome. That’s the kind of magic only Bowie and I can bring to a neighborhood.”

“You named the dog after David Bowie?” Phoenix asked, chewing on a carrot stick.

Mickey grinned. “Ziggy Stardog.”

Groans went around the table.

“Unreal,” Coyote muttered. “That’s terrible and I’m impressed.”

“I live to serve.”

Jake was halfway through a burger, content to let the chaos unfold, when Maverick appeared like a ghost with sunglasses, stepping out of nowhere and holding a coffee in one hand like it was sacred.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice easy, “but Penny wanted me to let you all know we’re doing a bonfire tonight. Out by the beach. Her place. Says it’s a welcome-back thing, so don’t bring beer, don’t bring drama, and for the love of God, don’t bring your motorcycles onto the sand again.”

Everyone snickered. Rooster threw his hands up defensively. “That was one time.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Mav said with a pointed look.

Jake straightened slightly, setting down the last bite of his burger. He glanced around the table, pulse oddly steady. The decision had settled itself sometime that morning between spooning oatmeal into Lex’s mouth and Cami asking—again—when she could meet Daddy’s new friends.

“Mav,” he said, casual but clear. “Is it cool if I bring some people with me?”

The table went quiet.

Maverick blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Jake gave a little smile and nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Everyone stared.

Fanboy was the first to break the silence. “Uh… what people?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like people.”

Payback looked mildly alarmed. “Are we being replaced?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

But Phoenix was watching him like a hawk.

And Rooster was actively vibrating with contained energy, a fry halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“You’re being weird again,” Jake said, pointing his straw at Rooster.

“You’re bringing people,” Rooster shot back, eyebrows in the stratosphere.

Phoenix leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We talking plural as in roommates? Or plural as in… little people who call you Daddy?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to hers, the tiniest tilt of amusement in them. “I’m just saying,” he said evenly, “if I show up with the most beautiful girl at the party, don’t be surprised.”

Rooster choked on his fry.

Phoenix kicked him under the table.

Fanboy looked around, utterly lost. “What is happening?”

Bob squinted suspiciously. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jake only smirked and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“See y’all tonight,” he said, casual as anything. “Save me a seat by the fire.”

And with that, he walked off — calm, unbothered, and just smug enough to make Rooster groan into his hands.

Phoenix leaned back, arms crossed, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s happening.”

Rooster looked haunted. “I knew that baby wasn’t a hallucination.”

Payback stared between them. “What baby?!”

The house smelled like sunscreen, baby lotion, and a little bit of anxiety.

Cami was bouncing from room to room like a ping-pong ball, wearing a sparkly denim jacket over a pink sundress and clutching her favorite plush unicorn in a tiny fist. She kept popping into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror, then running back to Jake.

“Do I look okay, Daddy?”

Jake crouched to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You look perfect, honey.”

She beamed for a second, then hesitated. “What if your friends don’t like me?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Cami twisted the unicorn’s mane around her finger. “What if they think I talk too much? Or that I’m weird?”

Jake’s heart ached in that split-second way it always did when she got serious. He smoothed her curls gently and gave her that look — the one he reserved for bedtime promises and skinned knees.

“They’re gonna love you, bug,” he said softly. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and you make the best marshmallows on the planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “But we haven’t even made them yet—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake whispered, grinning. “You still win.”

That got a giggle out of her, and she hugged his neck, throwing her little arms around him with enough force to knock him off balance onto the hallway rug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said into his shoulder.

Jake’s voice caught. “I love you more.”

You stepped out of the nursery then, Lex already strapped to your chest in a soft carrier, cheeks pink and drool bib firmly in place. She was wide awake and blinking like the golden light in the living room was the most interesting thing in the world.

Cami ran to grab her tiny heart-shaped sunglasses from the coffee table. Jake stood and watched you for a second longer than necessary, just taking it all in.

“How’s Lex?” he asked, crossing the room to meet you.

“She’s been cooing at the ceiling fan for fifteen minutes straight,” you said. “I think it’s her soulmate.”

He smiled and reached out to gently fix the strap across your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, looking up at him.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. I mean... yeah.”

You gave him that look — soft and knowing and full of the kind of patience he still didn’t fully understand how he’d earned.

“It’s not a bad kind of nervous,” he said after a second. “Just… new. I’ve never brought my family to anything like this. Not with coworkers. Javy doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely doesn’t count,” you agreed.

Jake chuckled under his breath, then exhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I just… this is the part where it’s not just mine anymore, you know? Where they get to know you. The girls. The best parts of me.”

You stepped in closer, pressing your hand to his chest. “We’ve always been yours, Jake.”

He looked down at you, green eyes a little glassy now. “Yeah,” he said. “But tonight... I guess it starts being real to everyone else, too.”

You smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Because it means more people get to see what I see. That you’re a good man. A good husband. A good dad. And the people who matter? They’ll never forget that.”

Jake swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then one to Lex’s. Then one to your mouth — soft, slow, like a thank-you.

“Alright,” he said, voice lighter. “Let’s go make an entrance.”

“Let’s go blow their minds,” you replied, already grabbing the baby bag.

Cami burst back into the room, sunglasses on upside down. “Do I look like a cool kid?”

Jake scooped her up with a dramatic gasp. “Coolest kid in the whole world.”

Cami giggled into his shoulder.

And just like that, the Seresins stepped out into the soft evening light, hand in hand, baby bouncing, hearts a little nervous, but completely full.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when the Seresin family arrived.

The beach behind the Hard Deck glowed in warm amber and rose, the bonfire crackling at the center of it all, with the Daggers scattered around in folding chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rolling easy on the breeze. A cooler full of seltzers sat half-buried in the sand, and someone had already started a playlist that leaned heavy on Fleetwood Mac and bad decisions.

Jake stepped onto the sand first, Lex balanced easily on his hip in a floral romper and a soft pink headband that did absolutely nothing to keep her hair down. She let out a content little sigh and sucked on two fingers like she’d been born for the beach life.

You followed beside him, Cami’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Her sparkly jacket caught the firelight as she walked, pink sunglasses pushed up into her curls, gripping her unicorn under one arm like backup.

To anyone watching, it was immediate.

They looked like Jake.

Same eyes. Same golden skin. Same confidence — even Cami, who clung to your side but stood tall, taking it all in.

The Daggers didn’t notice them at first.

Not until they got close enough that Bob glanced up and nearly choked on his drink.

Then Rooster turned — already half-expecting it — and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Phoenix elbowed him like don’t say anything stupid but her own jaw had gone slack.

Fanboy actually gasped.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Coyote just sat there grinning like he’d known all along — because, of course, he had.

Jake stopped just in front of the fire, let the conversations fizzle into stunned silence, and gave them that damn cocky smile — the one they all knew so well — only this time, it was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that said this is everything to me.

“Evening,” he drawled. “Hope we’re not late.”

Nobody said a word.

Cami peeked around you, her voice small but clear. “Are these the pilot friends?”

Jake looked down at her and nodded. “Sure are, baby.”

You smiled gently at the group, then bent to whisper something in Cami’s ear. She stepped forward a little, still clutching the unicorn, but brave in that way only five-year-olds could be.

“I’m Camila Seresin,” she said proudly. “But you can call me Cami.”

Jake gave a slight nod, then shifted Lex on his hip. “And this little one is Alexandra. Lex, if she likes you.”

Lex burbled in response, blinking sleepily at the circle of stunned adults. Jake’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close.

“And this is my wife,” he said, voice soft but certain. “The love of my life. The reason I’m not a complete disaster.”

You gave a small, amused wave. “Hi.”

Phoenix finally blinked. “You’re married?”

“To her?” Payback added, looking between you and Jake like he was trying to process a physics equation with no numbers.

Fanboy leaned forward. “You’re married married. Like… full on?”

“With kids?” Bob choked.

Jake smirked. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

Coyote just raised his beer and clinked it against Jake’s bottle. “About time, hermano.”

Phoenix gave you a look of genuine bafflement. “I mean, no offense, but you’re… like… stunning. And you married Hangman?”

“I know,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “We all make mistakes.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Payback was still staring at Cami, then Lex, then Jake. “They look exactly like you.”

“They should,” Jake said. “Made ‘em myself.”

Phoenix groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

Jake just laughed and tucked Lex’s head against his shoulder. “Cami, wanna roast some marshmallows?”

“Yes please!” she squeaked, already dragging you toward the snack table.

Jake looked around at the still-shocked faces of his squad — his friends now, he supposed — and gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“Welcome to my real life,” he said.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the flames of the bonfire cast soft flickers across everyone’s faces. Music drifted low from someone’s speaker, mingling with the sound of the waves and the occasional snap of firewood.

It should’ve been a normal night.

But nothing felt normal now that Jake “Hangman” Seresin was casually sitting cross-legged on the sand, marshmallow stick in his hands, helping his five-year-old daughter make the perfect s’more.

“I said not too toasted,” Cami whispered urgently. “Just golden. Like the picture.”

Jake nodded seriously. “Golden. Got it. This is high-stakes work, sweetheart.”

Phoenix nudged Rooster with her foot. “Who is this man?”

Rooster, still visibly reeling, shook his head like it might clear the image in front of him. “I thought he ate protein powder straight out of the tub and slept on a bed of ego.”

“He’s using baby talk, Bradshaw.”

Rooster narrowed his eyes. “And I think the baby just giggled at him.”

“Not the baby,” Fanboy said from behind them. “Me. I’m giggling. This is surreal.”

Across the fire, Jake caught the tail end of the conversation and gave them a smug little look, tossing a marshmallow at Mickey that he expertly dodged.

You were nestled beside Jake on a blanket, Lex sleeping soundly against your chest now that she’d exhausted herself chewing on everyone’s fingers (with permission, of course). You leaned into Jake’s shoulder with a soft smile, watching Cami flit between the snack table and her latest obsession: Bradley Bradshaw.

“Hey, Mr. Rooster?” she called, holding her unicorn in one hand and a half-eaten graham cracker in the other.

Bradley blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

Jake nearly dropped his beer.

Phoenix howled.

Rooster sat very still. “Um. Sure?”

Cami wandered over and patted it with her little marshmallow-sticky fingers, studying it like a curious scientist.

“It’s soft,” she declared. “Like a cat. You should name it.”

Jake groaned. “Cami.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Jake shot Rooster a look over her head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rooster raised both hands. “Hey. I’m just standing here. With a face.”

You leaned over to whisper, “You’re really going to lose sleep over your daughter flirting with a mustache, aren’t you?”

“She has bad taste,” Jake said grimly.

Before anyone could tease him further, Coyote appeared at Cami’s side with a juice pouch and a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me find more sticks for the marshmallows?”

“Uncle Javy!” Cami cheered, grabbing the juice and launching herself at him like a tiny cannonball.

Phoenix blinked. “Uncle?”

Jake shrugged. “He’s the only one who knew. Got promoted early.”

“You told Javy?” Rooster cried, scandalized. “You told Javy and not me?”

Coyote slung Cami onto his shoulders with practiced ease. “I’m the trustworthy one.”

Jake smirked. “He didn’t try to follow me home or interrogate me about my grocery list.”

Rooster folded his arms. “That was one time.”

Phoenix grinned. “Still your worst stakeout.”

As the night deepened and the stars came out, the squad began to shift from disbelief into something sweeter: genuine admiration. Watching Jake tuck a blanket around Cami’s legs, kiss the top of her head. Seeing the way Lex instinctively settled in his arms, one tiny hand curled into his shirt. Hearing the way he said darlin’ to you like it meant something old and permanent.

This wasn’t a side of Jake Seresin anyone had expected to see.

But it fit him.

Perfectly.

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boyfhee · 24 hours ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧ㅤ✶ㅤenhypen

ㅤ 𝟕𝟕𝟕──𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋ㅤ゛boyfriend !enhypen x fem !readerㅤ｡⠀fluff, comfortㅤ❛ 158O ❜ㅤskinship, petnamesㅤㅤ爱ㅤ requested ◜ᴗ⁠◝

HEESEUNG pulls you on his lap the moment you get back, his heart already breaking when you greet him in that quiet voice laced with exhaustion.

his hands are slow and gentle, helping you take off your coat, watch— one at a time, while whispering sweet nothings like it’s second nature. “you did so well, angel,”

he rubs your back when you cling onto him and his voice is quiet but full of concern as he asks you about your day— did you eat lunch? was today more tiring than usual?— it doesn’t matter if you only respond with a hum. he wants you to know he is here for you.

he holds you against his chest, playing with your hair, listening all about your day. and when you fall asleep on him, he doesn’t budge, kissing your forehead like a promise to always look after you.

JONGSEONG feels his heart getting heavier at the sight of you looking so worn out. his arms are already around you as you enter the apartment. “oh, baby,”

he doesn’t let you do a thing, wanting nothing but for you to relax. with a lovesick smile, he insists on washing your hair, fingers caressing soft circles on your scalp that make you sigh in bliss.

and he waits outside while you’re finishing up, a little impatient, but then you step out in that cute night set and he scoops you in his arms. “you work so hard, let me spoil you,”

he handles you like you’re a delicate flower, listening to all your complaints while you’re eating the dinner that he made. his hands go over your shoulders, easing every knot and sore spot.

he carries you to bed even when you said he didn’t have to and draws the curtains, dims the lights. jay feels like he is falling in love again when you thank him with the sweetest smile, “you deserve to rest. let me take care of everything tonight,”

JAEYUN holds you in a warm hug at the doorstep for a minute straight, feeling the way you relax against his touch and lean into him.

he wouldn’t have let you go for longer, having missed you desperately, but you insist on taking a shower and he makes way to the kitchen, preparing honey lemon tea that helps you unwind.

he smiles at your drowsy eyes and adorable yawn when you step out of the bathroom in one of his t-shirts— he swears his heart skipped a beat. “you look so cute even when you’re tired,”

it’s silly, he knows, it doesn’t matter since his words bring the slightest smile on your lips that makes him melt.

and it’s a routine— you sitting between his legs, sipping on your tea while he is drying your hair with tender hands and gentle touches, muttering soft praises in between. “you made it through another day. i’m so proud of you, baby,”

SUNGHOON feels the ache in his heart as soon as his gaze lands on your weary face, eyes taking in every hint of exhaustion present on your face.

he doesn’t say much— his actions do, however, as he puts one hand on your back and leads you inside. he sets the cushions on the couch, wanting to take away all your pain and fatigue. “just relax, darling,”

your boyfriend doesn’t waste a second before getting on his knees and helping you take off your shoes, giving your feet a slight massage, and you jolt in surprise. “you don’t have to—”

“shh, baby. i want to,” sunghoon doesn’t let you protest, his fingers moving over your skin with expertise, attempting to provide you even an ounce of comfort. you deserve it, after all.

he draws you a warm bath, making sure to light those scented candles you love. he helps you change into comfortable clothes, a kiss planted on your forehead as he finally tucks you in bed next to him. “you work so hard, darling. it’s amazing,”

SUNOO greets you with a smile when you finally come back— “i missed you,” he confesses, already pulling you down onto the bed with him.

he just admires you with dreamy eyes while drawing soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. he knows you have to eat but he isn’t ready to let you go— not yet.

he is always gentle with you but tonight, he is something more— careful, like you’ll break if he holds you too tight. your limbs are tangled and he is too busy praising you for your hardwork.

his mind goes over a thousand things, anything to help you relax, and when you say you are okay, he shushes you gently, eyes softening. “you don’t have to pretend with me,”

and when you finally let your guard down, sinking into his arms, he kisses your forehead like a promise. “you’re allowed to be taken care of too,”

JUNGWON meets you at the door before you even knock. messy hair, sleep still in his eyes, arms already outstretched. he doesn’t ask what kind of day it was— he just holds you.

his chin rests on your head, and you feel his fingers rub slow circles into your back. you exhale deeply against his chest and he pulls back just enough to look at your pretty face with a murmur, “you don’t have to say anything,”

he guides you to the couch— cushions set with your favourite blanket waiting. when you look up at him with a grateful smile, he simply kisses your palms and doesn’t let them go.

he sits with you through the dinner, despite the sleep pooling in his eyes. you insist on washing dishes and he insists on giving you the princess treatment you deserve. “just let me take care of you like you take care of everything else,”

NI-KI is awkward about it at first— following you around, bumping into you in the kitchen, standing in the hallway as you change.

“come here,” he says finally, a little unsure, but his arms are firm around your frame yet still careful. his hold only tightens when he feels you exhale against his chest.

he hands you a warm drink and kneels by the bed, pulling your socks off. you don’t say a word and his hand finds yours, thumb caressing over your knuckles. “you don’t have to be strong all the time,”

and later, when you’re curled into his side and his fingers are combing through your hair. he doesn’t talk much— just squeezes your hand and lets the silence do the comforting.

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luvtak · 3 days ago

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honeybee ✦ lhc

it’s a late night out with the boys, and all haechan wants is to take take you home…

✦ genre/tw est.relationship! disgusting levels of fluff!! haechan being the sweetest bf in the world! kisses, petnames, and talks of marriage!! reader has hair long enough to run your fingers through! unedited!!

✦ w/c 1301

✦ a/n i haven’t written for haechannie in maybe a year, but i missed him sm and im sooo excited for the comeback so here this is!! i hope you love it and it brings you the kind of quiet comfort that haechan brings in this fic <3 please remember to reblog and tell me how you feel!! xoxo

masterlist | requests now open!!

“I think he really loves you,” Mark says, his voice terribly honest, yours viciously hopeful in your response:

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean… I’ve never seen him so quiet before.” Mark knows this could be seen as a bad thing, that Donghyuck’s usually vivacious personality being tuned to zero could be perceived as negative—like he wasn’t acting like himself—but he means that he seems more himself than ever before. The way your boyfriend looks at you, gentle and adoring, the way his energy hums with content rather than the erratic confidence it usually has… He’s fully inhabiting himself, instead of that familiar persona their job coats him in. “It’s like, he couldn’t get to sleep and now he’s finally resting.”

When you were little you thought love was shown in loud moments, when there’s nothing left to try but true loves kiss. You thought it would be like a fast paced pop song or a race car going off the tracks, but it’s not really…

“He makes me feel like that too,” you say shyly, looking across the room at where Donghyuck is laughing with Johnny. Sometimes, you feel so anxious you can’t eat or sleep, and can barely get the words out to ask for help… Yet, one look from your love and the world quiets.

You used to think love wakes things up, but really it lulls everything else to sleep. It’s just you and him, all alone in bed, serene and peaceful like a lullaby.

Your love is not found in those golden hour moments of heat and want, it’s in the blue, when the world is quiet and all you can hear is your breath.

Mark looks at you and smiles, a large goofy one that he usually only gives to Chenle or Jisung. His hand comes up to ruffle your hair and he tells you, earnest even in its humor, “I better be the best man at your wedding.”

It brings a swarm of evil insects to your tummy to think about marrying Hyuck, it would be too amazing—everything you’ve ever wanted. The nerves crawl up your spine and implant themselves in your chest cavity, the thought too brilliant to let yourself think of it calmly. Hyuck would look so beautiful, standing before you and your family and promising to love you forever… you could envision the way he would look, as pretty as a sunrise.

You turn to look at him again, watching as he moves closer to you, eyes sweeping over your figure. Every step closer to you is another deep breath, in and out… in and out…

“Whose wedding?” Hyuck asks, emerging beside you as easy as a breeze.

He’s so handsome today, bronze skin shining under the lamps, his heart shaped lips folding themselves into a large smile. Having him next to you eases the butterflies, that familiar quiet finding a home deep in your chest. If Mark notices the change in you, he doesn’t show it, he just quietly watches you both—a secret smile playing on his mouth.

“Yours obviously,” he says.

“Aish, Mark Lee, don’t get too excited.” Haechan’s eyes glint with mischief, his mouth curving into a sinister crescent moon. “You’re gonna have to wait a while, I won’t be a child bride.”

Your heart surges, it kills you to hear that surefire confidence—the way he’s talking about your future like something that isn’t in question, like it's going to happen no matter what.

Their conversation goes on for a while, going back and forth between jokes and the most disgusting displays of love two boys could show. You find yourself zoning out, falling into a deep calm of thoughts—all about him. Hyuck’s just so wonderful, so pretty in the lowlight of the bar. You can feel his hands softly flow through your hair, nipping the skin behind your ear with his fingers.

He loves you like this, soft and pliant in his hands, a flower he can put between the pages of a book and preserve forever. He wants to take you home, wrap you up in his blankets and clothes, and consume all of the soft kisses and sighs he can conjure out of you. It’s been eating at him all day, from the second you got out of your jammies and into your tight moonlit dress. He wishes he didn’t have to share you with anyone, wishes he could open his chest and move you in between his ribs.

It’s not that he doesn’t want anyone to see you together, he doesn’t want to keep you a secret—rather he wants to keep you safe; a fire is dangerous when there's too much oxygen.

“You okay, honey?” he whispers to you, drawing you in closer against his side.

You realize you’re alone, Mark back with all the boys—you can see him, giggling with Jaemin over something Renjun said. Hyuck is still smiling, but its softer now, the smile he only gives you.

“I’m okay, baby, just tired.”

“We can go home whenever you want,” He tells you, his eyes soft with affection. His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping the slopes of your cheek bones. If you were paying enough attention you’d notice the soft touches were in time with the song playing through the bar speakers… if you were paying more attention you’d see the boys looking over at you with barely concealed fondness, but as it is, you’re only looking at him.

“Okay, baby,” you say, voice soft and flushed with romance. “Take me home.”

Your words make him flush and smile wider than a full moon, how he loves knowing that home is together—he wishes he could snap his fingers and get you there faster, do without having to call a car and walk up the steps to your door. He would do anything to have you alone and warm under the covers, make any choice if it brings that moment closer.

He adores you any and every way that you come, yet the version of you now, makeup smudged and warm from one too many moscow mules, is a close favorite. You’re so special to him, a starfall that crash landed into his life, a parade of colors behind his eyes.

“I love you, honey bee.” He says, voice so quiet you can barely hear him, “You’ll let me tuck you in won’t you?” His smile is coming closer, hiding kisses in your hair and drawing secret hearts on the skin above your belt.

“I’ll let you tuck me in, Hyuckie,” You tell him, grinning as his kisses move closer to your lips—awkwardly swiping against your nose and cheeks before landing a toothful kiss onto your grin. “Just remember my goodnight kiss…”

He smiles infinitely bigger, if that's even possible, kissing you through his quiet giggles and replies,

“And your lullaby too, huh?”

You love him you love him you love him…

Quietly and loudly and everything in between, you love everything about him—in dreams and memories, in the daylight and once the stars come out… you love him so much.

You can’t wait to be in bed next to him, sharing smiles and breath, mirror images intertwined into and around each other.

“Don’t forget my bedtime story, baby.” You say, giggling as he nips your nose.

“I would never baby, I'm already writing it now,”

You can vaguely hear the boys heckling you, making kissy sounds and gagging, but the only thing that seems important is the way he’s looking at you. He loves you, you know he does, but you’ve never been so sure of it until now.

“I love you,” you tell him, and you know by the look in his eyes and the way his lips lift as they meet yours that he feels the same.

#nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #haechan fluff #haechan x reader #haechan x you #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #nct imagines #lee donghyuck #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck x reader #lee haechan #nct dream fanfic

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rimzaaa · 2 days ago

Text

Before The Mask

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Hwang Inho x Wife Fem!Reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: Before the mask, before the game, and before the blood on his hands—Hwang In-ho was just a devoted husband, desperate to save the woman he loved and the unborn child he never thought he'd have. When a mysterious offer promises to change everything, he takes it, unaware that it will destroy the man he used to be. What happens when love collides with survival? And what if the woman he swore to protect no longer recognizes the man who returns?

Warnings: Heavy emotional content. Blood, illness, medical distress. Pregnancy complications. Moral conflict. Character death (brief mention). Violence (including stabbing). Mild language. Canon-typical Squid Game brutality. Angst with comfort ending

Author's Note: This one was a request by @honeymoon-salvatore and it really hit me hard. I tried to show the man Inho was before he joined the Squid Game. Also thank you for showing so much love on my SQ fics ❤️

Words Count: 4.8K+

Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world

It was a beautiful rainy evening. The soft patter of raindrops against the windows filled their apartment like a calming melody.

Hwang In-ho sat on the couch in the living room, laptop open on his lap, working—because even on weekends, a cop is never truly off duty. His eyes were heavy, but his mind kept racing.

Y/n, his beautiful wife, walked in holding two mugs of coffee.

“You’re still working,” she pouted, handing him one of the mugs.

In-ho chuckled, shutting the laptop and placing it aside. “I’m sorry, darling. It was something important.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as she sat beside him.

“You’re not mad, are you?” he asked, a teasing edge in his voice.

Y/n gave a dramatic pout and shrugged. “Maybe… a little.”

In-ho smirked, took her mug too, set both on the table, and leaned in. He nuzzled her jaw, placing soft kisses along her neck. “Then let me fix that.”

Y/n chuckled but didn’t pull away. She turned toward him, and he kissed her—soft and warm and full of everything words couldn’t say.

But suddenly, she pulled back and clamped a hand over her mouth, running toward the bathroom.

In-ho’s smile dropped. He was on his feet instantly, rushing after her.

Y/n was on her knees, bent over the toilet. Her body trembled as she threw up.

In-ho dropped beside her, holding her hair back, one hand gently rubbing her back. “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

She gagged again—and that’s when they both froze.

This time, there was blood.

Not a lot. But enough to make In-ho’s heart plummet.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s… it’s nothing, right? Yeah. It’s probably nothing.”

But he wasn’t convincing anyone—not even himself.

He helped her to her feet and guided her to the sink to rinse her face, fingers trembling slightly.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he said, cupping her cheeks and kissing her forehead. But deep down, he already knew—something was very, very wrong.

---

The hospital room was silent, thick with tension. Y/n’s test results sat on the doctor’s desk like a verdict.

“There’s a complication,” the doctor began, tone steady and clinical. “Her liver is deteriorating. If we don’t start treatment soon, there’s a risk it could fail.”

Y/n squeezed In-ho’s hand tightly, her own hands clammy and cold.

Before In-ho could process the words, the doctor continued, “There’s something else. She’s pregnant.”

In-ho’s head snapped up. His mouth parted in disbelief.

“She’s two months along,” the doctor clarified.

In-ho blinked. Pregnant.

The very thing he had always dreamed of… but at what cost?

His eyes turned to her—she was already crying, shoulders shaking as her head hung low.

“But…” the doctor continued, “I suggest termination. Her condition will likely worsen. And there is a risk to the fetus as well.”

“No,” Y/n said instantly, her voice breaking. “I won’t allow that.”

She turned to In-ho, gripping his hand tighter. “In-ho… we won’t give up on this baby, right?”

But he didn’t answer right away. He stared down at their joined hands, rubbing her knuckles as if grounding himself.

---

The apartment was dim when they returned home. A thick silence hung between them.

In-ho closed the door, ready to talk—but Y/n had already stormed toward the bedroom.

“Y/n,” he called, following her. “We need to talk. You can’t decide this alone.”

“Why not?” she shot back, not turning around. “I’m the mother!”

“And I’m the father. Your husband. I won’t stand by and let you risk your life like this.”

“I don’t care—”

“But I do!” he cut her off, voice louder now, not from anger but from the unbearable ache he tried to mask. “You think I don’t care about the baby? That I don’t want it? I do. I’ve alwayss wanted a child with you.”

Y/n sat down on the edge of the bed and began to cry—not because of the raised voice, but because of the heartbreak in his eyes, the crack in his voice that betrayed his own fear.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her hands gently in his.

“Y/n…” he whispered, voice trembling. “We can try again. When you’re healthy. When it’s safe. Please…”

She shook her head stubbornly, through the tears. “No.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Please try to understand,” he pleaded. “It’s dangerous. Your life matters more to me than anything. I—I can’t lose you.”

He couldn’t even say the words out loud.

Y/n pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I don’t care about my health. I just want this baby. I can’t… I’m sorry.”

And in that moment, In-ho knew.

He couldn’t change her mind.

He had fought so many battles in his life—but none harder than this one: the battle between protecting her life… and her choice to create another.

---

Days turned into weeks.

Y/n had finally been admitted to the hospital for treatment. The doctors had warned that the procedure would be expensive, but In-ho hadn’t cared.

“Do whatever it takes to save my wife and child” he had said. And he meant it.

But reality hit harder than he’d expected.

With his modest cop’s salary, he could barely afford her daily medication. To even begin her treatment, he sold his car. He’d already taken loans from the bank, spent his savings, borrowed from friends, and maxed out every favor he had.

Now, he sat alone at the subway station, long past midnight, the chill of the tiles beneath him as biting as the fear in his chest. A small bag sat at his feet—just a few things Y/n had asked him to bring. He stared down at the floor, not really seeing the tiles, but drowning in his thoughts.

How much longer could he hold on?

Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t even bother wiping them away. Helplessness was a bitter taste he’d grown familiar with.

“Sir,” a calm voice interrupted, “would you like to play a game with me?”

In-ho turned his head sharply.

A man in a crisp gray suit had appeared beside him, sitting far too comfortably for someone approaching a stranger in the dead of night.

“What are you? A scammer?” In-ho muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m a cop. Leave now, or you won’t like what I’ll do to you.”

The man didn’t flinch. He simply smiled. “Of course I know you’re a cop, Mr. Hwang In-ho.”

In-ho’s expression changed. His blood ran cold.

“What did you just say?”

“Hwang In-ho,” the man repeated smoothly. “Police officer. Married. Recently drowning in debt because your wife is in the hospital… and pregnant.”

In-ho was on his feet in an instant, yanking the man up by his collar. “Who the hell are you? How do you know all that? Are you spying on me?!”

Unbothered, the man calmly adjusted his suit as he broke free from In-ho’s grip. “That’s not important,” he said. “What’s important is—you need money. And I can give it to you… if you play a small game with me.”

He opened his sleek black briefcase. Inside were thick stacks of money and two folded paper tiles—one red, one blue.

He picked up the blue one and handed it to In-ho. “If you flip my tile, I’ll pay you. If I flip yours, you pay me.”

In-ho narrowed his eyes. This had to be a joke. A scam. But then again, what did he have to lose?

He took the card from the man and crouched down.

SMACK.

The blue tile hit the ground—but the red tile didn’t budge.

In-ho looked up. The man smirked and took his position, crouched down and

SMACK.

He flipped Inho's tile.

SLAP!

The man’s hand cracked across his cheek.

“What the—!” In-ho lunged toward him in fury, but the man held up a hand, still smiling. “If you can’t pay with money… you pay with your body.”

In-ho seethed but bit back the curses. He slammed the tile again.

This time—it flipped.

He blinked, stunned. As if even he didn’t expect himself to succeed.

The man calmly took out a stack of cash and handed it over.

“If you want to play again and win more…” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a card—simple with three shapes: a circle, a triangle, and a square.

“Call here.”

Without another word, the man stood, boarded the next subway car, and disappeared into the night.

In-ho stared after him, heart pounding.

Then he looked down at the money in his hand.

It was enough to buy Y/n’s medicine and a few more essentials. Enough to breathe, if only for a day.

His eyes dropped to the card.

He held it for a long moment… then slid it into his pocket.

Maybe this was fate.

Maybe this was the only way left.

But what he didn’t know then was—yes, things were about to change.

Just not in the way he hoped.

---

The hospital room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp. Y/N lay resting beneath a thin blanket, her face pale but calm. The quiet hum of the machines was the only sound until the door clicked softly.

In-ho stepped inside quietly, placing the bag on the couch before shutting the door behind him. His movements were careful, like he didn’t want to disturb her, but her eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Did I wake you, sweetheart?” he asked gently as he walked over and sat on the edge of her bed, facing her.

“No,” she murmured, her voice laced with fatigue. “I wasn’t sleeping. I was waiting for you. What took so long?”

In-ho didn’t answer right away. He reached for her hand, gently cradling it between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly over her knuckles.

“Just… got held up at the station,” he said quietly, eyes fixed downward on their joined hands.

Y/N frowned, sensing something in his tone. She raised her free hand and cupped his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to hers. “In-ho… is everything okay? Are you hiding something from me?”

His eyes met hers — glassy, tired, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. But he forced a small shake of his head. “No. Nothing. Just tired, that’s all.”

He paused, voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N… you know how much I love you, right?”

She blinked in surprise. “Of course I know. Why are you asking that?”

“Just… remember it,” he said, eyes lingering on her face. “I’ll do anything to keep you and our baby safe. No matter what.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “In-ho, what is it? Don’t tell me it’s about the money again.”

She sat up slightly, growing anxious. “Wait—did you get yourself into something? Something dangerous? Please tell me you didn’t do anything reckless just for the money—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, forcing a calm smile and shaking his head. “Relax. It’s nothing like that.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, then gently pressed a kiss against her belly. When he looked back up at her, he cupped her face in both hands.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. “I just… I wanted to say it.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

Her expression softened, melting under his touch. She closed her eyes briefly before whispering back, “I love you too, In-ho. And I trust you.”

That hit him harder than anything. She trusted him.

How could he tell her now? That he’d just won money by playing a childish game in a subway station… getting slapped in return? No. He couldn’t.

“Come on,” he said softly, adjusting the blanket over her. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

She caught his wrist before he pulled away. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“I won’t.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her palm gently.

Y/N finally closed her eyes, her fingers still curled around his hand like she was afraid to let go — like she already sensed something was wrong.

---

Y/N was sleeping deeply now, her breathing steady and peaceful. In-ho sat by her side for a long moment, watching the quiet rise and fall of her chest. Then, slowly, carefully, he slipped his hand out of hers and stood up.

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Outside in the dim hallway, he leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. Along with it, he retrieved the strange card the man had given him on the subway. He stared at the symbols again—circle, triangle, square—then turned it over.

His thumb hovered over the keypad. Should he call?

Doubt crept in like fog, tightening his chest. He had no idea what this was. No details. No guarantees.

But then, Y/N’s voice echoed in his head: “I love you… and I trust you.”

His grip tightened on the phone.

She trusted him. And he couldn’t let her down—not now. Not when her life and their child’s life were on the line.

With a deep breath, he dialed the number.

The line clicked after the first ring. A deep, emotionless voice spoke from the other end.

“If you want to join the game, state your name and date of birth.”

In-ho swallowed. “Hwang In-ho. February 2nd, 1976.”

There was a brief silence. Then: “Be at the bus stop near your apartment. One hour.”

Before he could ask a single question, the call ended.

The silence that followed was suffocating. In-ho stared at the phone in his hand, a strange unease crawling down his spine. It felt wrong. But what other choice did he have? He needed money. Not just for the medicine — for her survival. For their future.

He returned to her hospital room. The lights were dimmed, the machines quietly humming beside her. He stood beside her bed for a moment, just looking.

Then he leaned in, brushing the stray hair from her forehead. He pressed a long, soft kiss there.

He didn’t wake her.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Because if he told her, she’d never let him go.

A tear slid down his cheek as he whispered against her skin, “I promise I’ll come back to you both. Just wait for me.”

With that, he turned and walked out.

At the reception desk, he handed over the money he had won—enough to cover the next round of her treatment. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A month’s hope. A promise wrapped in bills.

And as he walked out into the cold air of the night, toward whatever waited for him at that bus stop, he told himself again

This is for them.

It has to be.

---

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open slowly as the warm morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden rays across the room. She blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust before slowly sitting up.

The room was empty.

Her heart gave a small, hopeful flutter. Maybe he’s in the bathroom.

“In-ho?” she called softly, glancing toward the door of the attached washroom.

No answer.

Just then, the main door opened. Her head snapped toward it—expecting, praying it was him.

But it wasn’t.

A nurse walked in, holding a fresh IV bag.

“Good morning,” the nurse greeted with a smile as she moved toward the stand beside the bed.

“Wait… is my husband outside?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with worry. “Can you please call him in?”

The nurse paused, giving her a puzzled look. “You don’t know?”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. “Know what…?”

“He left last night,” the nurse replied gently, “just paid for the next round of your treatment and walked out the exit.”

Y/N stared at her, face pale. No… no, that’s not possible.

“He left…?” she echoed, breath catching in her throat.

Her trembling hands fumbled for her phone on the bedside table. She dialed his number quickly.

Powered off.

No tone. No ring. Just cold silence.

Her hand dropped slowly, the phone still in her grip. Tears welled in her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks. She clutched the fabric of her hospital gown right over her belly, gripping it tightly in her fist as if grounding herself, anchoring her body before her heart could completely break apart.

And then, memories of the night before came rushing back.

“You know how much I love you, right?”

“I’ll do anything to keep you and our baby safe.”

Her lips parted as the realization hit her like a wave.

He left to do something… for them.

She didn’t know what. She didn’t know where. But in that moment, something in her chest squeezed painfully tight with the knowledge that whatever he’d done—whatever path he’d walked into—he had done it for her.

Miles away…

In-ho stirred, groaning as he blinked into the harsh light above him. He slowly sat up, his body stiff from the cold metal bunk beneath him. Disoriented, he looked around.

The room was massive—more like a warehouse. Walls of concrete. Cameras. Dozens of bunk beds stacked in layers, reaching high above. And all around him, strangers in the same uniform as his.

He looked down.

Green and white tracksuit. A number stitched to the chest:

132.

His stomach dropped.

What did I just get myself into?

~TWO WEEKS LATER~

In-ho sat across the table, dressed in a black tuxedo that felt heavier than any uniform he’d ever worn. His once-sharp features now looked worn down—tired eyes, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead, and the faint bruises on his cheekbone speaking of the hell he’d survived. The pristine suit couldn’t hide the man beneath—the man who had bled, fought, and clawed his way to this moment.

His number—132—stood stark on his chest, the only piece of identity he had left.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there like a ghost, watching Il-nam with a storm in his eyes. Not rage. Not hope. Just the dull weight of someone who had given everything and was about to lose what little humanity he had left.

And yet… behind the haunted stare was a flicker of something else—the echo of soft laughter, the warmth of a hospital room, the curve of her belly beneath his trembling hand. A reminder of why he was here. And what this moment would cost.

Il-nam cleared his throat beneath the golden owl mask he wore—the mask of the man who created these games. The mastermind behind Squid Game.

He slid a dagger across the table toward In-ho.

In-ho stared down at it, then up at him, confusion flickering in his bloodshot eyes.

“Take this,” Il-nam said. “And kill the remaining players. You’ll win… and you’ll go back to your family.”

Kill?

In-ho’s fingers twitched. A rush of memories from the past two weeks flooded his mind—the games, the screams, the crushed bodies, the blood. So much blood. He had survived it all, but now they wanted him to kill with his own hands?

The same hands that once protected lives as a police officer… were now expected to end them?

“Why… why me?” His voice was hollow.

“Because I see it in you,” Il-nam answered calmly. “That desperation. That hunger to live. That determination to go back to your wife and unborn child. You’re the only one capable of doing what must be done.”

In-ho’s eyes dropped to the blade again. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, trembling.

“Think about your wife, Mr. Hwang. Do you even know what she’s going through right now? She’s scared. She’s in pain. Don’t you want this to be over? She’s waiting for you. Your child is waiting for you.”

And that was it.

In-ho grabbed the dagger and stormed out of the room.

---

The room was dark and still. Five players lay curled up across the cold bunks—unknowing, innocent in their exhaustion.

He didn’t hesitate.

One by one, he drove the blade into their chests. No names. No hesitation. Just death. His hands—once steady with justice—were now dripping with blood.

Then he stood over the last player.

His hand trembled.

He raised the dagger—ready to finish it.

And then he heard it.

“Don’t do this, In-ho…”

A voice. Soft. Familiar.

He looked up—and there she was.

Y/n.

Standing just a few feet away, barefoot, in her hospital gown. Her hands cradling her swollen belly. Her eyes full of pain.

“This isn’t you,” she whispered. “You’re not this person.”

His breath caught in his throat. He blinked. Once. Twice.

But she was gone.

A hallucination. His mind breaking under the weight of what he was doing.

He looked down at the sleeping man beneath him. Still alive. Still breathing.

And then—

He remembered the doctor’s words:

��Without treatment… you’ll lose them both.”

And with a guttural scream, he drove the dagger down—over and over—into the man’s chest and stomach, until the body went limp beneath him.

Blood splattered his face. His hands. His soul.

---

Two days had passed since the final game.

The air outside smelled different—cleaner somehow—but Hwang In-ho didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything. Not the weight of the black card in his pocket. Not the dull ache in his shoulder from the blood-drenched uniform he’d since burned. Not even the rush of 456 billion won now under his name.

He just felt numb.

The first place he went?

The hospital.

He stepped inside the familiar white building, his jaw set, his face emotionless. He barely acknowledged the nurse at the front desk.

“I’m here to pay for Hwang Y/N full treatment,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and placing a thick envelope of cash on the counter. The woman blinked in disbelief.

“Sir… this is—this is everything. Are you sure—?”

“Yes. Everything. Don’t bother her with bills ever again.”

---

When he reached her floor, his heart began to race for the first time in days. He stopped outside her door, hand hovering over the handle.

Then slowly, he opened it.

The room was softly lit, the blinds cracked open just enough to let in gentle sunlight. Machines hummed quietly. The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Her hair was tied up messily, strands falling loosely around her face. Her cheeks had grown a little fuller since he last saw her. Her belly was unmistakably round now, her hands resting protectively atop it. But her face—her eyes—looked worn. Tired. Like someone who’d cried too many times, alone, and had run out of tears.

She looked up.

For a moment, they both froze.

Relief washed over her expression, a breath she didn’t know she was holding finally released. But it was gone in an instant.

Her features twisted with emotion—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—and she sat up sharply in bed.

“YOU!”

In-ho stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Where the hell have you been, In-ho?! Where? For two weeks, you vanished! You left me here! No calls, no texts, no nothing—do you have any idea what that felt like?!”

“I know,” he said softly, stepping closer.

“No, you don’t! I thought you died! Or worse—that you ran away! That you abandoned me and our baby! Do you have any idea how many nights I stayed awake, crying until I couldn’t breathe?”

“I didn’t abandon you,” he said, trying to hold her gaze. “I was—”

“Then WHERE WERE YOU?!” she yelled again, her voice breaking. “Do you know I begged the nurses to call the police? That I thought you’d gotten mugged or kidnapped? Do you know what it felt like waking up and not seeing you here—every single morning?”

In-ho stood beside her bed now, head bowed, his hand gently reaching for hers—but she pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to leave you like that. I just… I had to do something.”

“Something?! Something that made you shut off your phone, disappear like a ghost, and make me feel like I didn’t matter anymore?”

“You do matter. More than anything.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?! Why didn’t you let me stop you?”

“Because I knew you would stop me,” he said, finally raising his eyes to hers. They shimmered with tears, both old and new. “And I couldn’t afford to lose you. I had to find a way. I had to get the money.”

Y/N stared at him, chest rising and falling fast.

“You were the only thing keeping me sane,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You… and this baby. And you just left.”

In-ho dropped on the edge of the bed, tears rolling freely down his face now.

“I never left you. Not even for a second. I thought about you every night. Every time I closed my eyes. I did it for you. For both of you.”

She looked away, jaw clenched.

“I hate you sometimes, you know,” she muttered, but her voice broke as her eyes filled again.

He didn’t say anything. He just stayed there, holding onto the side of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And in some way, it was.

Still sitting there, In-ho’s voice broke as he pleaded, “Please… just give me a little more time. Once you’re better—once the baby is safe—I’ll tell you everything. I swear it, Y/N.”

His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, not to hold her in place, but to show he hadn’t stopped clinging—not to her, not to them.

“I won’t lie anymore. Just… let me keep this peace for a little while. I’ll tell you everything—every damn thing I did.”

Y/N looked at him. He was a mess—disheveled, eyes rimmed red, guilt etched across every feature. This wasn’t the man who left her. This was the man who came back.

She sighed shakily. Her anger hadn’t completely vanished—but her heart, bruised and battered, still beat for him.

“You better,” she said softly, voice trembling. “Because if you disappear on me again, I’ll break your legs myself.”

In-ho laughed—hoarse and broken—but it was the first real sound of relief that left him in days.

She reached out, cupping his face. “You’re still my idiot,” she whispered.

And then she leaned forward.

Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss—one that tasted of fear, longing, and fragile forgiveness.

He kissed her like he needed her to breathe, like his heart only knew how to beat in rhythm with hers.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, whispering, “I missed you so damn much.”

~ONE MONTH LATER~

The apartment felt alive again.

Soft sunlight spilled through the windows as light jazz hummed from the stereo. Their small place smelled of lavender and tea. Plants thrived again by the windowsill, and the cozy blanket on the couch hadn’t been folded in days.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, humming as she sliced fruit. She looked stronger now. The dullness in her skin had faded, and her cheeks held color again. Her bump, round and prominent now at nearly five months, made her glow.

In-ho came up behind her, arms sneaking around her waist as he pressed his chest to her back.

“You’re not supposed to sneak up on me when I have a knife in hand,” she teased, smiling.

“I like living on the edge,” he whispered into her neck, then gently moved her hand aside and kissed her temple.

She chuckled as he guided her away from the counter and into the living room, helping her sit down on the couch with the ease of someone who had memorized her favorite position.

He knelt in front of her, resting both hands on her belly, thumbs brushing softly across the fabric of her dress.

“Hey,” he whispered to the bump. “I know you can hear me in there. Just wanted to say… your mom’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

Y/N smiled, biting her lip as tears pricked her eyes.

In-ho leaned forward, kissing her belly softly. “And I can’t wait to meet you, little one. You’re already so loved.”

He rested his cheek gently against her stomach, listening as if waiting for the baby to answer back.

---

Later, as the sun began to dip, painting the room in a golden hue, In-ho sat quietly on the armchair, watching Y/N doze lightly on the couch.

His gaze softened.

And then—like a jolt—a memory hit him.

A voice.

“Be my frontman.”

Ill-nam’s words echoed in his mind like a ghost.

“You’re capable. You have the instincts. You survived. The game needs someone like you.”

In-ho’s smile faded slowly.

His jaw tensed. He stared at the wall, his eyes unfocused, mind replaying the offer he’d tried so hard to forget.

A hand subconsciously clenched on the armrest.

He gulped.

Hard.

Because now, with everything finally calm… the storm wasn’t over.

It was just waiting to begin.

247 notes · View notes

viktateapot · 2 days ago

Text

THINGS (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

You and Dick were having dinner at a restaurant when Dick got a call to immediately head out to Bludhaven for one person.

Looking flustered, he quickly kissed your cheek and scurried toward the door while bumping into everything along the way.

While you were fuming, what happened years earlier had crossed your mind: Dick stealing your favourite dress and putting it on for everyone’s amusement. Unwilling to forgive him for the rampage you had over it, you decided to pay him back.

You rushed over to Dick’s, only to find he wasn’t there. The frustration became unbearable, and knowing that Dick would be back, you hastened home, beginning to think about what you could possibly take revenge with.

“I have an idea,” you declared as you entered the room, and saw his favorite pajamas.

When Dick got to the apartment, he saw that you were asleep on the couch. Smiling, he embraced you. “I love you,” he said.

As he entered the bedroom to change, his eyes widened and a confused look was etched onto his face: the pajamas were missing.

Jason Todd:

Jason woke up in a foul mood. You could feel it rolling off of him in waves. He was all but oozing sarcasm and dark energy. Usually, you gave him his space during times like these, but today you decided enough was enough.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of his room.

“Nothing,” He replied, not even sparing you a glance.

“Come on, Jason,” You said, rolling your eyes. “I know you better than anyone else. What’s got you so worked up?”

He mumbled something under his breath, but you couldn’t make it out.

“What?” You asked. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Mind speaking up?”

Jason sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t understand anyway,” He said.

“Try me,” You urged. “I’m sure I can.”

He looked up at you then, and you saw the pain in his eyes. Your heart ached for him, and you just wanted to make it all better. But you knew he needed to get it off his chest first.

“It’s just…everything,” He said. “I just feel so lost, ya know?”

You walked into the room and sat down next to him on the bed. “I understand,” You said. “I feel like that sometimes too. But you know what? You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” He said. “I’m just gonna end up making things worse.”

“That’s not true, and I can prove it,” You replied, yanking him up from the bed.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Jason protested as you dragged him toward the front door.

“Come on,” You replied. “We’re going to get out of these problems”.

“What if I don’t want to?” Jason grumbled, resisting.

“Oh, you don’t?" You smirked. "Well, I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands” You pushed him in the back. “Now go.”

Leaving, you took all his bullets.

Tim Drake:

Tim’s fatigue reached a new peak, and with him being too stubborn to quit, you decide to step in yourself. You certainly wouldn’t want him to get sick. Who knows what would happen to Gotham then!

You rushed into the Batcave. “TIM!” you screamed. “We need to talk.”

Tim gave no response. He was far too invested in whatever he was doing on his computer.

Rolling your eyes, you got closer. “Tim!” you repeated, this time a bit louder.

“What is it?” he grumbled, not looking away from the screen.

“You need to rest,” you said.

Tim chuckled. “I don’t have time for sleep,” he said. “I have more important things to do.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ve been working for ages now. You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said. “I can keep going.”

“No,” you said. "It's over."

You stepped forward and ripped his computer’s power cord right out of the socket.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Tim protested.

“Making you rest,” you replied, placing your hands on your hips. "All these gadgets you like? Are now under my control."

Damian Wayne:

Again, another night of sitting around with nothing to do. I swear, sometimes it feels like you are just a fancy decoration in Wayne Manor because everyone is always too busy for anything.

“Damian,” you said. “I’m bored.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Then find something to do,” he replied.

“I have tried everything,” you said. “There’s nothing that’s interesting.”

“That’s not my problem,” Damian replied.

“You could just spend time with me,” you said.

“I don’t have time,” Damian replied. “I have more important things to do.”

“Than what?” you asked. “What could possibly be more important than spending time with your girlfriend?”

Damian didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought,” you said. “You just want to push me away.”

“That’s not true,” Damian replied.

“Is too true,” you said. “You’re afraid to get close to me because you think I’m going to leave you, like everyone else has.”

Damian didn’t say a word.

“You’re pathetic,” you said.

Damian flinched as if you had slapped him. You immediately regretted it, but it was too late.

“I know,” Damian replied.

From there, you had decided that it was time to get revenge with at least something minor. Carefully sneaking up on him while he’s meditating, you quietly take his sword and flee. It would most certainly make him angry.

HERE'S A LITTLE SURPRISE FOR YOU, MY DEARS

Conner Kent:

You woke up in the middle of the night. The apartment was eerily silent, and you suddenly felt lonely. Conner was out on patrol, and you hated it when he was gone for so long.

You turned over to your side, but you couldn't fall back asleep. You wanted the warmth of Conner near you.

You pondered, then you got out of bed. You quietly snuck into his room and approached his closet. You knew he hated it when you rummaged through his things, but you didn't care. You were feeling too bummed.

You opened his closet and started looking through his belongings. There were a lot of t-shirts with Superman logos and jeans, but you needed something else. You wanted something that smelled like Conner.

You sorted through all his things, but you couldn't find anything. You were about to give up when you noticed a leather jacket hanging in the corner. You smiled. It was just what you needed.

You grabbed the jacket and put it on. It was a little too big on you, but that was okay. The important thing was that it smelled like Conner.

You headed back to your room and lay back down in bed. The jacket smelled like him, and you felt better.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Everything okay?" Conner whispered.

You smiled. "Yes," you replied. "Now, yes."

#dc x reader #batboys x reader #batfam x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #conner kent #conner kent x reader #superboy x reader

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dracophile · 3 days ago

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We've had two soulless adaptations of animated masterpieces in the last month, and they suck for near completely opposite reasons.

Lilo and Stitch changed A LOT of stuff, all for the worse. The white washing, the propaganda to make Hawaii tourist "friendly", leaving out important characters, nerfing Stitch's chaos, THE ENDING. Every decision feels like it spit in the face of the original movie's message and everything that made people love it.

HTTYD changed nothing...so what is the point of remaking it in live action? Like, at least it feels like the cast and crew were fans of the movie, which I can't say for Lilo and Stitch because of how they mangled it, but why would I see this when I love the animated one so, so much and it changes nothing? There's nothing drawing me into it. It doesn't even have anyone I want to see in it (No offense to the kids, may they go on to better things, in both movies cases.) Live action is never going to let you push things as hard as animation--It has a style, and live action is live action.

I feel like there's a balance to his. Change enough that it feels fresh and intriguing, but not so much it feels like a betrayal.*

An example? As loathe as I am to say it, Beautify and the Beast (2017). Now I'm not wild about some of the cast (Sorry, Emma and Ewin...) or the visuals and certain story choices. But I give the rewrites credit for making sense, exploring the characters and lore, and filling in plotholes (and maybe even listening to fans talking about it for years?) without making it a completely different movie. No one liked the prince was a kid when he was cursed? Boom, prince was of age to marry and a jerk. Tweak a few lines and lyrics, we're good. Why? His mother died when he was a child and his father was cold and distant, making Belle's love and devotion for her father part of what intrigues him. Why did no one question where the prince and his staff went? The Enchantress' spell also erased other people's memories. Where's Belle's mom? She died, but now she and the Prince have more common ground. More magic! More time together! And the new songs were GOOD. (Cinderella 2015 kind of did all this, it wasn't bad, but there was a lot I wish they hadn't changed or pushed harder. Plus it's hard to beat Ever After imo)

And then...Disney proceeded to never do that again. Aladdin came close! Very close. There's a lot I liked, but it didn't quite scratch that itch (and I don't like Jasmine's song at all, sorry, it sounds like something from a kelly clarkson album not a Disney movie). I didn't bother after that though because Mulan had none of the beloved songs and was a nearly completely different story from what I heard. Lion King looked visually boring, none of the fun colors and movement of the original despite an awesome cast. And I just gave up hoping for anything good...

*I don't really count Maleficent or Cruella as remakes because they're not--they're reimaginings with the villains as protagonists or redeemable. TBH, I kind of wish we had more of these and less of the remakes--they're at least more interesting. I also don't count Alice in Wonderland because...that's just Tim Burton doing Alice in Wonderland, it's not anything like the animated one and wasn't meant to be. Same with Dumbo tbh

How to Train Your Dragon live action makes me irrationally angry. Everyone is screaming about how good it is. Yeah because it's a shot for shot remake. The original was good. They just made the same movie with worse visuals. I hate it here.

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f1fantasys · 22 hours ago

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Lost

Summary - lando breaks up with you. Need I say more?

Warnings - dickhead lando, angst angst angst, a bit of smut.

Not proofread. Will be a series.

Things hadn’t been the same for a while now. Day by day, things were shifting - the distance, the late night phone calls, the ‘I love you’s’

His win on Sunday was a bittersweet day, for you at least. You’d just watched the love of your life achieve one of his childhood dreams, but your heart clenched at the same time. Knowing whatever this was - the last 3 years together would soon be thrown away.

You can’t pin point the exact moment that things started changing. You could argue it was in Abu Dhabi last year, the last race when Mcl won the championship. Or it could have been Saudi this year, after his team mate won two back to back races. But somewhere along the line Lando stopped treating you like you were his world.

If you couldn’t attend a race, you’d barely speak, only really when you were the one to initiate conversation. He’d blame it on the time difference, or just tiredness. And you’d believe him.

When he was finally home, maybe after a double or triple header, he wasn’t dragging you to the bedroom for a hard fuck like he used to do. No. Now it was a peck on the cheek, before an excuse about going to golf with the boys, or just exhaustion so he needed sleep. And you’d let it slide.

Yes, he’d give you a quick fuck when he felt like it, but it was nothing to write home about. And more often than not, you’d hear him jacking himself off in the bathroom. But when you’d try to cuddle into him or try to start some form of sexual activity, even if it was just kissing, his mind would be elsewhere, fingers typing aggressively at his phone or letting you go slyly. And you’d let go, not push him.

Arguments grew over time. Over silly, stupid things. Nothing dramatic or nasty. But just frustration from the both of you.

Little things he used to do - whether it was buy you flowers, or tell you you look pretty, or even just a lingering hand on you - it was disappeared. He was slowly floating away from you - or he was letting you float away from him.

Soon even the magic three words weren’t being said. Of course, it was routine for you, you still said it multiple times a day, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you get one back. But it wasn’t something you expected now.

Everything was slowly fading away. Somewhere at the back of your mind, you knew you deserved better. Who in their right mind would stick along for this long without saying something, asking him why, confronting him. Day by day it was getting more difficult, but at the same time, a part of you stuck around because you love him with everything inside of you. He was your end game, or so you thought.

Going back to silverstone a few days ago, yes he held you a little longer that he’d done in the last few months combined, but that was all in front of other people - family, friends, fans, the media. Behind closed doors he was a different person. A guard up almost, hardly acknowledging your presence.

The night out was decent, you’d both had a few drinks in you, and as the night went on Lando did get a bit more handsy, but no where near the level he used to in the past. It felt foreign to you. To be right there with him but at the same time a million miles apart. The banter, small conversation, flirting, had all disappeared.

Safe to say when you got back to the hotel, you were stunned to find Lando in a hurry to strip your clothes off of you, his lips on yours, messy and sloppy, but hard and deep. Your body reacted to his immediately. You’d missed this part of your relationship, and right now you were grabbing the opportunity with both hands. You frantically unbuttoned his shirt, shred his jeans and boxers down before he pushed you back onto the bed. No foreplay this time. Just erratic breaths mingling, hands touching each other everywhere you could, a sheet of sweat glazing both your bodies as Lando finally pumped himself a few times, wasting no time in thrusting into you in one go, hard. You’d both moaned in unison at the stretch, wrapping your legs around him as tightly as possible while he set a quick pace, fucking in and out of your cunt like he was a man starved. Normally by now lando would be whispered filthy words in your ears, telling how good a slut you were for him, but this time the room was just filled with grunts, moans, and the sound of skin slapping against skin, with the occasional noise of sloppy kisses. ‘Lan’ you moaned, biting down on his shoulder when he moved your lips to his neck. ‘I’m close’ you mumbled feeling him move his fingers down to your core, toying at your clit which sent you over the edge in seconds, your body shuddering beneath him as he picked him his pace, chasing his own high now as you eventually came a second time. At some point, he slid out, climbing off the bed while gripping your ankles tightly to pull you to the edge. He sent one foot back on the bed, one rooted to the ground before thrusting back into you, hands tight on your hips, ramming in and out of you relentlessly. ‘Fuck’ you heard him mutter as his movements started faltering, fingers playing your clit again to push you both over at the same time- him spelling his seed deep into you while you whined under him, body flimsy like jelly as lando collapsed on top of you.

But that was a short lived moment of weirdness, because things soon went back to the new normal straight after that.

Today, we were both to attend a Ralph Lauren event in London. The day had actually been enjoyable for once, unruly tension not filling the air because Max and P had been with you guys since the morning, though P slipped the question to you while getting ready for the event.

‘Hey are you guys okay. Lando’s been so detached from you all day, so unlike him’ he shrugged, eyes glued to yours to gauge your reaction.

You were caught off guard, trying to play it cool so to not give too much away, not face your fears.

‘Yeah we’re good’ you replied. ‘Just one of those days’ you said, turning your attention to smoothening out the cute black dress you had on, glad she didn’t ask anything more.

…

Lando held your hand tightly in front of the cameras, dropping small hints of banter but still not what you were used to, and so as the night went on you kept busy by mingling and a taking in a few glasses of champagne, the nerve to forget about your worries taking over.

Much to your dismay, you caught yourself looking over at Lando more often than not, clenching your thighs together a little tighter each time you look him in. The man looked a dream, so incredibly sexy. And once upon a time, by now you’d have text him to come to the bathroom for a quickie, or rather - he’d have been the one to text you. Not now, though.

You both were now on the plane back to Monaco, well past midnight. The ride back, was tense to say the least. Lando was focused on his phone to while time you tried to make small talk to him.

‘Hmm?’ He’d ask you repeat, holding your gaze for all of 5 seconds before looking down at his phone again.

At some point though, something in his clicked, and he swiftly put his phone away to look at you, in a way that made your heart fall into your stomach.

‘We need to talk’ he said, voice soft.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh with a slight chuckle. ‘Yeah, no shit’ you said, slightly shocked at your reaction, as was he.

‘I just feel like where I’m at with the championship, I need a break’ he said, eyes cold staring back at you.

‘I-a-a-break? From me, you mean?’ You questioned as he nod his head quickly.

‘Why? Why me?’ You asked again when he didn’t speak.

‘Cos you’re always there. Always needy. Just-‘ he sighed. ‘Clingy’

Your breath caught in your throat, tears already slipping down your cheeks. Your head was pounding, too many different thought colliding at once as you tried to ground yourself.

You nodded your head, wiping away at your tears, disbelief that that was his excuse.

‘So for 6 months you’ve strung me along. Made me feel like absolute shit, like I mean fuck all to you - just because I’m clingy?’ You asked.

‘I don’t know. I just know that I need to concentrate on my driving. Not have any distractions. Not have to worry about you needing my attention all the time. Fucks sake. Just need to fucking get away from you honestly.’ He threw at you, making your body instinctively recoil at his words, not knowing who this was in front of you right now.

You knew it was a weak excuse. You were far from clingy. Yes, you treat him how any normal girl would her boyfriend, and in fact, if anyone was clingy in this relationship, it was Lando. It was one his love language, always needing to be close to you, holding or touching you somehow, whether it was when he needed support before a race, after a difficult race weekend, or even at joyous occasions. You were his lifeline. Granted, that’s not how the year so far had been, considering how much he pushed you away, but you weren’t going to allow him to throw you under the bus like this.

‘I don’t believe you. Tell me Lan, for once be honest with me about why you’ve been like this. Why you’ve pushed me away, kept me at arms length’ you threw back albeit your voice cracked about half way through your sentence.

He shrugged. ‘Just feel like I’ve had enough of your shit. You’re suffocating me’ he spat.

You pulled back, arms guarding yourself as more tears stained your cheeks. ‘You don’t mean that’ you stated, voice so soft you weren’t sure if he even heard you.

He chuckled opposite you. ‘Trust me, I mean it. Been keeping this peace, forcing it even. You just don’t excite me anymore. I’m fucking bored’ he said coldly.

‘That’s a new low’ you whispered, more to yourself as you shook, full on trembling in shock.

‘Is it? Or is it just the truth you didn’t wanna hear?’

‘Lando, stop, please’ you begged. You were on a fucking plane, not like you could walk out to protect yourself.

‘Is there someone else?’ You mustered up the courage to ask. Because why else would he drag you down so low?

‘Maybe. And so what if I do? At least she gives me a reason to stay’ he said, jaw tight with his hands fists at his sides.

‘Lando..’ you said his name, quietly, holding so much weight. You wished he’d just apologize, say he was lying, hold you close. But he sat there, arrogant, cocky. Not someone you knew.

By now you needed an out. Your body was on autopilot as you got up from your seat opposite him and made your way to the back of the jet. You heard him mutter something to himself but you couldn’t make out the words.

Was this really happening? Your Lando, being the one causing your heart to break right now? You curled up into a ball, sobbed to yourself.

The rest of the plane ride was silent.

…

It was well past 2pm by the time you’d landed back in Monaco. Calling a cab at this hour would be impossible, and so you had no option but to go home with Lando, in his car.

He was silent as he loaded your baggage into the back of his urus, his jaw clenched and movements rough.

You- sat in your seat, face puffy from all the crying, making an effort to not look at him, knowing it would break you further.

As he drove back, the tension in the car was ungodly, his knuckles white from the steering wheel. This was the smallest you’d ever felt in your relationship and your heart ached at losing Lando.

Back at the penthouse, you grabbed your bags before he had the chance, jolting upstairs and unlocking the door, him trailing behind you.

When you got in, smelt the familiar smell of him-and you-your shared space, the place that once bought you comfort, now, you only felt like a stranger.

You moved past the kitchen to make your way to the bedroom, quickly finding a small bag to pack some overnight clothes.

‘Fucks sake. You’re not going anywhere right now. It’s 3am’ he said, voice hoarse, thick British accent coming through making you jump in your spot.

You ignored him, nothing to say to the man as you carried on grabbing your essentials, new tears gracing your face. You didn’t know where you would go, but you needed to get out of this space.

Taking a minute to find your car keys, you started walking toward the door when he spoke again.

‘Y/n seriously. Where’re you gonna go at this hour?’

For the first time since the lame convo, you looked at him, really looked at him and took him in. His face was softer, anger drifted away, hooded eyes, red rimmed.

You almost would have missed it if you didn’t look long enough.

But it was there.

The guilt.

Just for a fraction of a second though, before he composed himself, stood upright again.

‘Somewhere. Anywhere-away from you’ you said, barely.

He scoffed.

‘You think saying that’s gonna affect me? Make me feel something? God you really are so desperate for me.’ He said, words slicing through your heart as you stood there dumbfounded.

He then stepped closer, voice lower now.

‘It’s exhausting y/n. Pretending. To be happy with you’ he continued.

The silence that followed was blistering as his eyes bored into yours, holding none of that warmth you were used to getting from him.

Eventually, unable to breathe, you nodded.

‘Keep telling yourself that Lan. And let’s never make this mistake again’ you said softly, body starting to tremble before you turned around.

Walked out.

…

Your body was cold, unable to comprehend how the night unfolded. You kept replaying his words the whole time you drove around Monaco multiple times. Why didn’t he just break up with you plain and simple without throwing those words at you? Words that literally felt like they broke your heart in ways you never thought possible. You didn’t know..but you do know you’d lost the love of your life a while ago now, not just tonight.

Y’all IDK where the angst came from but I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 smut #lando norris #f1 fic #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando smut #lando angst #lando norris angst

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sevsevteen · 3 days ago

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HIIII !! I want to request a angst and comfort fic‼️but before that,, are you doing good? Any updates about.. Life ig? I'm listening!! Hehe your my favorite author afterallll💜💜

Anywayy back to the request.. i DESPERATELY need a 14th member fic where y/n would hide having toxic childhood friends because she's afraid to lose them,, and like one day they found out since she hid an injury caused by her toxic friends and was told not to tell

((honestly you can just do something else rather than an injury but that's all I could think of!!))

I love your works smm!! If you lose the motivation let me be the motivation 💜💜 I'M SO VERY SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC BTWW

hello babygirl ! thank you for your ask~ i had fun writing this (i love angst come on) and i've thought of this scene before, your details/specifics were just what i needed to complete my plot hole hehe lifesaver fr <3

edit: i just saw your new ask while writing this 🙊 talk about coincidence

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

There were two people you used to call “home” before Seventeen.

They were your childhood friends — your constants. The kind of bond that bloomed before insecurity ever touched your skin, before schedules and fame, before your name became a hashtag and your smile something people expected from you on stage.

They were everything. Back then.

You used to spend summers on park benches together, licking melting ice cream off your wrists and talking about your dreams like they were all equally reachable. You'd promised you’d never grow apart. That no matter what happened, no matter where you ended up, you’d be each other’s people.

You really believed that.

So even when things got busy - between training, traveling, and performing - you made time.

You answered every late-night call.

You went out of your way to keep those group chat receipts a number three.

You’d sneak out after practice, exhausted, just to sit with them at the convenience store and listen to their day like nothing had changed.

But along the way, something changed.

They had.

The jokes started small. "Don’t forget the little people when you're famous," they’d say with a laugh, but you saw the way they exchanged eye contact.

Then came the guilt-tripping. The subtle jabs when you couldn't hang out. The way they’d bring up rumors and hate comments you hadn’t even seen yet. How they’d mention how “different” you were now. How “fake” your smiles looked sometimes on camera.

Still, you held on.

You kept telling yourself: They love me. They’re just hurt. They just miss me.

You ignored the way their affection began to twist, manipulative and sharp-edged. You swallowed the discomfort like you owed them every piece of yourself — even if it carved you hollow.

Even it got physical.

That night, you told them you couldn’t stay late — an important schedule that was early the next morning, and you needed to head back before anyone caught you.

They didn’t take it well.

One grabbed your arm, hard. Another stuck out their leg so you would trip, landing on sharp pebbles. The playground that was once filled with laughter and fond memories, now haunted your mind with snide remarks and a scraped calf. "Maybe you had forgotten who you used to be." They left you there.

The bruise on your arm bloomed by morning.

You came into practice late that day. Eyes tired. A hoodie pulled low over your head.

You muttered a greeting no one quite caught.

“You good?” Joshua asked gently. His gaze dropped to your leg, the edge of a fresh cut peeking above your sock line. He said nothing…but his jaw tightened.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep much.”

But Minghao saw your blank eyes when you reached for your water bottle. Jihoon noticed how quiet you were during warm-ups. Even Dino — usually caught up in his own moves — frowned when you winced doing a turn.

“Let me see your arm,” Seungcheol said at last, voice low but firm.

You froze.

“It's nothing,” you muttered. “I’m fine.”

Seungcheol caught the flicker of panic in your voice. “It doesn’t look fine.”

“You trip or something?” Mingyu asked, concerned. His hand wrapped around your wrist.

“I said I’m fine!” you pulled back, snapping louder than you meant to. The words cracked like a whip.

The room went quiet.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t mean to yell - not at them, not after everything.

Your hands were clenched at your sides now, shoulders hunched - not from pain but from shame. The kind that creeps in when your world starts cracking and you're trying so, so, hard to keep the pieces from falling out where people can see.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” The rapid vibration from your phone cut your words. The screen lit up with a call - its background, a photo of you and the two of your friends on graduation day.

You froze.

You hesitated…then grabbed the phone and mumbled a quick, “I need to take this,” before quickly slipping out the door.

Joshua watched you go. Seungcheol frowned. The energy shift hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You made it to the stairwell in seconds - cold concrete and dim lighting. The door shut behind you before picking up.

“...hello?”

On the other end, a quiet voice spoke, barely a whisper. “…hey.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just– about what happened yesterday…You know we didn’t mean to push you that hard, right? It was just a joke, you know how we are,” She continued, nervously laughing. “We were just teasing…and you got quiet, so we left for you to calm down.”

You hummed, now seated at the top of the staircase.

Silence stretched on the line.

“...You’ll forgive us, right? We’ve been together for forever, don’t be like this.” She finally said.

You stared at the bruise forming on your arm. The moment they pushed you down, the cutting words they used, how quickly their “jokes” turned sharp the moment you couldn’t skip practice to join them again.

“I have to go,” you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The words trembled from your lips — not from anger, but heartbreak. The kind that comes from outgrowing someone who once knew every corner of your heart.

And you hung up.

The metal doors of the stairwell shut lightly.

Warm fingers wrapped gently around your wrist — the one you’d been guarding all morning. Seungcheol, taking a seat beside you, lowered his eyes and slowly pushed up your sleeve.

The bruise, now yellowing and angry, painted the shape of betrayal more than anything.

He didn’t say a word.

But the tension in him shifted; Not with pity, but with rage.

He turned away and closed his eyes slowly, jaw tight - as if he was trying to stop himself from punching the wall.

“You should’ve told us,” he whispered, voice thick.

“I couldn’t.”

“You can.”

“You guys don’t get it,” you hissed, voice trembling now. “I gave everything up for this. For the members. I’m just trying to hold on to the people who were there before it all - before any of this. But maybe that was a mistake.”

You turned away, blinking back heat in your eyes.

“No one understands what it’s like,” you added quietly. “To be the one who’s always questioned. Always seen differently. And now even they…even they are turning against me.”

Your voice cracked completely. “I thought they were forever.”

The air was painfully still.

Your breath hitched, the bruise beneath your hoodie throbbing like a heartbeat you couldn’t hide anymore.

“Whoever it is,” Seungcheol said gently. “They don’t deserve the version of you that stayed loyal for this long.”

You didn’t respond.

Later that night, you sat on the couch, your leg finally wrapped carefully by Dokyeom. Dino leaned his shoulder into yours gently, just so you knew he was there.

“You don’t have to keep them,” Jihoon said from the kitchen. “The people from before. Not if they’re hurting you now.”

“They’re my friends,” you blurted, and the weight of it all crashed down. “They were supposed to be my constants, you know? Since middle school. Since before I ever became a trainee.”

The room held its silence for a bit.

Then a quiet voice broke it. “Not everyone grows with you,” Seungkwan said softly. “Some people grow resentful instead.”

“Then what’s the point?” You choked. “If the people you love most can flip on you just like that, what’s even the point?”

Jun approached first, wordlessly pulling you into a tight hug. “The point,” he said into your hair, “is that love isn’t supposed to hurt like that.”

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to.

Looking around - at the faces you’d trained beside, cried beside, shared ramen and dreams and failures with, tears welled your eyes.

And for the first time since everything went downhill, the knot in your chest loosened.

Because when you looked up, you saw it:

A dozen people who had chosen you, loved you, over and over again.

Not for your past.

Not because they had to.

But because you were you.

“Now,” Dino said, standing with a grin, “can I punch whoever pushed you?”

“No!” you hiccuped, laughing a little through your sniffles.

“I’ll do it quietly,” Hoshi offered with a wink.

“More importantly – I want you to remember, you’re not alone,” Jeonghan’s hands gently wrapped around your own. “You have us.”

Minghao smiled, adding in. “We’ll be your forever now.”

#seventeen 14th member #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt 14th member #svt scenarios #svt

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bluewxrld07 · 2 days ago

Text

Soap (Alternate Ending)

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Warning(s): tension, flangst, fluff

A/N: TAGLIST IS FULL!!!! I won't be able to tag anymore of you on it, I'm sorry, loves!! ALSO HOLY MOLY WE HIT 1,000 FRIENDS???! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING WTF!! I love how much you guys are loving this fic and my writing, it truly means the world!! Enjoy this for now, friends :)

Lando hadn't slept.

He hadn't been able to think straight.

People noticed at the premiere that he had only been there physically, but not anywhere near emotionally or mentally.

Critics kept saying it was because of the loss he took, or that maybe McLaren was trying to replace him with Oscar. Replace what Lando had built from the ground up.

The truth was, it was never that. It was the words he said to Y/N. It was the way her facial expression changed and broke as he spat absolute nonsense at her.

Everything he said was out of anger and frustration. He couldn't get his words out of his head. He couldn't get her out of his head.

It didn't help that his encounter with Max had haunted him. The way he had this fire in his eyes, he's rarely seen. Something he has rarely even seen on the track.

His emotions got the best of him that night, and they continued to get the best of him. When it came to the after-party post the F1 movie premiere, he couldn't stop thinking about Lewis' words.

It didn't stop him from messaging Max that night of the premiere, asking if it were true.

You have a lot of fuckin nerve to be sending me a message right now

That's all he received from the Redbull driver, nothing more, nothing less. Lando didn't know if he should be worried or have no right to be upset knowing what he knows now.

He didn't even think Max would send a response back. If anything, he expected a middle finger emoji if Max did respond.

Lando sat in the backseat of the large SUV, playing with his lower lip as his knee bounced continuously. His other hand was counting his fingers back and forth with his thumb.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an absolute understatement.

His mind wouldn't stop racing. It just wouldn't give him a quiet state of mind. Not once.

He had finally touched back home in Monaco, being driven back to his place as he kept arguing with himself if he should go see her once he was unpacked at home.

She'd probably slam the door on him. Or worse, Max would probably answer and have Lando's head on a stick for even trying to talk to her when she wasn't ready.

At that point, he wouldn't care if he was being honest with himself.

He decided against it for the time being, deciding that maybe he should try later in the week. Even though it would eat him alive till he saw her again.

Once Lando had gotten up to his place, he threw his stuff on his couch, the apartment already feeling empty and cold without her presence there. It was as if the light had left with her. His place was dark and gray in that moment.

He let out a sigh as he looked around the place, feeling both defeated, hungry, and tired. All at the same time.

When he went to his kitchen to see what he had for food, he let out a frustrated groan as he realized he had emptied his fridge before going away.

He slams it shut before heading back over to his living room to grab his wallet, keys, and phone, soon making his way out of his apartment to head towards the car garage.

It was a quiet drive as he drove down the still buzzing streets of Monaco, not missing the way some people were videoing his car passing by. Nothing out of the norm for his life, he didn't thinka single thing from it.

He tries to pull his hoodie higher over his head, adjusting his cap as well, not wanting people to catch the way his face looked more hollow and sad.

Once he makes it to the cafe parking lot, he pulls into a spot more secluded from the entrance and quickly scurries over to the front door.

The cafe smells like fresh coffee and grilled food, something that made the atmosphere feel much lighter than Lando had expected.

He goes up to order something to eat and drink, mentally fighting with himself to remember to have his assistant order his groceries later on when he is settled back home.

As he goes to sit at a table and wait, his eyes do a double-take and his body freezes.

His eyes lock with none other than Max Verstappen's own, who is walking into the cafe and waiting in line. Max's eyes looked like they could put him six feet under if they were able to.

Instead of Lando going to take a seat, he decides to stand over by the end of the bar, and wait paitently till Max was done ordering.

He could hear the way he had ordered Y/N's go-to choices, making his heart and chest cave in. He felt so many questions began to bombard his mind, not even stopping them from increasing as it made him just want to fix things with her more and more.

He knew that would probably be borderline impossible with Max being the way he was about her.

More or less, the way he felt about her.

Once Max had finished paying, he made his way down the line and closer to Lando, his eyes glaring at the green-eyed man.

As Max walked up to him, instead of bumping Lando's shoulder, he turned to the side and pushed himself past his figure. Lando's body reacted before he could, grabbing Max's forearm.

Max whipped around and shot a look at Lando, his eyes still having fire in them.

"Let go."

Lando clenched his jaw, feeling his self-esteem slowly increase. He wasn't going to give in.

"I'm not letting go," Lando shook his head. That meaning had more behind it, and he knew Max figured that out as his eyes widened only slightly.

Max clenched his jaw before snatching his arm away, turning his full body towards Lando, and crossing his arms.

"Oh, so now you've got some spunk in you? Where was that at dinner?" he asks. "You're lucky I don't put you in a fucking grave right now."

Lando nods slowly. "I deserve that-"

"You deserve way more than that."

"Yeah, I do. I'm not going to deny it," he admits, watching Max not let up on his stance. "I never meant to hurt her. You know me. You know me more than anyone else in that paddock."

Max scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I thought I did. Until you threw everything Y/N has ever known back in her face like it was so easy. Like she was a joke."

Lando rubs his face. "I never meant to say any of it. I won't even excuse it, because taking my frustrations out on her should've never been the case. I know that. I know that, Max."

"So why the fuck did you say it then? Hm?" Max shoots back, stepping closer to Lando. "Why would you break her heart like that? Why would you say she is-"

"Because I was upset! I know it's not a valid excuse, I don't want to make any excuses. Because this was unexcusable," Lando snaps back, huffing in a defeated way as he feels his eyes begin to burn. "I regret what I said. Every single day since then. She is not even close to anything I said. She is the absolute and complete opposite of it. She's been my rock forever, Max. And if anything, I took it for granted."

Max sees Lando's eyes turning red, hearing a small sniffle leave his figure. This made Max soften. Not out of guilt, but out of shock.

Lando rarely ever cried in public. It wasn't something he did. He was emotional when it came to racing, of course. This was a different story.

"Y/N is loving. She's caring. She always gives love to everyone around her because that's just who she is. She's a giver. And I took her for granted."

Lando looks up from his shoes to Max, shrugging his shoulders as he felt his emotions take over, making him feel defeated more than he did five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry, Max," he says before chuckling dryly to himself. "I'm saying sorry to you because I broke your trust with her. I'm sorry that I made you think you can't trust me to date her."

"I'm not her dad, I don't care who she dates. I'm just protective of who she is around because-"

"Because you're in love with her. I know that."

Max froze, his shoulders dropping. "What?"

Lando nods before biting his bottom lip. "Lewis told me. He said how you really feel for her. It's why you are so protective over who she keeps around."

"That fucking piece of-" Max stops himself before rubbing a hand over his face, shaking his head as he scoffs to himself.

"You know what I'm not sorry for, though?" Lando spoke up, making Max whip his eyes to Lando, squinting at him.

"I'm not sorry for loving her, too. I'm also not sorry for wanting to fight for her," Lando admits. "I want her. I want her more than anything in this world, or the next. I want her more than a fucking world championship."

Max feels his chest tighten at his words, trying hard to not smack Lando in that moment.

Yet, at the same time, Max didn't blame Lando. He couldn't blame Lando for speaking his truth. He had more balls than any of the other racers at that moment.

Yes, Max loved Y/N. He always has, and deep down he always wished it would've been him she chose.

He also wasn't going to force her to fall for him; he wanted her to make a choice in who she wanted. Who she wanted to love.

At the end of the day, he just wanted her happy.

So, as Max stood in front of Lando, he took in every single detail of Lando's appearance. Thinking back to how much Y/N had raved about Lando when they first got together. How right he treated her, no matter the circumstance. Lando was her one.

And Y/N was Lando's.

"I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve hers at all, out of anyone's. I just wanted to get that off my chest. It's been eating me up," Lando adds. "But it doesn't mean I won't redeem myself for her, and show her how long I'm willing to wait to make things right."

Before they can say anything further, both of their names are called, causing them both to go grab their items.

Lando grabs his, Max still looking at him with a frown on his face. Lando gives him a purse smile.

"See you around, Max."

With that, Lando leaves and makes his way to his car.

"Lando."

Max's voice calls out behind him, causing Lando to stop and turn his head to look at the Dutch man.

Max walks up to Lando, stopping in front of him. Only to peer down at the items in his hand, and soon motioning over towards Lando to take.

They were Y/N's items. Her iced latte she loved, her favorite pastries, and a chicken caesar wrap with crisps.

"Don't fuck this up. Or you're not getting another chance. Ever," Max says, giving Lando the bag and coffee.

Lando looks up at him with a confused frown. "What?"

Max shrugs before letting out a huff. "Yeah, I love her too. I do," he admits with a nod of acceptance. "But I love seeing her happy more. And she gets that with you."

Lando feels his heart swell at the thought of that. Of her feeling that way with him.

"She's gonna kill me, but if this works out, it will be worth it," Max says dryly. He pats Lando's shoulder.

"Don't. Mess. This. Up."

With that, Max walks off towards his car. Lando slowly turned back to his car, setting the items in his car nicely so none of them spilled. Once he fully got into his car and turned the ignition, he sat there for a moment, just thinking about everything he was going to say.

Then he took a deep breath, put his car in drive, and set off for Y/N's apartment.

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Y/N had frowned at Max's message as it came in, wondering what he could've meant as she sat there.

Don't kill me, just trust me

He sent that message over fifteen minutes ago, still not back from the cafe. She hadn't known whether to worry or not, as he didn't respond to her questioning messages.

There were soon a few soft knocks on her door, making her frown to herself. She got up from her spot on the couch, wrapping the large hoodie more over her figure as she got to the door.

"Max, you can just walk in-"

As she opened the door, her voice froze mid-sentence, and her eyes widened.

"Hi."

She stood there frozen, looking at Lando, who stood there with the cafe bag in his hand and her iced latte in the other. His face showed a sign of uneasiness and caution, but she could also see he looked so tired.

"Lando?"

"May I come in?"

"Why are you here?"

"I want to fix things," he shrugs slowly. "Or at least say my part, and then you can kick me out. I just wanted to at least see you. Talk to you."

Y/N stayed silent for another moment before slowly moving to the side and letting him come in.

Once he had gotten inside, it immediately made him feel warmth grow in his chest. The familiar scents that screamed her, the warm lighting from her lamps and fairy lights in the room eased his mind. Eased his emotions.

He set her stuff down on the coffee table, his eyes catching her go to binge-watch show playing quietly on the TV.

Lando turned to face her once again, taking in her figure. Not missing that the large sweatshirt she wore had been one of the pairs he gave to her. It was his favorite one he owned, but he gave to her because he loved seeing her in it.

His eyes soon find her own, seeing her face also flush as she probably noticed he caught her wearing it.

"You can talk," she spoke softly, keeping her arms crossed and keeping a safe distance. He hated seeing how far she stood from him. The more they stood across from one another, was like his body began to realize it was her there. It had begun to crave the touch he knew and loved all too well.

"I first off want to say I'm sorry," he says slowly, clearing his throat. He watches her face contort lightly, as if she hated hearing the apology. He nodded. "I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the first thing I need to tell you. Because I am. I will spend the rest of my days saying that."

Y/N stays silent, only nodding slowly for him to proceed.

"I don't condone anything I said, and no excuse will make up for what I said. How I reacted," he croaked out, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking fully. "No matter how upset or mad or frustrated I get, I shouldn't use you as a punching bag. It's not fair to you, especially when you're all I want after I have a shit day."

"Then why did you say that stuff?" her voice cracks out, making his chest tighten and his heart break. He sees her eyes watering.

"Out of frustration. I was upset at the race. At McLaren. At myself," he admits. "So I pushed you away. Distanced you from me because it was getting harder. I didn't want you to see me at my worst."

"You know I would never judge you. I'll never downplay you at your worst times. I've never done that. Did I do something to make you think that?"

He began to shake his head quickly. "No. Absolutely not, never. You've never shown me any sign of that," he reassures her as he takes a few steps closer to her. He watches as her body cowers lightly at his closeness, so he stays where he then stood.

"You have done nothing but love me, care for me, and show me how much I deserve. Showed me more than I think I've ever deserved," he assures her.

Lando watches her lower lip wobble, her eyes never leaving his own. He can see the puffiness underneath them now from where he stood.

He wanted to do nothing but take her into his arms, and shut them both away from the rest of the world and nurse her back to herself again. The her he loved that he broke apart.

"You were never clingy. You were never too much for me. You were never any of that," he shook his head as he looked down at her. "You've been nothing but loving, caring, selfless, and my anchor. You have always been everything I've ever needed."

Y/N sniffles as she looks at him. "Because I love you, Lan. Because you made me happy in my own skin."

He sighs in relief, nodding at her. "Y/N, I love you so much. So so much. I love you for you. I love who you are, and I'd never want you to change that. I fucked up in the worst way possible, and I can't tell you how much I regret that entire interaction. It haunts me. Absolutely haunts me."

"What if you were right? What if I am too much?" she chokes out, and he shakes his head.

"You're not, Y/N, you are not. You bring nothing but light and warmth to this world. To my world. To the F1 world. You are the absolute sunshine. Don't dim that light. Please," Lando shakily says, tears falling freely from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you think you were. You aren't. You're everything."

Y/N slowly takes a step closer to Lando. Then another. Then another. Then another, until she is right in front of him.

Both of them are crying freely. Something she hasn't seen much from Lando, and she could tell his body had held in so much. So, being who she always has been, she reaches up her hand and softly uses the pad of her thumb to wipe away some of his tears.

She doesn't miss the way his body physically relaxes at her touch, a sigh of relief leaving his shaky lips as he closes his eyes. His body almost chasing her hand as she cups his cheek just barely.

"You have no idea," he says, slowly shaking his head. "No idea how much I miss you. How much I miss your touch. I crave it. I literally crave you, Y/N."

His eyes open slowly to find her own, looking down at her.

"I'm so sorry."

Y/N just looks back and forth between his eyes, before nodding slowly. Lando lets out a few relieving breaths as she nods, feeling his whole body relax as he keeps his eyes on hers.

"Please let me touch you. Hold you. Anything."

"Okay."

With that, Lando doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist tightly, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his hips as he carries her to her couch.

He lays them down, her on top with her body wrapped around his own. Lando's grip not letting up, scared as if she might slip away again.

The pair held each other tight, Y/N finally letting her sobs fall freely as Lando held her tight, caressing every piece of skin he could. His voice stayed hushed as he whispered sweet nothings and apologies in her ears, vowing to never hurt her again. How he promised he would never let her slip away.

Y/N looked up from her spot in his neck a few moments later, as her sobs came to quieter sniffles, his eyes looking down at her.

Before she knew it, she had slowly pressed her lips onto his own, Lando humming softly at her lips on his after much too long. He felt his heart growing again, Y/N feeling her chest become full again the more she stayed in his arms.

The pair knew that there was much to work from, and much to still sort out. They knew they'd come back strong, it was just going to take time.

This was a start.

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A/N: Ahhhhh hello friends!! Hehe I told you that you'd be seeing me again VERY soon! I won't lie, this had been rewritten, deleted, and rewritten once again, like five times, lol until I was satisfied. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. I got a little emotional ok, it was too good.

I have some more stuff in the drafts, and most likely will be sending out a poll later tonight on which to release first. I can't thank you guys enough for showing all the love you have! I can't wait to show you all what more I have waiting hehe :)

Love you all and I will see you soon, friends!!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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4linos · 2 days ago

Text

too late for forever.

yang jeongin x f!reader

synopsis: he thought a proposal could fix what he broke. but you weren’t looking for a future, you were just trying to survive the present.

warnings: angst, emotional neglect, depiction of grief, abandonment, and quiet heartbreak. no happy ending.

wc: 3885

It started in laughter.

Not the polite kind, not the rehearsed kind you use to soften a blow or fill the quiet in a crowded room. But the raw, sudden, belly-deep laughter that left both of you breathless, sometimes over nothing at all. You remember the way Jeongin used to smile with his whole face, eyes disappearing into crescents, that dimple digging deep into his cheek like it had never known loneliness. Back then, your world was wrapped in the comfort of shared routines, weekend grocery trips, late-night ramen in front of the TV, brushing your teeth side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of your small apartment.

He used to come home and call your name before the door even closed behind him. It was a habit, like saying “I’m here” without the words. You’d reply from wherever you were kitchen, couch, sometimes half-asleep in bed and he'd find you, arms already opening like instinct. You were his place to land. And for a while, that was enough.

But then, the quiet started sneaking in.

It wasn’t sudden, which made it harder to notice. At first, you blamed it on the stress. He was always working, schedule packed with rehearsals, photoshoots, interviews, practice till midnight and up again before sunrise. You understood. You always had. You learned to make peace with the way love had to share space with ambition. His world was big, and you never expected to be the center of it. You just wanted to be his home base.

And for a time, he let you be.

But something changed. Gradually, subtly, like the slow shifting of tectonic plates beneath your feet. One day, he stopped calling out your name when he came home. You thought maybe he was just tired. Then he stopped coming home at all some nights, crashing at the dorm instead, with vague explanations over text: “Too late to drive back,” or, “Don’t wait up, early shoot tomorrow.” Still, you waited. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. Love had to be flexible. You weren’t the kind of partner who demanded too much.

You told yourself it was just a phase.

You started noticing the silences at dinner. Long stretches where your words hung in the air and fell flat, unanswered. He would nod along half-heartedly while scrolling through his phone, eyes glazed with something far away. You made his favorite dishes, kimchi stew just the way he liked it, grilled mackerel, even that ridiculous peach-flavored soda he used to beg for like a kid. He ate, but didn’t react. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say thank you.

You started filling the silences yourself. Talking more than usual, recounting your day in exaggerated detail, laughing at your own jokes in hopes of drawing something, anything out of him. Sometimes, he’d offer a tired smile. Sometimes, not even that.

You knew better than to confront him. You convinced yourself it would pass. That bringing it up would only make it worse. That real love meant riding out the ebbs and flows, even if it meant swallowing your own needs in the process.

After all, love didn’t have to hurt to be real. But sometimes, silence feels like a scream.

You remember the night it hit you, really hit you that something had changed and might never return to the way it was.

It was raining. One of those heavy, relentless storms that seemed to soak through everything. You were curled on the couch with a blanket and an untouched cup of tea, watching the rain streak down the windows. It was late. He was supposed to be home by now.

You checked your phone, no message. You called him, and it rang twice before going to voicemail.

You didn’t panic. You were past panic by then. You just sat there, waiting. The thunder echoed the hollowness inside your chest.

When the door finally opened sometime after 2 a.m., he didn’t even look surprised to see you awake. He just kicked off his shoes and muttered, “Long day,” before disappearing into the bathroom.

You stared at the empty space where he had stood. The way he didn’t apologize. The way he didn’t ask why you looked so tired. The way he didn’t offer even a small, guilty hug. It told you everything you needed to know.

He’d already begun to leave you, long before the door opened that night.

The unraveling wasn’t dramatic. There were no explosive fights, no slammed doors, no cruel words. It was quiet, excruciatingly quiet. A steady fading, like colors leeching out of a photograph until all that’s left is grayscale.

He started talking less. Touching less. Coming home less. And when he was there, it felt like he wasn’t.

You found yourself shrinking in his presence, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push too hard, to ask too much. You stopped trying to kiss him goodnight. You stopped waiting up. You told yourself it was easier that way.

But it wasn’t.

You missed him. God, you missed him even when he was sitting right next to you. You missed the way he used to hold your hand during movies. You missed the way he’d fall asleep mid-sentence, head heavy on your shoulder. You missed the random texts during the day “Thought of you,” “Look at this dumb meme,” “Miss you.”

Now, your phone stayed silent most of the day.

And still, you held on.

Because what was the alternative? To leave? To admit that something so beautiful could fall apart without warning, without a fight? You weren’t ready to let go. You weren’t ready to mourn someone who hadn’t even said goodbye.

You told yourself that maybe this was what love looked like after a while routine, quiet, worn in like an old sweater. Maybe you were just being dramatic. Overly sensitive. Clingy.

You gaslighted yourself before he ever had to.

But deep down, you knew.

You knew when he stopped asking about your day. You knew when he forgot the anniversary of the night you met. You knew when his hugs became perfunctory, when his kisses were brief, distracted, obligatory.

You knew when his eyes stopped lighting up when he saw you.

The final straw wasn’t even a fight.

It was another silent dinner, another meal eaten to the sound of clinking forks and a TV playing quietly in the background. You’d made japchae, his mother’s recipe, the one she taught you when you visited Busan together. He barely touched it.

You asked, softly, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look up. Just shrugged. “Fine.”

You tried again. “Are we okay?”

He paused for a second. Long enough to give you hope. Then he said, “Yeah, just tired.”

Just tired.

Two words that had become a shield. A mask. A lie.

You nodded and said nothing more. But inside, something broke.

Later that night, while he slept beside you, turned away, you lay awake staring at the ceiling. The sound of his breathing, once comforting, now felt foreign. Like sharing a bed with a stranger.

You didn’t cry. You just let the silence fill the space between your ribs until it hurt to breathe.

You knew you couldn’t keep pretending forever. That love, even real love, can’t survive on memories alone.

But you weren’t ready to let go.

So you stayed. Stayed through the cold mornings and the long, empty nights. Stayed through the quiet birthdays and forgotten anniversaries. Stayed through the ache, the numbness, the slow erosion of everything you once held sacred.

You stayed because you loved him.

You stayed because you remembered who he used to be. Because part of you still hoped he’d come back to that version. That one day, he’d walk through the door and call your name like he used to. That he’d look at you and see you again.

But that day never came.

And one morning, you woke up and realized: you couldn’t even remember the last time he said I love you.

Not because you didn’t believe he once did, but because it had been so long that the words felt foreign now like a language you no longer spoke.

That’s the thing about slow heartbreak, it doesn’t shatter you all at once. It chips away, little by little, until one day, you’re standing in the ruins wondering how you ever called it home.

You still haven’t left. Not physically. But inside, you're already halfway gone.

You still cook him dinner, even though he barely eats. You still wait for his messages, even though you’ve stopped expecting them. You still whisper “goodnight” into the darkness, even though he doesn’t answer.

You’re grieving something that isn’t even over yet.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to leave him.

It wasn’t some dramatic outburst or a single moment of heartbreak. There was no suitcase slammed shut, no tear-streaked goodbye at the door. The decision came in fragments quiet, deliberate, almost invisible. You began by withdrawing in small ways, ways he wouldn’t notice. That was the point.

You started by doing the laundry less often. Then you stopped washing his clothes altogether. When he asked where his hoodie was, the one you used to fold and tuck into his drawer with his favorite lavender sachets, you shrugged. “Probably in the basket.” You didn’t offer to find it. You didn’t care enough to.

He didn’t notice.

Next, you stopped buying the snacks he liked. Not to punish him, but because you couldn’t remember the last time he actually thanked you for them. You would wander the aisles of the store, basket in hand, staring at the shelves and wondering if there was even a point to choosing his favorite yogurt anymore.

You didn’t stop loving him overnight. You just stopped hoping he’d love you back the same way.

You began packing in quiet gestures, removing small bits of yourself from the apartment. Your favorite mug disappeared first. Then your books, slowly, one by one, tucked into a box in the back of the closet. Clothes that never left the drawers before now sat in a zipped-up suitcase under the bed. You deleted photos from your phone, but kept the hard drive hidden in the desk drawer, just in case.

You thought maybe he’d notice. Maybe he’d ask, Where’s your book? Where’s that silly sweatshirt you wore every weekend? Why do the shelves look so empty? But he didn’t.

Because Jeongin, for all his sweetness, had grown used to your presence. He had mistaken your silence for stability, your patience for permanence.

And so, you started leaving before you were really gone.

You remember the little moments where you waited achingly, hopefully for him to realize.

There was the day you waited for him at your favorite coffee shop. He’d said he’d meet you after his rehearsal. You waited an hour. Your tea went cold, and so did your hands. You texted once: Still coming?

No reply.

You walked home in the rain, your umbrella broken in the wind. When you got back to the apartment, you found him asleep on the couch, mouth open slightly, the TV still playing some game show on mute. Your soaked shoes squelched on the floor, but he didn’t stir.

You changed into dry clothes, dried your own hair, and curled up in bed alone.

The next morning, he didn’t even ask where you’d gone.

Another time, it was your anniversary.

Not your official one, not the kind you posted about on Instagram. It was the anniversary of the night he first told you he loved you. You’d made dinner, tried to recreate the dumplings you ate that night, even lit the exact same cinnamon candle he once said reminded him of you.

He didn’t come home until 11 p.m. Said he was out with the guys. You hadn’t heard from him all day.

You didn’t remind him. You just blew out the candle, scraped your uneaten dumplings into the trash, and nodded when he asked if you were okay.

And you were. Because by then, you’d stopped expecting him to show up for you.

But somewhere inside, some soft, desperate part of you still hoped. Every ignored message, every missed call, every quiet dinner felt like a question hanging in the air. Will this be the time he notices? Will this be the moment he remembers how to love me?

The answer was always no.

What you didn’t know, couldn’t know was that Jeongin had started to notice.

Too late, maybe. But he did.

It was something small at first. He came home one evening, late again, and reached for the charger you used to leave on the nightstand. It wasn’t there. He checked the drawer. Empty.

Then he noticed your hairbrush was gone from the bathroom counter. Your slippers, those ugly fuzzy ones with bunny ears weren’t by the door. The closet still had your coats, but the scent of your perfume, the little Post-it notes you used to leave him, the books stacked by the bed, gone.

He stood in the center of the apartment and felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Alone.

Panic crept up his spine, but he told himself maybe you were just reorganizing. Maybe you took things to your studio or your friend's place. Maybe he was imagining it. Still, he found himself checking the calendar, the messages, the photos.

He scrolled through your chat history. Saw how many times you had texted first. Saw how many messages he left on read.

He scrolled and scrolled, realizing he couldn’t remember the last time he initiated a conversation. Couldn’t remember the last time he asked you how you were feeling, not just how your day was.

And then, one afternoon, while searching for an extra charger in the back of the hallway cabinet, he found something that stopped him cold.

A small box. Light blue. Tied with a ribbon that had slightly unraveled.

He opened it and found a silver keychain inside. It was engraved.

“Come home safe.”

A gift.

One he never received. One you must have bought weeks, maybe months ago. He knew your handwriting on the small note tucked underneath: Happy comeback. I’m proud of you.

His throat closed.

You had waited for the right moment to give it to him. He had never given you that moment.

Jeongin sat on the floor of the hallway for a long time, holding the keychain in his palm like it might burn through him. All the missed chances, the ignored texts, the silence, your silence it all made sense now.

He hadn’t just neglected you.

He had left you waiting with love in your hands, and now you had nothing left to hold.

That night, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t sleep.

He watched you as you curled away from him, your breathing slow and steady. You didn’t reach for him. He didn’t reach for you. There was a canyon between your backs, and neither of you had tried to build a bridge.

He whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

But you were already gone, even if your body still shared his bed.

Jeongin didn’t tell anyone. Not his members. Not his manager. He started working later, pretending nothing had changed, but everything had. The guilt chewed through his chest.

He realized he wanted to fix it. Needed to.

He thought about all the things you used to say, all the little details you remembered about him his coffee order, his fears, how he always hummed when he was anxious. You knew him. Loved him even when he made it hard.

He didn’t want to lose that.

So he made a plan.

He didn’t want anything flashy. That wasn’t you. He remembered how you once said that proposals shouldn’t be performative. That love should feel like coming home.

So, Jeongin quietly went to a small jewelry shop in Itaewon, one you once walked past together on a rainy afternoon. He remembered you paused at the window, admiring a ring with a quiet smile, then moved on without saying anything.

He bought that ring.

He planned to propose at home. Your home. Your couch. With takeout from your favorite place and maybe candles, if he could find the ones you liked.

He imagined it all: you crying, laughing, calling him an idiot, saying yes. He imagined holding your face in his hands and promising to do better. Promising to love you the way you deserved.

But what he hadn’t accounted for was the timing.

Because while he was planning to start again, you had already begun to end it.

You didn’t expect him to be home.

You were coming back from the store, arms full of a few essentials: toothpaste, ramen, some oranges. You debated buying more things but stopped yourself. You’d already packed up most of what mattered. The rest wasn’t worth carrying.

The sky was dusky, the air thick with humidity. Another Seoul summer pressing down on your skin. The quiet of the apartment hallway felt heavier than usual as you walked toward the door. You weren’t ready to be in the same space again, not tonight, not with all the thoughts swirling in your head.

But when you reached the door, your heart stumbled.

His shoes were there.

Neatly placed by the wall, laces untied just like always. His keychain, the one you never got to give him, the one that said Come home safe sat in the tray by the door. You stared at it for a second too long.

Once, that sight would’ve made your breath catch in your throat with joy. Once, you would’ve dropped your bags and rushed into his arms, pressing kisses to his cheek, wrapping around him like gravity.

But now?

You just felt tired.

You stepped in, locking the door behind you softly, but then froze. There was… music.

Not from the TV. Not background noise. It was soft, intimate, warm. A quiet jazz melody played in the air like a sigh. The lights were dimmed. Candles glowed on the coffee table. Fairy lights sparkled faintly above the window.

You blinked.

The apartment, your shared apartment looked different. Romantic. Like something out of a drama. The couch had throw pillows arranged just so, a small table was set with your favorite wine, takeout containers opened and plated as if he’d tried.

The scent of vanilla and something floral lingered in the air. The cinnamon candle you used to light on cozy nights was burning again. You hadn’t lit it in months.

Then, him.

Jeongin stepped into view, emerging from the hallway.

Dressed neatly. Crisp button-up. Nervous smile. That same dimple you used to love, peeking through the hesitation on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re home earlier than I thought.”

You didn’t answer. You just stood there, keys clenched in your hand, eyes moving over the room, trying to catch up with what was happening.

“What is this?” you asked, voice distant.

He stepped closer. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You shook your head slightly. “Why?”

He paused.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.

“I… I was going to ask you something.”

Your chest caved in.

No. No, no, no, not like this.

“I know I’ve been distant,” he continued quickly, sensing your retreat. “I know I messed up. I didn’t see how far we were drifting, but I do now. I see it. And I’m sorry. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve held on tighter. I know you’ve been holding us together alone.”

You didn’t move.

“I found the gift,” he added, voice softening. “The keychain. I found it, and it broke me. I didn’t even realize you were trying so hard, and I was just… coasting. Pretending everything was fine.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and still he dropped to one knee.

“I don’t want to coast anymore,” he whispered, holding up the ring box, lid slowly opening to reveal the simple, delicate band you once admired in a rainy shop window. “I want to come home to you. I want to choose you. Every day. Forever.”

His voice cracked.

“Will you marry me?”

The words hung in the air, trembling.

And you, your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Because your chest was collapsing. Your throat was raw. And you couldn’t, you couldn’t lie to him.

“Jeongin…”

The look in his eyes faltered.

You stepped back. Just once. Just enough to shatter him.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“I can’t say yes.”

His hands dropped. The ring remained in the box, suddenly heavy. “W-Why?”

You swallowed hard. “Because I don’t think I love you like that anymore.”

Silence.

You could hear his breath hitch. He stood slowly, clutching the ring box like it was a lifeline.

“No. Don’t say that.”

You looked at him, really looked and he was already breaking. Eyes shining, lips trembling, fists clenched at his sides.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t say that. Not now. Not when I’m finally trying.”

Your heart cracked in two.

“You were trying to give me forever,” you said, your voice hollow. “I was just trying to survive the day.”

The silence that followed was louder than anything you had ever known.

Jeongin stood there, stunned, a soft gasp leaving his lips.

You continued, because if you didn’t now, you never would.

“I waited for you. I waited every night. I waited for texts that never came, for you to walk through that door and look at me the way you used to. I cooked, I planned, I held onto memories like they could build a future. But you weren’t there. You stopped seeing me, Jeongin.”

He flinched.

“I kept hoping it was just a phase. That if I stayed patient long enough, you’d come back to me. But you didn’t. You were in the same room, but I was alone. For months.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he choked out. “I didn’t know how far gone we were—”

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s the saddest part. You didn’t even notice me slipping away.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks now. Quiet. Controlled. But real.

“I started packing. Little by little. I started detaching because it was the only way to survive you forgetting how to love me.”

He stepped forward. “Then stay. Let me fix it. Please, let me try—”

“You’re too late,” you said, voice shaking. “I already left you. A long time ago. I just… hadn’t walked out yet.”

He sank onto the couch, face in his hands.

The ring box fell onto the table with a soft, final sound.

You stood for a while, unmoving. Memorizing the moment. This strange, beautiful, terrible goodbye.

Then, you turned.

As you walked toward the door, he looked up. Tear-streaked. Shaking.

“I thought we still had time,” he said, barely a whisper.

“I know,” you replied.

You placed your keys gently on the counter beside the ring.

“I thought so too.”

You closed the door softly behind you.

And left.

The music kept playing in the empty apartment, soft and slow. A romantic song for no one. The ring sat untouched, the candles flickering in a room full of things left unsaid.

masterlist.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

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dixonsbugaboo · 17 hours ago

Text

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 6 - 𝘔𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, men, jealousy (subtle but there it is), Abby being smelly, ooc (probably), cringe (surely), no proofread (oopsie)

Word count: 2600+

A/N: First of all: thank you. Thank you all for all the love and support that you are giving me through your likes, reblogs and comments. I really appreciate them. I'm trying to answer to all of you, at least to show you how much it means to me ;^;

(REMINDER: Baby: Byeol / Abby: Sang / Romance: Dasom / Mystery: Minjun)

Ch. 5

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

You slowly opened your eyes. Your head hurt like hell and was still spinning. For a demon, your healing abilities were a bit pathetic.

Where were you…?

Was that your room?

Yes… you were in your room.

You were in bed, in fact, covered up to your neck with sheets and a cold towel on your forehead. You tried to sit up slowly, pressing your temples to ease the pain and causing the towel to fall to one side.

How had you got there?

The last thing you remembered was feeling like you were being cooked alive in the sauna, like a giant shrimp...

The sheet slipped off your body when you sat up, and you realised that you were still only covered by the towel you had used in the bathhouse.

Something didn't add up.

You couldn't teleport.

And you didn't remember waking up, getting up and walking home.

So, although you were grateful to be alive, you weren't quite sure how you got home.

Had someone found you and contacted the others somehow?

Or...

Had one of the guys done it?

At least you still had the towel.

Then you realised something: what would happen if you died? What would happen if you died again?

You weren't quite sure what happened when a demon died. When its body died, did it disappear forever? Was it sent back to hell, with another chance to return to the world of the living? But what would happen if you died? What would happen if a demon with a soul died? Because in fact, the body you occupied wasn't yours, so if it disappeared forever, well… but what about your soul? Where would your soul go? Would that be the final form of death?

The more you thought about it, the more your head throbbed.

Just then, as if to signal you to stop thinking about it, someone knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ you managed to say. Your voice sounded slightly hoarse.

How long had you been out of action?

The door opened a crack and Baby poked his head in, as if he needed permission to come in. He looked surprised to see you awake.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly.

His efforts not to disturb you touched you. After making sure you were still covered, you motioned for him to come in and sit down.

‘Honestly, I feel terrible.’

'It's normal. You fainted in the sauna.'

So, was it Baby who…?

You saw him look down, embarrassed.

'I want to apologise,' he said as he finally came in and sat down slowly at the foot of your bed. 'You left me in charge, and even so… I almost let you die.'

What?

He looked up briefly to look at you, but was unable to hold your gaze and looked back down at his hands.

'You insisted so much that we shouldn't go into the women's bathhouse… even when I sensed something was wrong because you were taking so long, even when Mystery insisted so much on going to look for you because you were taking too long… you left me in charge and… I did nothing. We almost lost you.'

Oh, no. You already understood what had happened.

Trying not to let him see that you were still wearing only the towel, you sat up a little straighter on the bed and raised your hand to his face. You forced him to look up at you. His green eyes looked tormented.

Why did he look so devastated?

You caressed his face with your hand, and he leaned towards you, seeking more contact. Seeking to be closer to you.

‘I'm fine,’ you assured him, partly for his sake, but also for your own. ‘I'm still here, everything's fine.’

But for Baby, nothing was fine. They didn't know exactly when you had fainted, but they knew that if it weren't for Jinu, you would be dead.

Yes, that's right.

Jinu.

When they returned home without you and explained that you were taking it easy and would come home when you were ready, he let the alarm bells ring in his head.

With a “poof”, he disappeared, and less than ten minutes later he reappeared in the flat, carrying you in his arms, unconscious. You looked like a doll, your head tilted back, your hair loose, the towel that had been holding it back long gone. But you barely had a pulse, your body was radiating heat and you were very pale.

As soon as Jinu reappeared in the living room, looking very serious and carrying you unconscious in his arms, chaos broke out in the living room.

Abby exclaimed your name, running towards Jinu; Romance wanted to lift you up in his arms himself to see what was wrong with you, but Jinu wouldn't let him; Myst was speechless, afraid to come closer and discover that you were no longer... alive; and Baby felt his heart break into a thousand pieces as he felt guilty for what he was seeing.

Jinu held you against his chest, with one arm under your legs and the other around your back. Your body was covered by the towel you had brought into the sauna, and on top of that, Jinu's shirt, as if he was trying to give you some... privacy.

‘Is she alive?’ Romance managed to ask amid the commotion of seeing you like that.

‘Yes,’ Jinu replied without looking at you. ‘She fainted in the sauna from heatstroke.’

None of the others were sure how likely or unlikely it was for a demon to get heatstroke, but at least you were okay.

‘How could you leave her there, even if she was taking a long time to come out? Didn't you think something might have happened to her? What if she had run into the hunters?’

The others hung their heads in shame. Jinu sounded angry, but that was normal. Abby and Romance were convinced that since you always took so long in the bathhouse, it would be the same in public bathhouse, and even though Myst had said that something must have happened to you, they dismissed it and...

And now you were like this.

'I'm going to let her rest in her bed. I'll put a damp towel on her to bring her temperature down, and we'll take turns to check if she wakes up.'

Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared down the corridor with you in his arms.

‘How long have I been… unconscious?’ you asked, pulling Baby out of a turbulent cloud of recent memories.

‘Several hours. It's getting dark. Are you hungry?’

You shook your head.

Did demons take ibuprofen when they had migraines?

You lowered your hand to your lap, not seeing the pain that gesture caused in Baby's eyes. You took a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth.

‘Thank you,’ you said, smiling at him. ‘For taking care of me and worrying about me while I was in that state. I'm sure I just need to hydrate a little and rest for tomorrow.’

Baby couldn't bring himself to tell you that you were there thanks to Jinu, preferring to keep to himself the fact that he wasn't the only one who was completely freaked out by the accident… there was no need to stress you out any more.

‘Got it. I'll go get some water then,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘By the way,’ he added before leaving the room. ‘We printed the posters for tomorrow's presentation.’

You smiled at him, grateful. And as soon as he left and closed the door behind him, you hurried to put some clothes on.

You weren't an exhibitionist.

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

Everyone loved hearing that you were awake and as grumpy as ever. But one of the boys was particularly lost in thought.

Lying on his bed with his legs propped up against the wall and his head hanging over the short side of the bed, Minjun was trying to sort through both his thoughts and his feelings.

The last few days had been a rollercoaster ride, and he felt… confused.

Especially about your relationship with Jinu.

He wanted to bite his nails, but remembered that he had gotten a manicure (with you) and decided to avoid doing it.

The day before, when he went out to run errands with Byeol, he had seen you, as radiant and full of energy as ever.

You reminded him of a little animal, so expressive and cheerful, but who would fight tooth and nail to defend yourself at the slightest provocation.

And just as he saw you, he also saw Jinu appear. He saw him lean towards you, so close to your face that he felt his hands burning, eager to push him away, and he clearly heard him say:

'You're beautiful when you blush.'

Mystery was absolutely certain that you hadn't heard him, because if you had, you would have thrown your drink at him and he would now have a black eye.

He also saw how he drank from your drink, how he looked at you, how he smiled at you. Something inside him twisted, as if he wanted to be in Jinu's place, with that confidence to talk to you and touch you without an excuse.

‘If you listen to that music at that volume, you're going to go deaf,’ he had added before leaving.

Mystery also saw him trip over his own feet while leaving you behind, although you hadn't noticed.

Next to him, Baby had tensed up like a cat about to pounce, and he knew that he hadn't liked what had just happened either. But neither of them said anything about it. They both kept their thoughts and opinions to themselves. They felt it would be less real if they didn't vocalise it.

But Mystery didn't know if that bothered him more, or seeing Jinu carry you home in his arms, unconscious, half-naked, your wet hair stuck to your face and cascading down your back, pale as a corpse. He didn't know what exactly bothered him about the scene: seeing you in that state, being aware that he should have trusted his instincts a little more, or that it was Jinu, the one who rejected you the most, both your intelligence and your company, who had saved your life. Or all of the above. Whatever it was, he didn't like feeling his chest so tight.

He didn't like feeling anything, in general, and even less so the emptiness that grew every time he felt you were far away, or sensed that you were upset.

He hadn't been lost in his thoughts for long when Byeol opened the door, entered the room and threw himself face first down on his bed.

Clearly, your accident had everyone on edge.

And to make matters worse, they were making their debut the next day.

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

You hadn't slept much, but you had rested.

You had dreamed that you were falling into an endless void, and that strong arms were helping you and lifting you up. You had dreamed that someone was hugging you, and many voices were repeating your name softly, as if saying it too loudly might hurt you. You had dreamed of green eyes, cascades of icy water, and someone who smelled really good…

But when your alarm went off, you jumped out of bed.

The day of their debut had finally arrived.

You rushed to shower and get ready, and when you came out of the bathhouse with a towel wrapped around your wet hair, you were greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ you said to Romance, who returned your greeting with a smile.

He was wearing an adorable pink lace apron and sipping coffee from a steaming mug.

'Are you feeling better?' he asked, carefully placing the mug on the table. It was a mug he had stolen (just before you gave him a lecture on how honourable demons don't steal) with “best dad in the world” written on it.

You nodded and licked your lips as he took a jar of jam out of the fridge and a couple of slices of bread out of the toaster just for you.

You loved breakfast. And you loved that Romance always made sure there was coffee, orange juice, cereal, and toast. You didn't know that Romance loved watching you eat breakfast, getting your face all messy, and licking your fingers just thinking about what to put on your toast every morning, and that was the only reason he made breakfast.

Shortly afterwards, Abby appeared, who must have just come back from the gym, smelling like pure sweaty armpits.

‘Ugh! Don't come into the kitchen when you smell like a sweaty monkey, Abby,’ Romance scolded him, throwing an apple at his head, which Abby skilfully caught.

‘I'm starving. I'll shower later, I promise.’

You wrinkled your nose and tried to focus on the smell of coffee and not on Abby.

‘By the way, manager,’ you were called. You had grown tired of correcting them and telling them not to call you that, so you let it go. ‘A girl gave me this in the gym, what is it? Is it rubbish?’ he said as he handed you a piece of paper.

‘Abby! It's a phone number! She even drew a heart at the end!’

'How was I supposed to know that?!'

'Humans know what a phone number is!!'

'And why did she give me a phone number?'

'Because it's not 'a' number, Abby, it's HER phone number. She gave it to you so you can call her.'

You slapped yourself in the face. For a heartbreaker, he was a bit clumsy.

Abby shrugged in response.

‘Well, I don't feel like calling her,’ he added with a pout.

Then Baby came in, practically throwing himself on the coffee pot, followed by Mystery, who usually only had a glass of juice or water and a couple of pieces of fruit for breakfast.

‘Jinu has gone out to hand out flyers for the debut,’ said Romance, getting everyone's attention. 'So as soon as you finish breakfast, we're leaving. Today we have to start with the “Steal the fans from the hunters” plan.'

When they were ready, you looked them over from head to toe, looking for any mistakes, anything to correct.

And the only one who hadn't changed their outfit against your judgement and orders was Baby.

Abby had somehow shrunk his floral shirt, which now looked like it was about to burst at any moment.

Mystery had ripped the sleeves off his jumper.

And Romance had painted hearts on the back pockets of his trousers (when you told him, he accused you of clearly looking at his ass, and Myst had to hold you back to stop you from biting his eyebrow.)

Although… wasn't that how you remembered it from the film? Whatever.

You sighed.

It's not like you could change it now, right? And it's not like the new look didn't suit them.

Myst approached you and, with a gesture, asked your permission to hold your hand. You just nodded with a smile.

He took your hand in one of his and wrapped his other arm around your waist. And with a “poof”, he teleported you both to the city centre, the place of the debut.

You split up to hand out flyers, and the scene from the film where the boys first met HUNTR/X kept replaying in your head. It was time to start plotting how to get their souls and will back.

When the agreed time came, the boys got into position. It was time to make their debut.

Everything was going according to plan.

But then, why, just a moment later, did you find yourself cornered against the wall, with the edge of Rumi's sword digging into your throat?

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

A/N: and I oop! What was that??? A cliffhanger attempt??? Next chapter is already in the oven guys, be patient! It's going to be a little tiny bit angsty, but not too much xD I hope you liked this one too!

And, NOW YOU KNOW WHAT JINU SAID!!!! 🤭 Omg they're all SO into you... helpless 🤭

Also, remind you I'm also publishing this in Wattpad!! If any of you want to drop there, be my guest! My user name is Nunibunn :)

Again, thank you all for all the love! Let me know what you think about this one.

Thank you for reading, for all your support and kind words. Remember that those comments, likes and reblogs help me a lot as motivation! 🥹🩷

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