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spideyjimin · 26 days ago

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a secret spun in silk: I | jjk

⤷ loving Jungkook was easy, he was the shy and nerdy guy no one really noticed, and that was fine for him. however, everything changed when a radioactive spider bite turned him into the city’s mysterious new hero. as a detective, you were quick to notice the shift. then, his mentor, Kang Sangmin, died in front of you. now, you’re hunting a killer and uncovering the truth about the man you thought you knew.

— pairing: spidey!jungkook x detective!fem. reader

— genre: established relationship, murder au, mystery au, spiderman au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 9,654

— warnings: swearing, strong language, mention of death, mention of adoption, mention of infertility, lots of kissing, some teasing, humping, oral sex (m & f receiving), nipple play, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mention of sex, dead bodies, burned body, mention of fire, mention of crying, description of death, blood, mention of murder, and crying

— author’s note: hi guys!! The spiderkook fic is finally here & I hope you’ll enjoy it ✨ sorry it took me this long to post the first chapter, but life has been crazy again & my health is all over the place 🫠 however, i’ve written a lot lately & here you have the fic 💞 you’ll see that there is an alternation between jungkook & oc point of view throughout the chapter, i really hope you’ll enjoy it & let’s see if you’re good detectives 🕵🏻 thanks for reading & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think of this first chapter 🩵

Chapter I: the spider effect

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Jungkook

His eyes scan the lab report one final time, the pages worn from hours of review. Fingers move with practiced precision, lifting each sample, examining it under the harsh lab light. He's exhausted, but meticulous. A single error could bring his boss's fury down like a hammer. This has to be flawless.

Jungkook could have chosen the easiest way in his professional career. He could have decided to work for his father’s company; the doors were all open for him, but Jungkook never chose the easiest way like his infamous brother, Joongi.

Managing people and businesses is definitely not for him. He’s too shy to be around people, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be good at giving orders and being respected. He largely prefers to stay hidden behind a lab and work on something that truly passions him. Studying samples makes him way happier than sitting in a cold office.

His father, Seojoon, always encouraged him to do whatever he wanted. It was absolutely fine for him if his oldest son didn’t follow in his footsteps. He already knew his second-born, Joongi, would be the one leading the family’s company. His two sons are complete opposites, and that’s why he absolutely loves them deeply.

Seojoon could count on his oldest friend, Sangmin, to help Jungkook on his scientific journey. Kang Sangmin built from scratch a pharmaceutical company. He studied and worked hard before starting a company at 35. Today, his company is one of the biggest in South Korea. Seojoon and Sangmin were neighbors as kids, and their ambition turned them into the most influential men.

Both of them chose different lives. While Seojoon decided to marry and have children, Sangmin preferred to remain single even though he had a son at eighteen. But Sangmin always considered Jungkook as a second son. He has always been by his side and guided him every step of the way.

Even though Jungkook had Sangmin, he decided not to work in his company. Again, choosing the easiest way has never been for him. So he’s working on a company focused on finding cures for rare diseases. And that passions him beyond comprehension.

“Doctor Jeon,” a woman says while entering the laboratory. “A woman is waiting for you at the reception.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to look up at her, too scared he’ll lose track of where he is, but a smile appears on his face. He knows who’s waiting for him. You. His beloved girlfriend. The only person he truly adores. Well, he loves his family, but it’s a different kind of love. Loving you is easy. You truly look at him and see beyond his looks.

The scientist doesn’t consider himself handsome, no matter how many times you said it. He’s always tucked behind oversized glasses, his hair pushed back in a bun, but he always wears his awkwardness like a second lab coat. Bunny teeth and big, soft eyes. He looks more like a nervous intern than a brilliant scientist, but that’s exactly why you love him.

“Can you tell her that I just need to finish the report?” he replies.

The woman only nods before disappearing, leaving him alone once more. He’s the associate research scientist and takes his job very seriously. The big boss is always very harsh with him, but it’s because she knows how good he is. She pushes him to be better, and he doesn’t mind at all. He adores what he does.

Now, he rushes his final review to leave as fast as possible to go on the date you organized. You’re going to eat at that fancy restaurant that opened recently. Finding a table was hard, but for once in his life, Jungkook used the “I’m Seojoon’s son” card. He did it for you because you desperately wanted to try this new restaurant.

Beneath his white coat, he wears a classic outfit—a light blue shirt paired with dark blue trousers. He also has a coat matching his pants, but he’ll put it on once he’ll leave the lab. During lunch break, he perfectly tidied his hair, abandoning the usual messy bun for a neater look.

Unlike one might think, this isn’t an uncommon outfit for him. Actually, this is what he’s used to wearing. When he was younger, he was kind of forced to wear this type of outfit. And now, every Sunday, when he goes to his parents, he puts on his best outfit. Otherwise, at home, he prefers to wear larger clothes and only makes a small effort for work.

While checking the last samples, a tiny spider crawls across his hand. Since he’s very focused on the sample, he lets it be, but he wonders how on earth it got here. Erika, an American colleague temporarily assigned to the lab, has been studying spider species. Normally, they’re kept safely in their enclosure.

Jungkook doesn’t even know if the spider is venomous, but if he moves, he’ll risk compromising the sample. The second he places it down, the spider bites him.

“Shit,” he swears.

The man instantly takes the spider and places it back in the enclosure, then walks to the sink to clean the bite with water and soft soap. He’ll keep an eye on it in case it becomes weird, and mentally notes that he’ll need to apply a cold compress once at home. He gets back to work because he’s too eager to finish quickly.

As soon as everything is done, he sends the report to the department director, puts back the samples in that humongous fridge, and removes his white scientist coat to replace it with the dark blue one. As he puts his coat on, his eyes linger for a little while on the ring on his finger.

Ten months ago, on your first anniversary, you bought matching rings with your initials engraved on them. They don’t look like wedding rings, but they carry the same promise. A promise of eternal and unconditional love.

The man closes the lab before rushing to join you. He doesn’t want to make you wait any longer. In seconds, he’s inside an elevator, making his way to the ground floor. When he comes out and walks to the reception, he finds you sitting on a bench with your eyes looking at your polished nails. The brightest smile grows on his face when he sees you. You make him happy like nobody ever did.

You finally turn your head, and your eyes instantly meet his. Slowly, you stand up with your purse and jacket in your hands. Jungkook falls even more in love with you. You’re wearing that pale purple silk dress he offered you at the early stage of your relationship. He wanted to impress you and offer you whatever you wanted. Money was never an issue for him. He wanted to use it on you. He still does.

“Woow,” he says when he’s standing in front of you. “You look like a fucking dream, pumpkin.”

The pumpkin nickname arrived when you confessed how much you like a good pumpkin soup. Your mom always prepares it in the winter, but now that you live with your boyfriend, you’re the one preparing it. However, your mother brings you some once in a while.

You tiptoe to kiss your boyfriend, and he gently wraps an arm around you. Being around you is his favorite place on earth. He always wonders how he got so lucky to find you, and he’ll forever be grateful that destiny placed you in his arms.

“And you always look so fine with that suit, nerdy,” you whisper on his lips.

Jungkook never liked being called ‘nerdy’; he always hated it, but you’re the only one he’ll ever let. It actually makes him happy to hear you call him by that nickname.

“Ready to go to that fancy restaurant?” he asks while intertwining his fingers in yours.

“I’m so excited,” you giggle.

Your boyfriend can’t help but find you absolutely adorable. You both make your way out of the building, saying goodbye to the receptionist. Since the restaurant isn’t too far, you walk together in the streets. The closeness between your boyfriend’s workplace and the restaurant is the reason why you joined him. If it weren’t the case, he’d be the one waiting for you at the reception of the police station.

“How was your day, pumpkin?” he asks before placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“Same as always,” you shrug. “We found a dead body and are now investigating the cause of death.”

Jungkook doesn’t understand how you can be doing this; you’re constantly meeting death and crazy killers. That simple thought sends shivers down his spine. Most of the time, he’s worried about you. Any crazy killer that you put behind bars has reasons to hate you and chase after you. He’s scared that one of them might do it.

“Not a traumatic dead body?” he asks with concern.

Sometimes, when you arrive home, you burst into tears. Some deaths are harder to deal with than others. On those days, your boyfriend makes sure to give you all the comfort you need.

“No,” you shake your head. “It was a simple shot to the heart.”

“Don’t know how you can call that ‘simple’,” he chuckles. “Nothing is simple with a dead person.”

You smile while his hand squeezes yours. For the rest of the walk, you explain to him how this death was simple, and the case might be closed very soon. The man found dead was hated by everybody, so one of those people might be responsible.

Jungkook also explains what he’s been up to for the day. He doesn’t go into much detail, as it’s confidential, and because you don’t know much about scientific stuff. Nonetheless, it warms his heart to share with you what he’s been doing.

Once you reach the restaurant, he walks in front of you, his fingers never letting go of yours. At the entrance, he informs the waitress under which name he booked a table. She guides you to a table near the window. A bright and big smile grows on your face when you notice the incredible view.

“You outdid yourself,” you tell your boyfriend as he pushes your chair.

“Couldn’t bring you here without getting the best seats,” he replies. “If I were going to pull the Seojoon’s son card, I needed to do it properly.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say, sitting down.

Your lover grew up going to prestigious restaurants. His parents would never settle for cheap ones because it was all about image. Jungkook never minded it. It was just a restaurant after all. But as he reached teenage years, he realized he was the only kid at school who never went to McDonald's or any of those fast food restaurants. He already felt like an outsider, but that made him feel even weirder compared to the others. His entire life, he was the nerdy guy nobody ever noticed or looked at. But he never cared about it. He had his friends, and that was enough.

However, as years went by, he started to wonder if he would ever find a girl. He was nobody’s type, especially in the world he grew up in. Girls were only interested in looks and money. He had the money but not the looks. But sounds like money wasn’t enough.

And then, one day, he met the girl who brought some DNA samples. It was late, Jungkook’s company had agreed to assist the police with a case, and you showed up at his lab. It was your case. You were running after a serial killer. Since it was an emergency, the police needed the best lab.

Jungkook had only been working there for five months. You spent the entire night together. Him examining the samples and you, attentively watching him work. You’d ask him random questions because you were curious to find out more about him. He intrigued you. And by the end of it, you offered him breakfast to thank him. Yeah, it was already like 5 am when he finished.

It was the best night of your lives, and it was the beginning of something beautiful.

Jungkook fell madly in love with you. Just like you did with him.

You’ve been his first in all aspects of his romantic life, and even though that scared you at the beginning, you’ve been enjoying it a lot. Watching him discover everything with you is one of the biggest accomplishments of your life.

“Next month, Sangmin is organizing a dinner at his place,” Jungkook begins. “He’d like to have us. Is it fine for you?”

It’s been a while since Jungkook last saw Sangmin. He’s been travelling a lot, gathering awards for his company’s accomplishments, and building a new branch in Kyoto. They’ve of course discussed a lot over the phone because Jungkook always feels the need to speak with him about scientific stuff.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you tell him. “Also, next weekend, Jin is inviting us over to his place.”

Jin is your older brother, and Jungkook is quite close to him. They created a rather great bond, one you never expected to be formed because of Jin’s protective tendencies. But your boyfriend really adores being around him.

“No problem.”

Your brother is currently on his honeymoon with his wife, Hyorin. They got married three weeks ago, and they’ve been enjoying their little romantic escape. Even though Jungkook won’t admit it, he misses your brother. They hang out together quite often.

“He’s inviting the whole family,” you add.

Jungkook frowns. That’s weird.

“Why?” he asks.

“Don’t know, but it’s for sure something important.”

A couple of months into your relationship, Jungkook got to meet your entire family, composed of your parents and your two older brothers. Besides Jin, you have another brother, Taehyung, who’s only a year older than you. You’re very close to the two of them, and through you, Jungkook got two new brothers.

“My mom has already called me asking if I knew why,” you shake your head with a smile.

“She’s too curious,” he chuckles.

“She’s already thinking that they might announce an upcoming baby, but I strongly doubt it,” you confess. “Jin and Hyorin always said they wanted to take their time and enjoy their married life before having a baby. But you know my mom,” you smile.

Jungkook adores your mom. She welcomed him with open arms when you introduced him. He was so scared your parents might reject him, but it was actually the opposite.

“She’s been patiently waiting for that grandchild,” he says while remembering the many conversations where she, without subtly, made you all understand that she wants to become a grandma.

Early in your relationship, you told your boyfriend that you and your brothers were adopted. Your parents had trouble conceiving, so instead of forcing and pushing their bodies to exhaustion, they decided to adopt. Jin was a year old when they brought him home, Taehyung was five months old, and you were just a month old. All three of you came from the same orphanage.

Your adoption was never a taboo subject, but Jungkook has always been very careful about how he approached the matter. He’s scared to hurt you.

“The day one of us gets a baby, she’ll throw the biggest party ever seen,” you jokingly say.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

When Jungkook looks at you, sometimes he wonders what you saw in him. To him, you’re the prettiest girl to ever walk the face of the earth, while he sees himself as an ugly and boring man. But he tries to brush those thoughts away because you’ve told him many times that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

The rest of the dinner goes by quickly while you both talk about everything. Although you live together, it always feels like you constantly have so much to say. It’s like you haven’t seen each other in days, while in fact, it has only been a couple of hours.

Through it all, he felt normal, except for the itch in his hand. He kept scratching it without really noticing.

Once over, you walk back to Jungkook’s workplace because his car is parked in the underground garage. On the way home, you sing along to every song that plays out, always trying to see who can sing the loudest. Your boyfriend is kind of wild when it comes to singing.

At home, he opens the door and lets you in first. He follows right after you, closing it carefully. His hand slips into yours before gently pulling you to face him.

“You look so good in that dress,” he whispers.

His lips meet yours for a sweet and tender kiss; there’s no urgency or anything else in it. There’s only warmth. The tenderness in it makes your heart melt completely.

“Not as good as you,” you whisper against his mouth.

Your boyfriend leads you both to your shared bedroom, his touch hinting that he wants more than just kissing you. As soon as the door closes, he turns, and his lips crash on yours once again. Your hands cup his face while you kiss him passionately. He’ll never grow tired of kissing you. He’s definitely addicted to you in every possible way.

Jungkook reluctantly breaks the kiss to sit down on the edge of the bed with an unsteady breath. He also takes his glasses off, placing them on the nightstand. You quickly follow him, settling into his lap and straddling him. The way your dress rides up steals his breath all over again. Your now bare legs are pressed against him, and his hungry eyes roam up your body, drinking in the view with the most perverted smile growing on his face.

“You look even better from this perspective, pumpkin,” he confesses, his voice low and thick with desire.

Surprisingly, he pulls his phone from his pants pocket before taking a picture.

“Seriously?” you say as you shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Just wanted to capture perfection,” he says.

You roll your eyes, but he notices the smile fighting its way through. That smile disarms him every time.

Once he has taken enough pictures of you, he throws his phone somewhere on the bed. His hands find their way to the sides of your waist, running up and down. He absolutely savors the way your body responds. You shiver under his touch, and the reaction sends a deep pulse straight through him.

“God,” he thinks, “how did I ever get this lucky?”

Your lips crash into his again, stealing what little composure he has left. Then, in an attempt to tease him, you slowly grind your hips against his. Heat instantly blooms low in his abdomen. A low and deep groan leaves his mouth before he can stop it, a sound that you gladly swallow.

He tries to keep his breathing steady, but it’s useless. Every roll of your hips pulls him deeper into the haze, his focus narrowing to the friction between you, your warmth, your weight, the way you know exactly what you’re doing. His hands grip your waist, trying to ground himself, but his control is slipping fast.

Then you whisper against his lips, in a very teasing tone: “I guess someone’s getting turned on.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, but the sound dies in his throat as your hips move again. He can’t hide the growing tension in his body, and the ache building beneath his pants. His heart’s pounding faster. The more you move, the more he loses himself in the moment.

Jungkook opens his eyes, staring at you with lust shining in his eyes. The effect you have on him is incredible; you have him on his knees. Speaking of knees, you get off his lap to drop down on your knees.

He instantly understands what you’re about to do, and he spreads his legs for you. Seeing you between his legs makes him grow harder. It’s such a turn-on position, especially since he knows that in a matter of seconds, your mouth will be wrapped around him. Too eager to feel you, he strips himself of his pants and underwear.

“Someone seems in a hurry,” you chuckle.

“Can’t wait to feel your mouth,” he admits.

You roll your eyes with the biggest smile on your face. He can’t help but find you even more attractive. Whenever you’re both about to go wild, he always finds you more attractive than usual.

“You’re lucky that it’s what I’m about to give you,” you say, while he throws his pants and underwear somewhere in the bedroom.

Right after, you spit on his cock before your hands touch his length. Immediately, a guttural moan escapes his soft lips. His eyes are glued on you while he runs a hand through his dark hair. Fuck, it already feels fantastic.

Seconds later, you shove his cock down your throat, which makes him growl deeply. His eyes rolling back to his head. The feeling of your mouth wrapped around him is like heaven to him. He could die right now.

Honestly, he’s so lost in pleasure that he can’t tell when you started to suck him. All he knows is that he’s a moaning mess. His legs are shaking like crazy as he gets closer to orgasm. It’s obvious he won’t last long with the way you’re sucking him off.

Jungkook avoids looking down at you because he knows damn well that the second he lays his eyes on you he’ll come. With shaking hands, he grabs your hair to guide you but never once does he shoves your face deeper into his cock. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, although he’s completely lost in pleasure.

“Fuck, pumpkin,” he growls. “You’re doing so well,” he praises you.

His cock twitches inside your mouth as he gets closer to the edge. He feels you hollowing your cheeks, pushing him closer to his orgasm.

“Can I come inside?” he asks when he feels himself very close to orgasm.

Even though you’ve been together for almost two years, he always asks for your consent when it comes to sex. In this case, he’d never want to finish in your mouth unless you truly desire it. The idea of doing anything without your full consent makes his stomach turn. Respecting your boundaries matters more to him than anything else.

His cum explodes inside your mouth while deep groans leave his lips. He delicately grinds his hips, pushing his hot seed deeper into your mouth. Your boyfriend feels your eyes on him while you take all he has to give.

When you remove your mouth from his length, he falls back onto the bed, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. How on earth can you only get better at pleasuring him? He’s sure that one day he’ll die.

“You’ll kill me one day, pumpkin,” his gaze shifts to meet yours.

“It’s not the purpose, nerdy,” you smile at him.

His lips crash against yours to fervently kiss you. His tongue doesn’t waste a second to meet yours, and he can taste himself. A little moan escapes his mouth, one that you instantly swallow.

However, you quickly break the kiss as you’re both horny as fuck and want nothing more than have sex. You rapidly undress before lying on the bed. Jungkook spreads your legs and nestles himself in between them. His favorite place on earth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers.

He then proceeds to kiss your inner thigh, and his soft lips on your skin send shivers down your spine.

“Jungkook,” your hand flies down to grab his hair.

His tongue swipes at your folds, his mouth wrapping perfectly around you. Moans of delight escape your lips, his favorite melody. His round nose rubs against your clit, and he does it on purpose because he knows it’s something you like.

“You always taste so good, pumpkin,” he mumbles against your core.

Your thighs squeeze his head, your fingers push harder on his hair, and your back arches off the bed while he delicately licks your folds. Feeling you falling apart makes him groan against you. He’ll never grow tired of it.

His tongue burrows into you, lapping at your wetness. There is nothing better than having your juices running down his throat. You heavily sigh with pleasure when he tilts his head up a little higher to lap deeper into you. When he pulls at your folds with his teeth, your back arches off the bed, your legs squeezing around his head harder, his name rolling off your tongue over and over again.

As he licks and bites your folds, you scream louder and louder, your orgasm threatening to explode at any moment. Since you started dating, he’s been learning like a good boy how to please you, and he’s proud of how he can make you come with his mouth only.

Two years ago, he wasn’t able to do anything to give pleasure to a woman. And now, he’s an expert in eating out and making love to you. He has memorized every single detail of your steamy sessions so he can get better each time. Pleasuring you is deeply important to him.

It’s a matter of seconds before you’re completely overwhelmed by your orgasm. Jungkook never stops until you’re squirting, his face now covered in your juices. He glances up at you again, his lips shining with your arousal that he blissfully licks with his tongue.

“You look so damn hot with my arousal all over your face,” you confess with a smirk.

Before doing anything else, he strips himself of all the remaining clothes to be fully naked. He can get quite sweaty while sharing an intimate moment with you, and having clothes on him doesn’t help at all. You take advantage of the moment to also get fully naked.

He crawls over your body, his fingers brushing along your stomach and up to your breasts. The man leans down to kiss the space between them, your back arching at the feeling of his lips on your skin. His round nose brushes against your chest while his mouth ghosts over your breasts. His warm breath stings against your sensitive skin, teasing you.

His hands hold your breasts tightly, and his thumbs flick over your nipples. Little moans leave your mouth. His lips kiss from the valley of your breasts up to your throat, his tongue licking all the way up.

Pulling his head back, his eyes get lost in yours before he presses his lips on yours, kissing you passionately and fervently. He’s impossibly hard, precum leaking from the head of his dick, and he wastes no time in pushing himself into you.

His cock slides in you quite easily, and you cry out as he buries himself deep into you. He knows that he’s impossibly big, that’s the first thing you told him when you saw him naked for the first time. Honestly, his chest swelled with pride that time. However, he’s also fully aware that it also stretches you a lot when he buries himself in you, and that it can be painful sometimes.

Jungkook pulls his hips out before slamming back into you so harshly, and he swears he felt your whole body shudder. The second he’s fully buried inside you, he stops his moves, watching down at where your bodies meet.

Slowly, he resumes thrusting back into you. The man hovering over you ensures to fill you up to the brim at a very slow pace. Your moans get louder as he rails the shit out of you.

“Faster,” you tell him.

A smirk appears on his face before he thrusts into you at a faster pace, which has you clenching so tightly around him. The room is quickly filled with the sound of his hips slapping against yours, as well as both your moans and heavy breathing.

The two of you get completely lost in your euphoria. You squeeze your walls around him, making him groan loudly, and he quickens and deepens his pace. The intensity with which he’s pounding into you makes you moan with delight.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you mewl before you bite at his lower lip, tugging at it hard.

His eyes are locked with yours, and right now, as he looks at you, it’s like the world around him has vanished completely. Jungkook caresses your face with a smile on his face.

“You’re so wonderful,” he says before pressing a sloppy kiss on your lips.

His pace gets relentless. The bed under you is creaking while your breasts are bouncing at the rhythm of his pace. One of his hands snails up from your waist to grab at one of your breasts, squeezing at your soft flesh before he pinches your nipples. The feeling is overwhelming you both at this stage.

The man above you leaves wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, and your shoulder. On the other hand, your nails scratch his back, leaving red marks all over him.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna,” you whimper. “I’m gonna cum...”

Your walls are clenching extremely hard around him, your legs are shaking, and your moans are pretty much out of control. He knows now that you’re close. His hips move faster, desperate to make you come undone under him.

“Come for me, pumpkin,” he whispers in the shell of your ear. “Make a mess all over my cock.”

The orgasm completely explodes. Your eyes close as your face contorts with pleasure, and you cry out his name over and over again. Jungkook watches with marvel the way you come under him and he enjoys the way your pussy creams his cock.

Jungkook’s dick throbs inside you but he continues to wreck you until he’s coming inside you. He’s fully aware that he isn’t going to last much longer than you do because damn, pleasure is overwhelming him so much.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he growls in your ear. “Can I come inside?”

You nod, and instantly, he lets go of any control he has over his orgasm, releasing his hot semen inside you. His body is completely tense while he sloppily thrusts two last times to push his cum deep inside you.

Then, he slowly collapses against your chest, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your neck as he nuzzles himself against you. Your arms wrap around him as the two of you come down from your intense orgasms. The room falls completely silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

“We should go take a shower,” he finally breaks the silence. “I smell like sex.”

“Don’t want to break it to you, but we just had sex,” you giggle.

“Really?” he pretends to be surprised. “I thought we were driving a spaceship.”

You shake your head while you laugh. The brightest smile grows on his face as he watches you laugh at his silly jokes. His entire life, he wondered how his mom could laugh at the stupid jokes his dad made, but now he understands. It’s love. And he also now understands how his dad feels whenever his mom laughs.

“Well,” he gets closer, his arms wrapping around you, “maybe we could drive the spaceship once more. I’ll even let you drive this time.”

“Is this how you’re inviting me to ride you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” he answers without hesitation.

And just like that, you go for round two.

Jungkook

Jungkook slowly opens his eyes, blinking against the soft morning light. For the first time in years, he feels rested. Not just “not tired” but really rested. His head is clear, and his mind is light. He feels like he has slept for a month straight when in fact, he knows he barely slept six hours. It’s like someone pressed a reset button on his body. And God, it feels good.

He breathes in deeply, savoring the clarity until something odd cuts through the calm.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, and he can perfectly hear you. The pouring of coffee in mugs, the water running, the way you put butter on the toast. He hears absolutely everything. It sounds like you’re standing right beside him, while those two rooms are far away from each other. His brows furrow.

“Since when can I hear that?” he mumbles to himself.

He sits up quickly, way too quickly. His body stretches like elastic, every muscle feeling sore as if he’s been hitting the gym all night long. Heat pulses across his back, his arms, and even down to his fingertips. He groans while rubbing his neck.

“What the hell did I do last night?” he whispers.

For sure, all the sex you had last night isn’t responsible for this soreness. This was a soft night because you didn’t go for many rounds. There have been nights when there were at least three rounds, and even like that, he never felt sore. So, this isn’t related at all to sex. This is something else.

By pure reflex, his eyes look down, and they instantly widen. His chest looks different. It looks leaner and tighter. His shirt clings where it usually sags. There’s definition where there wasn’t before, like faint ridges of abs, and the beginnings of something sculpted. He stares, jaw slack.

This is more than weird. How did his body change that much overnight?

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans as he tries to stand, but his feet don’t move.

They are actually glued to the hardwood floor. He yanks harder, and panic starts building up inside him. A soft cracking noise, like something unsticking, echoes under his foot before he finally sets free.

“What’s going on?” he breathes, heart pounding.

His hands shake slightly as he steadies himself. The room looks the same, but everything feels off. Colors seem more saturated, sounds sharper, and air thicker.

This isn’t normal. This is impossible. It all feels like a dream. But the soreness is real. The sounds are real. The growing fear in his chest is real. This isn’t a dream.

He walks to the bedroom mirror as he wants to check himself out. He wants to see with his own eyes how much he has changed, but it seems like it’s easier said than done. Jungkook struggles to walk to the mirror since his feet seem to cling to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake,” he swears. “How am I going to make it to work?”

Somehow, he manages to reach the mirror and gets absolutely stunned when he sees his reflection. The body he sees isn’t the same body he’s used to waking up in.

His chest looks firmer, defined in a way that no amount of gym sessions ever managed before. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his shirt slightly. Slowly, he lifts the sleeve of his tattooed arm to take a proper look. The sight takes his breath away. It looks a lot better now.

As he runs a hand through his hair, he notices the way his fingers move faster. Every little motion feels efficient, more controlled.

But even though this is all surprising, he only feels good. Like really good. It’s like his entire nervous system has been rewired. It’s more aware, more reactive. Even the air against his skin feels sharper somehow.

Too caught in his discovery, he doesn’t hear you coming.

“Honey?” you say, and he instantly looks at you.

At this precise moment, he realizes that he’s seeing you perfectly like he has never seen before. His vision has always been terrible. As far as he can remember, he's always needed glasses, but now, it seems that he doesn’t.

“Yes?” he replies.

You squint your eyes, and Jungkook wonders if you’re noticing the changes.

“Are you okay?” you tilt your head. “You seem weird.”

He definitely feels weird. Something’s off, and he can’t tell why.

“I guess I’m getting sick,” he tries to justify. “I don’t feel well.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, not saying a word. He’s getting worried, and his heart starts beating crazily.

“I prepared breakfast,” you finally break the silence. “I have to go. A new body was found.”

Jungkook nods while you step forward, pressing a goodbye kiss on his lips. He clings to the moment longer than usual, the warmth of your lips grounding him.

“Have a nice day, pumpkin,” he says, managing a smile as you disappear out the door.

The moment you’re gone, everything crashes back in. He can hear his own heartbeat, the wind brushing against the windowpane, and your footsteps as you leave the apartment. His fingers twitch, and he stares at his hands.

As he does so, an event from yesterday pops out. The spider. His eyes dart to the spot where he was bitten, but there’s nothing. No redness. No mark. It’s like it never happened. He pokes at the skin, but there’s nothing unusual. Well, at least not visibly.

He looks around the room. Every object is in sharp focus. He can count the fibers in the carpet. He sees even better now without glasses than with them.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispers.

He tries to move to the kitchen, but again his foot sticks. It clings to the floor, pulling with a strange suction when he lifts it. Instead of panicking again, he tries to calm himself down. As he does so, he realizes that it’s actually helping, and his feet don’t stick that much anymore.

This is without any doubt going to be a hell of a day!

You

“This doesn’t look good,” your colleague, Hyunwoo, says as you’re both looking at the dead body.

“It definitely isn’t,” you reply.

The victim is completely unidentifiable. The killer, or whoever did this, burned the victim’s car, and you’re now left with a burned body. This will take ages before you even find out who the victim is, and then, you’ll have to figure out what happened. This is going to be a long day. There’s no doubt about it.

“I’m already exhausted before we even start working,” Hyunwoo sighs.

“Me too,” you mumble.

There’s not much that you can do right now. You need to leave the forensic take pictures of the crime scene. Afterwards, you’ll be able to start looking for something around the car or inside it.

“How was your date with Jungkook?” Hyunwoo asks with a smile.

“It went well,” you smile as you remember last night’s events. “It’s a very fancy restaurant, and I’m glad we managed to go.”

Hyunwoo perfectly knows who your boyfriend is, and he’s also very much aware of how you managed to get in. He’s sometimes jealous that you found a wealthy guy. He wishes he could find one too.

It’s no secret that Hyunwoo is into guys; he doesn’t hide it. However, his parents still want to believe that maybe one day he’ll decide to settle with a woman. You’re pretty sure that this day might never come.

“That’s the perks of dating Seojoon’s son,” he says before chuckling a bit.

It’s clear that dating Jungkook opens quite some doors thanks to his father. Your boyfriend doesn’t take very much advantage of it, which isn’t the case with his brother, but that’s something you truly adore in Jungkook.

His father’s name literally gives him the world, but he doesn’t use it. He prefers to create his own path. However, it’s also related to his shyness. The man prefers to hide behind the shadows. He hates being under the spotlight. He leaves that to his little brother.

“Eeh,” you hit his arm. “He barely uses it.”

“He doesn’t need to,” he instantly replies. “He’s identical to his dad.”

That is absolutely true; he’s the spitting image of his father. It’s honestly so disturbing, but you can tell that when it comes to the outside world, it’s uncomfortable for your boyfriend. He adores his dad, but he doesn’t like that resemblance because everybody looks at him.

To most, it’s fascinating, but for Jungkook, it’s suffocating.

He adores his father, no question. But walking through life wearing Seojoon’s face comes with an unspoken burden. In public, he feels the eyes. The recognition. The expectations. People don’t just see him. They see the legacy, the name, the empire. And he hates that.

It strips him of something personal, something his own. He’s quiet about it, of course—he always is—but you can feel the weight pressing on him. Most of the time, it just breaks your heart because Jungkook is so much more than the son of Seojoon.

“I know,” you admit.

Jungkook hides a lot behind his glasses; you’ve noticed it. The glasses are what make him different from his father.

“Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t,” you add.

You’ve stopped counting the times when you held Jungkook in your arms while he was crying. People make too many comments without thinking about the consequences of their words. And Jungkook has very low self-esteem, and sometimes words hurt more than they should.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind having a powerful dad and looking like him,” Hyunwoo teases.

You roll your eyes.

“Trust me,” you reply, “it sometimes can be a curse.”

Well, you’ve only gotten to see it through Jungkook. It isn’t a curse for you. You don’t look like your father or your biological father. You’re actually a miny version of your biological mother, just like Jungkook is his father’s.

When you became a police officer, the first thing you did was find your biological parents. Not because you wanted to meet them or anything like that. But you wanted to see what they look like and what kind of person they are now. You have very loving parents, and you never felt the need to look for your birth parents.

Your birth mother was very young when she had you. She was only sixteen, and she had a shitty boyfriend. Following what you found out, he wasn’t really interested in becoming a father. So she decided to give you up for adoption. You know that she has been looking out for you, but you’ve never said anything.

Your birth mother got married years later and now has three kids, ages nine to two. She seems to be happy. At least, when you get to see her from far away, she seems to be a happy woman. And she has beautiful children. You’re sure that she wouldn’t be the woman she is if she ever kept you. Maybe you’d both be miserable.

But you’ll never know because she chose to give you a better life. And you’ll forever be grateful for that.

“How can you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

“You’d know it if you’d have a boyfriend crying in your arms because someone used him.”

Jungkook is the love of your life. You knew it the second you saw him for the first time, and you did everything you could to have him. It wasn’t particularly easy to convince this man that you were into him because of his lack of experience. But you slowly both fell in love with each other. He’s the best thing that has ever happened to you.

“Detective y/l/n,” one of the forensics comes to you. “We’re finished with the pictures.”

“Thanks,” you offer a small smile.

Your eyes now move to your partner.

“Now let’s work and stop talking about my amazing boyfriend.”

Jungkook

Jungkook hasn’t been feeling himself for the entire morning. His hands and feet cling to everything. If he takes a sample to examine it, it’ll stick to his hand. If he tries to stand up and walk, it’s mission impossible even if he takes deep breaths. It’s starting to be frustrating.

His glasses have been more than discarded. He doesn’t see a damn thing with them, which is more than weird. His colleagues have asked him why he doesn’t wear them anymore, and he invented the shitty excuse that he has decided to use contact lenses. If anybody knows him well enough, they’ll know that he would never do that.

He has also noticed that his new sculpted body is very strong. He has already destroyed half of the lab material because he’s unable to measure his strength. Luckily, he’s always been clumsy, and he can hide behind that excuse, but it’s not the truth.

But the most surprising thing is the webs coming from his wrists. He doesn’t know how it happened or how it works, but there are webs everywhere in his lab. He has spent the past ten minutes cleaning them. He’s sure that he looks like an absolute idiot today, but everything has changed.

He isn’t the same.

He feels it deep inside himself. It’s like his DNA was fully rewritten. He’s not human anymore. There’s something more in his blood, which makes him like he is right now.

“Jungkook?” his colleague Erika frowns. “What are you doing?”

Jungkook turns red, caught cleaning the webs in the lab.

“There was some dirt, and it was making me nervous, so I’ve been cleaning.”

Erika just nods, half convinced.

“I’ve heard you were looking for me,” she says.

“Yep,” he nods while inviting her to come closer. “I’m curious about the type of spiders you’ve been studying here.”

She raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised by his interest, but steps closer anyway.

“Most people avoid them.”

“I’m not most people,” Jungkook replies with a small, almost forced smile.

His hand instinctively brushes the spot where he was bitten, still uncertain if it really happened or if he dreamt it. Erika nods, then leans against the edge of the lab table.

“They’re part of an experimental species—genetically altered arachnids. Originally from South America, but we’ve been enhancing them.”

“Enhancing how?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

She pauses, eyeing him carefully.

“Their venom glands have been modified. In short, they can choose whether or not to inject venom when they bite.”

Jungkook frowns with surprise. This definitely sounds intriguing. He was never interested in what Erika and her team were working on, but now that he was bitten by one of them, he needs to know what they’d been doing to those spiders.

“They can choose?”

“They react based on neurological and hormonal stimuli. Think of it like instinct with a switch. In theory, if they don’t feel threatened or provoked, they don’t deliver venom. It’s a protective adaptation we were testing.”

“And what happens if they do inject it?” He swallows hard.

Her expression darkens slightly.

“Well, we haven’t fully tested it on humans. But preliminary results suggest the venom rewrites certain genetic codes temporarily. We still haven’t figured it out, but we hope this could help with aggressive diseases.”

Since Jungkook works in a pharmaceutical company specializing in rare diseases. Their purpose is to find a treatment or cure for diseases that are still very unknown to humans. They try to find a cure for what seems uncurable.

“We’re not yet confident to test it on humans. We think their venom might be too strong and might kill.”

His eyes widen, and he suddenly coughs a lot. Is he about to die? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Outside of the sticky hands and feet, he feels great.

“We still need to study their venom more, which has many good properties for many diseases.”

Jungkook nods, half interested in her words.

“Why are you asking?” she narrows her eyes.

“Just curiosity,” he replies. “I was working near them yesterday, and it intrigued me.”

“Well, I was just about to go back to the lab. If you want, you can come and I can share with you what we’ve been doing.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

They both head to the lab, and he tries to act normal, even though he still feels that odd stickiness in his feet. But unlike before, they don’t cling to the floor. It’s as if his body suddenly decides to behave.

When they reach the lab where he was working the day before, something shifts in him. His gaze is immediately drawn to the spider enclosure. He tries to ignore it, but the pull is undeniable, magnetic, almost primal.

There’s no rational explanation, yet it feels as if something inside him responds to them. His heart beats faster. His skin tingles. It’s not fear or revulsion, it’s need. As if a part of him recognizes them. Like they share something now. Blood, maybe. Or something deeper.

His feet move before his thoughts catch up, guiding him toward the glass tank without hesitation. His body wants to be close to them. He can feel it in his bones, in his nerves. He actually feels it in a place beyond reason.

Jungkook swallows hard. He’s not sure if this is curiosity or instinct. Erika speaks, but he barely listens to her. His eyes are constantly drawn to the spiders, and he can barely focus.

“Can I touch them?” he asks.

“Please wear gl…” before Erika can even finish her sentence, Jungkook is already opening the enclosure.

To their surprise, the spiders walk on Jungkook’s hand like it’s totally normal. They don’t avoid his hand. They walk straight to it like they know he’s one of them.

“That’s new,” Erika frowns. “They are usually very avoidant. Nobody can touch them.”

“They seem to like me,” Jungkook teases.

His eyes are glued on his hand with the tiny spiders. They simply walk like it’s the most normal and natural thing in the world.

“Let’s hope that they don’t bite you,” she says.

Well, Jungkook is definitely not going to tell her about yesterday’s event. She’ll for sure start studying him, and he doesn’t want that. He’s not some kind of experience. He prefers that she focus on finding a cure for diseases. What he’s experiencing now is not going to help. At least, that’s what he believes.

None of the spiders bite him, which genuinely surprises him. Maybe the previous bite changed something in him, marked him in a way they recognize. It’s possible they sense it. He doesn’t know for sure, but the lack of aggression unsettles him almost as much as if they had.

“Well, maybe I’ll leave them alone now,” he says as he tries to remove his hands.

The spiders walk back to their enclosure as if they understand that he’s leaving them. This is all so surprising.

“You’re the first that they haven’t bitten,” Erika admits. “Usually, they bite but without venom.”

Jungkook doesn’t know why, but he feels relieved to hear her say that. However, in some sense, he hoped that somebody else was also going through what he was feeling. It seems like he’s one of a kind.

“Glad they didn’t,” he smiles at her while closing the enclosure. “I don’t want to become some lab rat,” he giggles.

Well, he’s for sure going to run some tests on himself. He needs to understand what’s going on, so he’ll be his own lab rat.

“You’re lucky,” she chuckles.

The rest of the day goes by very quickly. Jungkook took some blood to examine it, and most probably, he’ll ask Sangmin if he can use his private and personal lab. He doesn’t want to start investigating his new nature in his workplace because someone might find out and do God knows what.

Once he’s home, you’re already there, watching Ginny and Georgia, your new favorite show. Instinctively, he walks to you, lowering his head to kiss you.

“Hi, pumpkin,” he whispers on your lips.

“Hi, handsome,” you reply.

“No nerdy today?” he smiles as he falls next to you on the couch.

His head rests on your lap while your hands find their way to his hair to play with it. He absolutely adores feeling you play with strands of his hair. It’s his comforting moment after work.

“Not when you’re not wearing your glasses,” you brush his hair back to take a proper look at his cute face.

“They were hurting my nose,” he lies. “I think I have to change them.”

You fall for his lie, apparently, and he’s relieved about it. He’s not sure he could have handled explaining that something is off with him. He’s not even sure you’ll believe him. But above anything, he doesn’t want to worry you with all of this. He needs to first figure out what is going on, and then he’ll tell you everything.

“Do you want me to massage that cute nose?” you offer.

“If my pumpkin proposes, I can’t refuse,” he offers you the biggest smile ever.

You massage his perfect nose, and his eyes get lost on his face. He’s so lucky to have you in his life. You’ve given him a purpose in life. He’s always so excited to go home, even though he adores his lab a lot. You’re the first and only person he loves more than his job.

Suddenly, there’s a faint knock at the door. You both freeze, glancing at each other, before rising to answer. Jungkook pulls the door open, and the world seems to tilt before collapsing under his feet.

Sangmin stands there, barely hunched, pale, trembling. His face is hollowed out, lips barely moving. Instinctively, you run inside to grab your phone and call emergency services.

“Jung…” he whispers, the name barely a breath.

Jungkook stumbles forward instinctively, his arms wrapping around the man who had once seemed unshakable. He feels how light he is. Fragile. A shell. Sangmin collapses into his chest, and Jungkook holds him as if trying to stop the inevitable.

“Sangmin?” Jungkook breathes, panic flaring in his voice. “What—what happened?” he stutters due to the panic taking over his body.

But Sangmin doesn’t answer. His head lolls. His eyes—the brilliant, determined eyes that once inspired Jungkook to become a scientist—are fading fast. Blank. His skin is cold. Jungkook’s own hands start to shake.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Stay with me—please—stay with me.”

His chest aches. His heartbeat is wild, like it’s trying to burst out of his ribs. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. His mentor, the man who believed in him, who treated him like a son, is dying right here, in his arms, and Jungkook can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Behind him, he hears you talking with a paramedic, but you’re almost screaming at the person to do as fast as possible. You’re telling the person that you’re a detective and they need to hurry.

“Someone…” Sangmin chokes, blood staining the corner of his mouth, “is trying to kill me…”

Jungkook is sobbing now, silent and desperate, his tears falling onto Sangmin’s skin.

“Don’t talk. We’re getting help—just hold on—”

Jungkook quickly looks back at you, and he sees how angry you are. He’s never seen you like this, but he can only understand you. You want help to reach your apartment as fast as possible because you don’t want to be the one investigating Sangmin’s death.

Sangmin is slipping. His breath is shallow. His fingers twitch weakly against Jungkook’s shirt. His heart is breaking as he sees him slowly drifting. Jungkook still holds him as tightly as possible.

“Tell yn…” he gasps, eyes flickering, “to find who… did this.”

“Yes, yes,” Jungkook frantically nods. “She’ll do it.”

A smile grows on Sangmin’s livid face.

“I…” he tries to formulate one last sentence, “love you, son.”

And then — nothing.

The weight in Jungkook’s arms suddenly feels unbearable. And as he sinks to the floor, cradling the lifeless body of the man who meant everything to him, something in him breaks.

“Sangmin,” he tries to call him, knowing perfectly he won’t answer. “Sangmin…”

The desperation in Jungkook’s voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard. Your body instantly freezes, your breath catching. When Jungkook sinks to the floor with Sangmin, he breaks down in tears, calling him in such a heartbreaking way. Anyone passing by would understand that something tragic has just happened by the way he’s saying his mentor’s name.

Jungkook suddenly feels your body kneeling behind him, wrapping your arms around his trembling frame. You’re holding him as tightly as possible, your face resting against his back. Amidst this pain, feeling you comforts him in a way he can’t even explain. It’s like you’re holding a candle in the middle of a cave and guiding him.

Ironically, he’s holding in his arms the man he idolizes, and the woman he worships is holding him.

This day couldn’t have gone worse. He can’t say what the most tragic event of the day is. The spider effect or Sangmin’s death.

When the paramedics arrive, it’s already too late. As they examine Sangmin, you never let go of Jungkook. You maintain your body pressed against his, shielding him. When they finally lift Sangmin from his arms, the last of Jungkook’s strength crumbles. Tears fall from his face, his hands finding yours to grip them like he’s afraid he might disappear without your touch.

“I’m here,” you whisper before pressing a gentle kiss on his back. “I’ll discover who did this.”

Jungkook knows that this promise carries a heavy meaning. Tracking down murderers is your job. It’s like a second nature to you, but he knows that this time, it is different. You’re not investigating the death of a stranger. You’re going to find who killed a person who shared Jungkook’s heart with you.

This time, it’s personal.

And he knows without a doubt that nothing and nobody will be able to stop you. You’ll find the truth, and make sure justice is done.

#bts #bts imagine #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #spidey jk #spiderkook #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #a secret spun in silk #a secret spun in silk: chapter 1 #spideyjimin

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shikiii-skadi · 29 days ago

Text

What is Wrong with being a little Bad? || Prologue

SUMMARY: After a potion incident caused by your three disaster-prone friends, you're now stuck with an accidental villain arc.

WARNINGS: none

NAVIGATION: Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

As usual, the three idiots you called friends had gotten you into trouble. It could have been an ordinary alchemy lesson with Professor Crewel, but Ace just had to make fun of Grim, comparing him to the shriveled gray tuber you were supposed to use for your potion.

Of course, Ace kept provoking Grim until he snapped and tried to burn the tuber. Only to accidentally set a table on fire. Professor Crewel was not pleased, to say the least. So now, as punishment, you, Grim, Ace, and Deuce had to stay after class and finish the potion within the next hour and present it to Professor Crewel. Which was a tough task in itself, even without the troublesome behaviour of your friends.

You were discussing the next step with Deuce when, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Ace trying to silently sneak toward the door.

"Ace!" you scolded, causing him to freeze mid-step. "Don't even try to sneak off on us, or you will be glued to the cauldron."

"Geez, I wasn't even trying to go anywhere. Just wanted to check if we need anything from the shelf over there," he lied very unconvincingly.

"We already have all the ingredients we need," you reminded him, before practically feeling the mischievous energy emanating from the cat monster somewhere behind you. "Grim. Don't even think about trying anything."

Deuce shook his head, exasperated after witnessing you scold both Ace and Grim. "Seriously, it's the fault of both of you that we are in this situation."

"The Great Grim ain't done anything at all. Everything is Ace's fault!" Grim shot back immediately, puffing out his chest.

“You set a table on fire,” you reminded him.

Grim stomped his little feet in protest, while Ace only snickered. "Only because Ace made fun of me!"

You were about to launch into another lecture about why that was absolutely no excuse to use fire, but Deuce interrupted, his voice suddenly bright with excitement. “Wait—I think I’ve got it!”

Curious, the three of you crowded around the cauldron to see what Deuce had concocted. But something was off. The potion was a watery, reddish color. Nothing like the shimmering blue one Professor Crewel had demonstrated in class.

“The color’s way off,” Ace said, wrinkling his nose. “Even a blind guy could tell.”

After looking at the liquid in the cauldron for a few more seconds, you nodded. "Yeah, I have to agree... It was more blue and had this red shimmer."

"And Crewel's potion was more bubbly," Grim commented, but you had the feeling it wasn't really an observation and more a case of Grim just saying something to sound smart.

Ace shot Deuce a look. “Great job, Deuce. Now we have to start all over.”

"Excuse me? You didn't even do anything."

"Don't start another argument," you said, trying to be the voice of reason in all of this. And also to prevent any more tables from potentially landing in the crossfire. "Let's just try to get this over with."

While the three of you were distracted, Grim saw the perfect opportunity to "fix" your potion. He didn't want to spend hours making a new one, and a talented mage like him could fix this no problem, he thought wrongly.

Grim confidently grabbed a jar filled with bright green liquid and generously poured it into the cauldron. You only noticed what Grim was doing because his actions resulted in a dark green smoke that filled a good chunk of the laboratory in a matter of seconds, shrouding you in a green vision.

You coughed, waving your hand in front of your face, and stumbled blindly toward the window, trying to remember the way. Behind you, Deuce’s voice rang out, muffled by the haze: “Grim, you’re ruining the potion!”

"Don't just randomly mix stuff together," Ace said, followed by a cough, as if he wouldn't do the exact same thing.

You could barely see, but you heard Grim’s triumphant voice: “I’m fixing it! Just wait and see!”

"Stop mixing things!" you called out after hearing what sounded suspiciously like Grim throwing something else into the potion.

You reached the window and opened it, but it wasn't really effective in getting rid of the smoke. The sound of something heavy being dropped into liquid could be heard. The smoke thickened, then, just as suddenly, began to swirl and collapse, sucked back into the cauldron in a single, unnatural breath.

“There! Fixed!” Grim declared, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"You caused the smoke," Deuce retorted, before grabbing Grims' paw, stopping him from making things worse. Grim tried to wiggle free.

"Just stop, Grim," you said as you made your way over to them. But Grim didn't listen to anyone. He thrashed, and in the commotion, the little stepladder he was standing on, so he could reach the cauldron, tipped over. The ladder collided with the cauldron. Grim leapt away just in time, or he would have landed in the potion, but the ladder crashed into the cauldron, sending it toppling toward you.

You, on the other hand, were not so lucky. Instinctively, you tried to catch the stepladder falling your way, which meant you couldn’t get out of the way in time. The cauldron tips to one side completely, spilling its contents onto you.

You gasped in shock as the cold mixture made contact with your skin. Unlike before, it was no longer watery but gloppy, almost rubbery, as it stuck on you and your lab coat. Fortunately, your eyes were spared thanks to the protection of the goggles. You could feel an unpleasant prickling sensation on your skin just as the liquid suddenly evaporated. It was as if you had absorbed it.

Your friends asked you if everything was alright. You wanted to tell them that nothing was wrong. But suddenly, your annoyance about the situation turned into pure anger. "You incompetent fools! You should be skinned alive and eaten by feral animals! Why do I even keep you around?” you snap, barely recognizing your own voice.

Your three friends looked at you with startled faces. They certainly weren't expecting this reaction. Ace was the first to say something. "Ouch, where is that suddenly coming from?"

Deuce tried to help you up from the ground, but you ignored his hand, standing up on your own. "Don't touch me with your unwashed hands."

"I always wash my hands!" Deuce replied immediately, but you weren't interested in his words.

"Are you sure you are fine?", Ace asked, while Grim added, "Yeah, you are acting really weird."

You glared at them. "I was fine until we crossed paths."

Ace exchanged a nervous glance with Deuce, edging away from the cauldron as if whatever had effected you, might spread to him. “Okay, seriously, what was in that potion?” he whispered.

Deuce frowned, studying you with concern. “You don’t look hurt, but… you’re acting all… villainous.”

“We need to tell Professor Crewel,” Deuce said quietly. “Something’s really wrong.”

Ace hesitated. “Are you kidding? If we tell him, we’re doomed for sure! He’ll have us scrubbing cauldrons until graduation.”

“But my hench-human is clearly broken! We can’t leave them like this," Grim protested.

"I didn't say we should leave them like that. You can stop looking at me like that,“ Ace said, ”We shouldn't tell Crewel, we should tell the Headmage."

Even though Ace, Grim and Deuce were whispering among themselves, you could clearly hear every word. "Are you seriously going to the most irresponsible adult on campus with this?" you said, sounding almost offended.

"That's exactly why we should go to the Headmage. Crewel will only punish us more for this. The Headmage on the other hand..." Ace trailed off, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence; his expression said it all.

At that moment, you realize, with a new, almost sinister clarity, that the three accomplices you had gathered here were perhaps not such a bad choice after all. Ace was devious, Deuce mostly naive, and Grim a cat arsonist. And all three of them were dumb enough to be easily manipulated.

Together with your minions, you were on your way to the Headmage. Not because you listened to Ace's instructions, but simply out of curiosity as to what Ace, Deuce and Grim would screw up next. It's going to be interesting.

You're not necessarily looking forward to seeing the Headmage, though. He was odd in your eyes. You were pretty sure he was still waiting for a Father’s Day gift from you. Even though it's been months. He probably didn't even want it because he saw himself as your father figure, but just to get something free. Which, admittedly, you could respect. But did you look like someone who has the money to give people free stuff? No. You live in a shithole together with ghosts.

You walk down the corridor, the other three trailing behind you in a disorganized cluster. Grim is muttering to himself about “fixing” you with a spell he saw in a comic book, while Deuce keeps glancing at you as if you might sprout horns at any moment. Ace, as usual, is walking around like he owned the place, whistling a tune that’s a little too cheerful for someone responsible for nearly burning down a classroom an hour ago.

You watched as Ace walked past you. For this transgression, you shot him a sharp glare, allowing him to correct his behaviour, but Ace didn't notice or maybe didn't think much of your glare. You couldn’t let that slide without punishment. No one was meant to walk in front of you, as if you weren't the boss of this group.

Ace’s whistling was cut off by a yelp as your hand connected with the back of his head. "Ouch! Why are you slapping me? It was pretty hard too...!"

You smacked him again for daring to question you, making him yelp again and stepping back so you couldn't reach him. "A minion is not supposed to strut in front of their master. Much less is said minion supposed to ask stupid questions after his behaviour has been corrected!"

Ace rubbed the back of his head, grumbling under his breath, but wisely kept his distance. Grim snickered, clearly enjoying Ace’s misfortune, while Deuce shot you a wary look, as if trying to gauge whether he should intervene or just keep his head down and hope for the best.

Eventually you reached Crowleys office. With a dramatic flourish, you pushed open the door, not bothering to knock first.

Crowley looked up from behind his desk, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you barge in with your entourage. He straightened his hat, smoothing his cloak with a hopeful expression.

"Ah! My, my, what a surprise!" he exclaimed, voice dripping with anticipation. "And with all of you here together… Could it be? After all these months, have you finally come to deliver my long-overdue Father’s Day gift?" He clasped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement.

"No," you replied flat.

The hope in Crowley’s eyes crumbled like a poorly baked soufflé. "No? Oh, the cruelty! The heartbreak! To be denied yet again by my own beloved, nay, most cherished, student!" He sniffled loudly, dabbing at imaginary tears with a handkerchief he seemed to produce from nowhere.

Grim rolled his eyes, looking at you. "He’s even more dramatic than you."

Crowley peeked at you from behind his hand. "Are you certain? Not even a little something? A card? A drawing? Perhaps some heartfelt words of gratitude for your ever-doting paternal figure?"

"Doting paternal figure?" you repeated, "You do nothing but constandly dump your work onto me."

"Delegation is the mark of a great leader. I am simply preparing you for the trials of adulthood. Responsibility, initiative, the crushing weight of expectation!" Crowley answered.

"Don't give me the its building character nonsense."

While you and the Headmage talked, Ace whispered to Deuce; "Should we just leave and come back when they are done?"

"We can’t wait," he whispered back to Ace. His voice was low but urgent. "This is serious."

Deuce glanced nervously between you and Crowley before realizing that someone had to take charge before the conversation spiraled further into melodrama. He cleared his throat, stepping forward with a determined voice. “Um, Headmage Crowley? We actually came here because something weird happened in alchemy class,” Deuce began, "There was… an accident with a potion, and now, uh, the prefect isn’t acting like themselve."

"Oh? An alchemical mishap, you say?" Crowley repeated, stroking his chin. "And what, pray tell, does this have to do with me? Or, more importantly, with my Father’s Day gift?"

Grim groaned. "Forget the stupid gift! The prefect is acting all weird and villain-y!"

Ace snorted. "Looks more like they’re auditioning for a cheesy play."

You glared. "Silence, minion."

Deuce, sensing the situation spiraling, tried again. "Headmage, we think the prefect got hit with a potion that’s changed their personality. We need your help to fix it."

Crowley was thinking silently for a moment before coming to an utterly ridiculous conclusion. "Ah, yes, of course! That is why i have yet to receive my Father's Day gift from you. It makes perfect sense."

"I was never planning to give you anything. Stop bringing it up!" you answered.

Crowley clutched his chest as if your words had physically wounded him. "Are you sure a potion is the cause for this?" he asked, voice cracking with theatrical sorrow. "Has the scheming of the other students perhaps corrupted you this much? That’s not how I raised you!"

You crossed your arms. "Excuse me, you didn’t raise me at all. And I turned out just fine, thank you very much."

The Headmage sighed, shaking his head as if he’d just witnessed the greatest tragedy. "And here I thought my only concern was going to be Draconia, who whisks you away to wed you," he sniffed, dabbing imaginary tears again. "Oh, the worries only a father has."

"You aren’t my father, Headmage," you replied. "I already have one. And what are you talking about anyway?"

"Headmage, please! This isn’t about Father’s Day or… or marriage proposals!" Deuce said his voice firm but respectful, "The prefect was hit by a potion, and now they’re acting completely different. We need to know how to fix it. Before things get worse."

After that Ace, Deuce and Grim explained what had happened in the alchemy lesson with as much detail as possible, but it was hard to say what Grim actually put in the potion. They launched into a chaotic retelling the disaster. Ace was blaming Grim for tampering with the potion, while Grim protested that he was only fixing it. Deuce, meanwhile, tried to keep the story on track, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the bickering.

"Anyway, the potion exploded, and the prefect got covered in it. That’s when they started acting… well, like this." Deuce gestured to the spot where you had been standing.

Except… you weren’t there.

Ace blinked. "Wait. Where’d the prefect go?"

Grim spun around, eyes widening in alarm. "Eh? They were right here! Did they turn invisible? Did the potion do that too?!"

Deuce’s eyes widened in panic. "Did they sneak out while we were talking?"

"You’ve lost the prefect? My most cherished and responsible student? This is a disaster! What if they’re off plotting villainous schemes? What if they’re," Crowley gasped, "buying Father’s Day presents for someone else?"

Ace groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can we please focus? The prefect’s probably just wandering around being… weird. We need to find them before they get into real trouble."

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reasonsforhope · 7 months ago

Text

"In the Canary Islands, in Barcelona, and in Chile, a unique fog catcher design is sustaining dry forests with water without emissions, or even infrastructure.

Replicating how pine needles catch water, the structure need only be brought on-site and set up, without roads, powerlines, or irrigation channels.

Fog catching is an ancient practice—renamed “cloud milking” by an EU-funded ecology project on the Canary Islands known as LIFE Nieblas (nieblas means fog).

“In recent years, the Canaries have undergone a severe process of desertification and we’ve lost a lot of forest through agriculture. And then in 2007 and 2009, as a result of climate change, there were major fires in forested areas that are normally wet,” said Gustavo Viera, the technical director of the publicly-funded project in the Canaries.

The Canaries routinely experience blankets of fog that cloak the islands’ slopes and forests, but strong winds made fog-catching nets an unfeasible solution. In regions such as the Atacama Desert in Chile or the Atlas Mountains of North Africa, erecting nets that capture moisture particles out of passing currents of fog is a traditional practice.

LIFE Nieblas needed a solution that could resist powerful winds, and to that end designed wind chime-like rows of artificial pine needles, which are also great at plucking moisture from the air. However, unlike nets or palms, they efficiently let the wind pass through them.

The water is discharged without any electricity. There are no irrigation channels, and no machinery is needed to transport the structures. The natural course of streams and creeks need not be altered, nor is there a need to drill down to create wells. The solution is completely carbon-free.

WATER IN THE DESERTS:

China Announces Completion of a 1,800-Mile Green Belt Around the World’s Most-Hostile Desert

Billions of People Could Benefit from This Breakthrough in Desalination That Ensures Freshwater for the World

Scientists Perfecting New Way to Turn Desert Air into Water at Much Higher Yields

Sahara Desert Is Turning Green Amid Unusual Rains in Parts of North Africa

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala

In the ravine of Andén in Gran Canaria, a 35.8-hectare (96 acres) mixture of native laurel trees irrigated by the fog catchers enjoys a survival rate of 86%, double the figure of traditional reforestation.

“The Canaries are the perfect laboratory to develop these techniques,” said Vicenç Carabassa, the project’s head scientist, who works for the Center for Ecological Research and Forestry Applications at the University of Barcelona. “But there are other areas where the conditions are optimal and where there is a tradition of water capture from fog, such as Chile and Morocco.”

In Chile’s Coquimbo province, the town of Chungungo is collecting around 250 gallons a day from a combination of locally-made fog catchers and LIFE Nieblas’ pine needle design, the Guardian reports."

-via Good News Network, December 30, 2024

#water #water shortage #canary islands #deserts #fog catchers #good news #hope

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damneddamsy · 5 months ago

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part v)

RECONSTRUCTION ALGORITHM—A process begins to build from the wreckage.

summary: Birthday dinners and blues, laughter over a crowded table—and Joel, caught between the past and something new.

a/n: are you ready for your prescribed serotonin boost :) are you reading to die :) are you ready to have your heart broken :) are you ready for pain :) if yes, it's here, and it's fucking good! can you spot where exactly I had a mental breakdown? virtual bear hugs for those who get it!

Joel had faced a lot of things in his life—clickers, raiders, shit ration food, the long, merciless stretch of empty roads—but this?

This might actually do him in.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees, staring at the open boxes like they might bite. Three whole boxes. Packed full of baby clothes, soft and delicate, in shades too clean for a world like this—pale yellows, powder blues, faded pinks. Those colours didn't belong in this world anymore.

He exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his beard. It was just one of those things, one of those moments where life threw something at him he wasn’t built for anymore. Throwing a punch, taking a knife, breaking his nose—those, he could handle. But picking out a damn dress for a baby?

“This ain’t my thing, baby girl,” he muttered, glancing at Maya sprawled out beside him on the bed. She kicked her legs, fists flailing like she had strong opinions on the matter. The second he walked through the door, she’d lit up, beaming that wide, gummy grin at him like his very existence was the happiest thing in her tiny world.

Joel shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. You ain’t the one stuck pickin’ through all this.”

He waved a hand at the neatly folded mass of tiny expensive dresses, bloomers, and booties, smelling faintly of time and soap. They’d been Leela’s once. That part stuck with him—the fact that these had once clothed her, when she was no bigger than Maya.

His rugged fingers hovered over the fabric, hesitant. Everything was so soft, worn down in the best way—not ragged, but loved. Clothes, to him, had always been practical. Denim, leather, sturdy boots. He’d spent years in a world where softness didn’t last, where anything delicate got torn up, dirtied, or lost. And yet, here it was. Preserved. A little piece of the past, kept safe.

He picked up a tiny white dress with a lace collar, holding it to the light. “This fancy enough for a birthday dinner?” he asked, squinting at Maya. “Hm, looks like your mama's dress, doesn't it? Just missin' those... buttons.”

She just cooed, kicking harder, wiggling like she might crawl right out of the blanket. He set it down and picked up another, something in a buttery yellow with embroidered flowers. Lighter, easier.

“This one. Like a pretty sunflower.”

Maya squealed like she agreed, flailing her arms toward him. Obviously sick of laying there, wanting to be up here with him.

He snorted. “You got strong opinions on style, huh? Don’t take after me, then. I ain’t got a clue.”

And yet, here he was. Doing this. Going through the whole process because Leela had asked him—because it mattered to her. The realization settled in, quiet and solid. He was doing this because he cared. About Maya, sure. But about Leela, too. Enough to sit here, sifting through baby clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He shook his head, picking up a tiny pair of bloomers and setting them aside with the yellow dress. “Guess that’ll do. Don’t want you upstaging your mama.”

Maya gurgled in agreement, and without thinking, Joel reached over, scratching a hand over her belly, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric of her onesie. Happy, just because he was here.

And he was only here because Leela had asked this of him. After all, she was downstairs, turning the kitchen into a goddamn laboratory. She’d been at it since morning, long before he even peeled himself off the pullout in his living room. The kitchen light had been on when he woke up, spilling a soft glow onto the snow outside, and through the open window, he caught glimpses of her—stirring, measuring, dicing and slicing with careful, mathematical precision.

At one point, she’d pulled out a scale. A scale. Like she was preparing for an experiment instead of a birthday dinner. Her own birthday dinner, that is. The one Maria had specifically asked her to butt out of because then it'd be pointless. Don't think Leela caught that part.

He’d spent his morning like that—half-awake, watching her move through the kitchen with the kind of focus that made his chest ache. Maya was strapped against her in a sling, her dozing head tucked beneath Leela’s chin, and her mother’s long braid trailed past her back, swaying with every movement. She barely stopped to sit down.

And Joel—still groggy, still warm from sleep—just lay there, watching.

Watching from the outside. Watching a life that wasn’t his, but could be.

Maybe, in some version of things, he’d be sitting at that damn marble island with her, sipping coffee, watching her openly instead of from behind the glass. Maybe he’d be close enough to tease her about overcomplicating her own birthday meal, close enough that she’d smile that shy smile, but lean into him anyway, chin up for an apology kiss.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to wonder what it would be like—because he’d already know.

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought off. Right. First things first.

He crouched down, dragging Maya closer to him over the bed, the buttery yellow dress draped over his arm. “Alright, darlin'. Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, slipping her tiny arms through the sleeves. She surprisingly went along with it without a fuss, blinking up at him, her round face curious, watching him.

Joel worked quickly, big fingers clumsy against the delicate buttons, careful not to tug too hard. “Y’know, you make this real easy,” he said to her, smoothing the fabric over her legs. “Your ma ever tell you that? Some little shits scream their heads off over this kinda thing.”

Maya just cooed, trying to catch her toes, like she knew she was being praised.

He snorted, lacing up her brown booties—useless, yet so adorable. “Don’t let it go to your head. You're still trouble.”

With a final adjustment, he lifted her, tucking her against his chest. She fit there like she always did, perfect and warm, her breath puffing against his throat. The second she was settled, her legs kicked in delight, hands curling into the collar of his shirt—habit, just like always.

Joel huffed, pressing a steadying palm against her back. “Beautiful girl,” he whispered, rocking slightly, just enough to keep her from getting squirmy. “Yeah, you are.”

Maya gurgled in response, gripping tighter, like she had any real strength to keep him there. Like she thought she needed to.

Joel didn’t move for a second, standing there, one hand spanning nearly the whole of her back, feeling the tiny rise and fall of her breaths against him. He arched his head to brush a kiss at her ear and turned toward the door.

Then he noticed it. The humungous closet doors were open.

It wasn’t like him to pry, but something about Leela always pulled at his curiosity. He glanced at Maya, as if seeking permission—she only pushed her lips into a pout—so he stepped inside.

Due to lack of better words in his dazed head: it was a rich woman’s closet. Joel had worked on plenty of houses back in the day, done high-end custom storage, and seen his fair share of luxury—but he’d never been around long enough to see it lived in.

Drawers lined one wall, sleek and built into the cabinetry. Rows of dresses, coats, scarves, bags, and belts filled another. Shoes—so many shoes—lined the shelves, some still wrapped in plastic, some broken in just enough to show which ones were loved. In the centre, a long glass table gleamed under the dim light, scattered with jewellery. Diamonds, rubies, and jade sat in their cases like they belonged behind some jeweller’s counter instead of lying out like an afterthought.

Maya made a soft, curious sound, leaning forward in fascination. Joel caught her before she could squirm right out of his arms. "Woah, kiddo."

His attention snagged on the dress draped over the table, carefully selected from the clutter.

Black. Velvet. Long-sleeved. Nothing flashy. No lace, no frills, no shimmer. Just smooth, short, heavy fabric, dark as ink, the kind that’d cling in all the right places. Understated, sure—but that only made it worse.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening. Christ, that can't be it, can it?

But Leela didn’t dress up much. Hell, he was used to seeing her in practical things—thick holey sweaters, clean jeans, and overstretched socks. Even the night dresses she wore were simple, easy. Unbearably cute.

But this? This was intentional. This was her putting thought into it, picking something that would fit her like a fucking glove. Black so stark against her skin, those big eyes, her legs. And Joel—he needed to stop thinking about that immediately.

He shifted Maya in his arms, clearing his throat like that’d help steady him. She was still staring, as if equally entranced, her small hands flexing toward the diamonds glinting under the glass table. He sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple as he stepped back.

“Don’t even, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I ain't raisin’ no flashy tastes in you.”

She gurgled in protest, kicking her feet, and Joel took that as his cue to get the hell out of there.

Now mind you, the past two weeks had been a state of grace.

He didn’t know what else to call it—what else to call the way he found himself here more often than not, the way it felt more natural by the day. He wasn’t just some frequent visitor anymore or a guest, or that guy who'd come around to hover with his tools. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was here with them. Even after patrol, he still ended up on their porch, dropping his rifle and pack by the door before stepping inside like it was just a given.

Hell, it kind of was. A little 'honey, I'm home' moment, if he really brooded on it.

Breakfast. Dinner. Sometimes all three meals, if time allowed. And they’d sit together on the kitchen stools, him and Leela, Maya on either of their laps, silent but companionable, sharing the space like it had been carved out for them alone. They didn't talk about much, sometimes Joel would hit her with a 'back-in-the-day' spiel, or Leela would inform him what happened in her workshop, though most of it went over his head. He liked to listen hard when she spoke, especially when she gave so little. And each morning to come, each evening in leave, Joel would feel it—that want, quiet but persistent, tugging at him, already pulling him into the next day.

Even Leela was eating again. Not much, but enough. It relieved him that she hadn't entirely given up on herself. He noticed the way she still picked at her food sometimes, however delicious it was, pushing it around more than eating it, and he never said a word. Just let her be, let her do what she could. He’d take what he could get.

There were moments, though—times when she got stuck in her own head as if phantom hands had reached out, clawed in and dragged her back to whatever had put her here in the first place. He’d see it clearest when she nursed Maya, like something about it sent her spiralling inward, caught in something he couldn’t see. But he could pull her back to him. He quickly learned how.

“Hey.” His voice was always low, careful, like he was trying not to spook a horse. And then a distraction, a lifeline. “How about I get us a cut of lamb again tomorrow? Y’know, those meatballs you made last week?”

Her eyes would clear, focusing again. “Yeah. Koftas.” And that smile would come alive, trademarked in his name. “Did you like them?”

“Too much. Hits the spot.”

It helped that Leela was a stupidly good cook. It wasn’t about the skill or the recipes—though she sure as hell knew her way around those—it was the way she did it. The way she measured things down to the last goddamn granule, cut with a precision that could’ve put surgeons to shame. She had a scale drawn onto her chopping board, and every damn herb on her windowsill was labelled like she was running a test kitchen instead of a home. He thought about it sometimes and had to bite back a smile.

"Is there anything you can't do?" he'd asked her once while stuffing his face with generously salted roast potatoes he'd passionately complimented. "I dunno, deadlift three thousand kilos? Roofing? Fix a busted engine? I bet that's nothin' to you."

She'd laughed, aimlessly twirling her fork in her hands. "Hmm... I'm quite inartistic. I can't strum a guitar as well as you. I can't sing or dance either."

"I'll give you five days until you're a pro guitarist," he challenged playfully.

She tilted her head. “I don’t know, Joel. Now that I think about it, I might be a lost cause.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. You learned how to do everything else, didn’t you?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not everything. You make me sound like some superhero.”

Joel stabbed another potato with his fork. “Nah, I bet you’d pick it up fast.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” He chewed, swallowed. “You got the... hands for it.”

Leela looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she could see what he meant. She had the prettiest fingers, long, soft, wide nails that would've graced those fancy designs once upon a time, and pale nerves coiling over lean bone. Jesus, he really was losing it.

“You say that like you’ve given it some thought,” she mumbled.

Joel just shrugged, lying through his teeth. “Not that much thought.”

Her mouth quirked, but she didn’t push. Just filled his cup with more water. “I still don’t think I could do it.”

“Why?”

She tapped the prongs of her fork against her plate. “I don’t know. I guess… it’d feel too good. And then I’d have to wonder why I spent so many years not doing it.”

Joel watched her, the way her fingers fidgeted, the way her eyes had gone elsewhere. He thought about telling her that was the whole damn point. That just because you hadn’t done something before didn’t mean you didn’t deserve to now.

Instead, he just said, “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

She met his eyes, and after a second, she nodded. “Yes. I do.”

And the way she stated it—gentle, effortless, like it was unmistakable—had Joel suddenly very interested in his plate again.

Then there was little Maya. His ray of sunshine. Growing like a wildflower, changing in ways he barely had time to keep up with. And he was there to see it. More than that—he was there for it.

Like that day, sprawled on the living room carpet beside her, lying flat on his back while Leela worked at the blackboard nearby, mumbling numbers under her breath at miles per hour, the scratch of chalk entwined with the dusty warble of Merle Haggard on the record player. Just another quiet moment, another stretch of time folded in between everything else.

Until Maya grabbed at his hand.

Her fingers curled tight, her little voice rising in breathy coos, calling for his attention. And then—just like that, way too ahead of schedule—she twisted, flipped herself over onto her front, and grinned at him like she’d just conquered the goddamn world. All that, in scarcely three months. The kid's going to be a genius just like her mama.

“Shit!” Joel breathed, pushing up on one elbow. “Daggum, girl. C'mere. That was really good, baby, real nice. You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She grinned wider, pleased with herself, kicking her legs against the carpet. He lifted her right off and plunged her in the air, pulling out a happy squeal. He brought her all the way down to push three deep kisses into her bunched cheeks.

Leela turned, brows raised, eyes flicking between them.

“Finally rolled over, she's been trying for weeks,” he told Leela, laughing, out of breath.

“Oh,” she mouthed. “Rolled over?”

“Oughta get a picture or somethin’,” he muttered, still looking at Maya, pride swelling in his chest in a way he hadn’t expected. He ran a hand over her downy-soft hair. “It’s a milestone. Turnin’ point, as I say.” The pun slipped out before he could stop it, and he cursed Ellie in his head.

Leela just blinked at him. Like it hadn’t even occurred to her. And maybe it hadn’t. Because, later that night, without a word, she passed him a little silver digital camera and said he spent more time with Maya than she did.

Joel had caught her elbow before she could walk away. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to as he told her, “You’re doin’ a great job at being her mom. It's not just me here.”

It didn’t help, not the way he expected to. She just nodded, scooped up Maya, and left the room.

That was the thing about Leela.

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t think she was in a position to care for another person. Like she was still caught somewhere in between—stuck in the space between whatever hell had given her Maya and the life she was trying to build around her.

She didn’t even have to say it. Joel saw it.

He saw it in the way she tried. The way she forced herself to be soft, forced herself to hold Maya just right, forced herself to soothe her, talk to her, to touch her like it was second nature instead of something she had to teach herself from scratch. It was in the way she hesitated when Maya reached for her like she wasn’t sure she deserved to be needed. It was in the way she lingered outside the nursery door some nights, just standing there, like she was working up the nerve to go inside.

It wasn’t easy for her. But she tried. Joel marvelled at that, her patience despite whatever tormented her. And yeah, progress was slow, but it was there.

Joel’s boots scuffed against the freshly washed mat at the foot of the stairs—he’d done that himself, thanks for fuckin’ noticing—as he made his way to the kitchen. Leela was crouched in front of the oven, arms wrapped around her shins, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Somethin’ wrong, or you just real interested in watchin’ bread bake?”

He barely had time to brace himself before the scent hit him—sweet and sugary, with a crispness that wasn’t quite like bread or cake, something lighter, airier.

Leela still didn’t look up. Whatever was in that oven had its hooks in her.

Joel pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, bending just enough to peer in. White. Puffy. Looked like a cloud. “The fuck is that?”

“Pavlova.” Her voice was muffled against her knees.

He squinted at it. “Uh-huh. The fuck is that?”

She exhaled, shifting just enough to glance at him. “For Eton mess.”

Joel lifted a brow. “You just sayin’ words at me now, smartass?”

She huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something in her posture—the way she kept her nose tucked between her knees, fingers lightly gripping her calves. She was nervous.

“It’s meringue,” she admitted lowly, like she didn’t want to say it too loud in case that made it collapse in the oven. “It’s delicate. Needs to set just right.”

Joel straightened, rubbing at his jaw. “So it’s just sugar?”

Her mouth twitched the closest thing to a smile she could manage while preoccupied. “And egg whites.”

“Ah, so fancy sugar.”

“Trust me, you'll love it.”

He snorted, ready to argue—but then Maya leaned in against his chest, watching them with big, curious eyes, her tiny hands reaching for the oven knobs. She was getting handsier every day.

Leela finally turned, and for the first time, she really saw Maya, and took her in—the tiny white dress, the soft embroidery, the way her dark eyes blinked down at her with nothing but unfiltered, open-mouthed joy. No fear. No hesitation. Just love for her mama, plain and easy.

And just like that, Leela’s whole face softened. Melted, almost.

“Oh, Maya,” she breathed, reaching for her. “You look so pretty. Aw, my sweetheart.”

She scooped the baby out of his arms without a second thought, cradling her close, and tucking her against her shoulder. Her fingers ran through the fine baby hair at the nape of Maya’s neck, gentle, reverent, like she was trying to memorize her.

Then, before Joel even knew what was happening, she leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Maya’s forehead.

Not him. Oh, never him. But he felt it anyway. It relaxed in his chest, warm and unwanted, curling into the space he’d been trying real damn hard to keep empty. Like a ghost of something he wasn’t allowed to want.

He forced himself to look away, exhaling through his nose, adjusting his stance like that might shake the feeling off. It didn’t. Because the truth was—he’d thought about it. Too much. Too often.

The way she tilted her chin when she looked at him, how her mouth softened when she spoke to Maya, the bare curve of her throat when she laughed—all of it had lodged itself in his head, taken up space like it belonged there. And the worst of it?

He’d imagined it. His own mouth against hers. Slow and deep, catching the breath between her words, pulling that softness into him, feeling the curve of her spine, the softness of her hair twisted into his fingers.

And it was fucking ridiculous. But it didn’t stop him from thinking about it. Didn’t stop the way his gaze snagged on the spot where her lips had just been, where his had been too—because yeah, he’d kissed that exact place on Maya’s cheek before. More than once.

That was different, though. Right? Had to be.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless, needing something to do. He settled on the island, finally taking in what was right in front of him.

And, Jesus. Five trays. At least.

Stacked and spread out across the counter, gleaming under the low kitchen lights. There was no rhyme or reason to it—roast lamb chops, some kind of stewed eggplant, rice flecked with peanuts and saffron, a whole mess of things he didn’t recognize.

Still, she was gonna lose her goddamn mind. Not because Leela had transcended her at her own game—but because she’d cooked her own birthday dinner. Like she didn’t know how to sit still, even for that, or that she couldn’t let people do for her the way she did for them.

Joel shook his head, dragging a hand down his beard. One of those things. Something about Leela that made sense and didn’t, all at once.

“I’m going to go get dressed before Maria gets here,” she said, finally pulling his attention back to her.

Then, casually, like it was nothing, like it didn’t send something tight curling in his gut, she added, “I laid something out for you, too. If you'd like to wear something nice.”

And then she was gone, disappearing down the foyer, leaving Joel standing there, staring after her like an idiot. Like a man in deeper than he had any right to be.

Joel had thought long and hard about what to get Leela for her thirtieth, and it had damn near driven him mad.

He wasn’t good at gifts. He wasn’t good at a lot of things, really—at knowing what people wanted, at knowing how to give without feeling like he was handing over pieces of himself. It felt impossible.

What the hell do you give someone who already has everything—even in the goddamn apocalypse?

Leela didn’t need anything. She had a home, one of the nicer, better-built ones, passed down to her like an heirloom. She had clothes, ones she patched up herself, sewn with delicate little stitches. She had music, kept safe on a high shelf, and books stacked in neat piles by the fireplace. She had cars, she had diamonds just sitting up there in a closet, and she even had her own plants thriving.

She had all that and more. So, yeah. He’d considered it all. Clothes. Music. Books. Lights. Pictures. A cat, even. Something that meant something. Significant.

And then, out on patrol, he’d found it.

A cherry tree. Growing wild, untamed, tucked between dense brush and the gnarled twist of maple roots. Dark fruit hanging low, the weight of them bending the branches, like they were waiting for him.

At first, he’d strolled right past it. Just a tree. Just cherries.

And then he’d stopped, brows furrowed. He’d remembered the way she wove them into her life. The careful little cherry embroideries, the tiny red-painted symbols on her sugar and salt tubs, the delicate pattern etched everywhere.

She loved them. Enough to keep them close. Enough to mark them as hers. And so, like a damn fool, he’d kneeled and plucked them.

In a few hours, he'd picked the whole thicket clean. He’d stuffed them into his jacket pockets, let them fill the space in his backpack, red staining the fabric, fingers sticky and sweet with their juice.

It had felt right at the time. He'd felt so proud of himself. She was going to love the shit out of this.

Now, standing by the front door, having Tommy and Maria say that they'd managed to acquire a goddamn Polaroid camera for her—yellowed with age, probably out of photo paper but still lasting—Joel felt like a massive fucking idiot.

At least their gift had value. At least it wasn’t perishable. But, she already has a digital camera, his conscience reasoned with him. Sure, but especially to her, it was the thought that counted. She wouldn't be out here, letting Joel borrow cashmere sweaters and luxury denim on the fly.

And then Ellie had showed off her gift—another layer of shit over his confidence—a handmade journal, stitched together with patience and effort, thick pages bound in soft, timeworn leather. Thoughtful. Meaningful. Her best friend, Dina, definitely had a hand in this. Ellie didn't have the patience to craft something this considerate.

And Joel was the one to talk—well, Joel had a box of cherries. Fucking cherries. Cherries he’d spent hours picking, his fingers raw, his back aching for two days straight. Cherries he’d plucked in pairs, stems still intact, trying to mimic the little embroidered ones she stitched into her life. He’d thought he was being thoughtful. Now, how the fuck was he supposed to compete with journals and cameras?

So he did what any man with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

He pretended they didn’t exist. Let them sit out on the little porch shelf where he’d left them, where he figured he’d grab them when the time was right. Except now, the time wasn’t right. Never will be. And he’d just let them sit there forever, let the cold creep into them, let them wrinkle and rot and become another thing he never got around to.

Better to just let everyone think he was a callous, inconsiderate bastard than actually admit he’d put his heart into something. Easier that way.

As Maria and Ellie jogged upstairs, loud and chattering, off to greet the birthday girl and Maya, Joel made his way into the kitchen—only to get cornered by Tommy’s knowing look. That damn eyebrow, he got that from their dad.

Joel ignored him. Busied himself with laying foil over that one lonely tray, the rhythm of his hands methodical, grounding. It wasn’t until Tommy leaned against the counter, arms folded, voice low and amused, that he finally spoke.

“I knew you hated sappy shit, big brother, but this is a new low.”

Joel exhaled slowly, flattening the foil more aggressively than necessary. “Not now, Tommy.”

“Not now,” Tommy mimicked in a baritone, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You couldn’t even get her somethin’ small? The girl was ready to let you move in, for cryin' out loud.”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Hell, Maya, at least?”

That one stung. He didn’t know why. And somehow, the thought of that bothered him more than the idea of disappointing Leela. Maybe because he could take being an asshole to her. Could brush it off, let her think he was callous, numb. That was easy, safe.

But Maya? She was just a baby. His little girl. This tiny thing with nothing in the world except her mother, who carried all the pain and all the worry, while Joel sat on his hands and pretended like he wasn’t thinking about them more than he should.

He pressed down on the foil harder, smoothing out creases that weren’t there. He could feel Tommy watching him, expectant, waiting.

“Right,” Tommy sighed, knowing what to expect. “I’m gonna go drain the lizard.”

He scowled, finally looking up. “That's some real dignified talk. Better tone it down at dinner.”

His brother just grinned with a playful salute, disappearing down the hall.

Joel stomped his way into the dining room, fists stuffed into his pockets. Not because he knew what the hell he was even looking for, but because he had to move. The ache in his chest was getting to be too much, and if he sat with it any longer, he might actually have to acknowledge it.

Leela had transformed the shit out of this dining room, and Joel took it all in. Candles flickered across the table, their golden light pooling over the wood, catching on the edges of intricate ceramic plates, and warming the dark corners of the room. The food that Leela had slaved away to make was spread out, lavish, rich, the kind of meal that had no business existing in a world that had already ended. As if this little town, this home, was untouched by the decay beyond its walls.

The blackened, humungous yard outside those slightly gaumed French windows—he ought to get around to that this week—was paved with a clean sheet of snow, and it was clear what lay under it. A manifold garden of some sort, from the cursive-letter markers sticking out from the ice. And a pond, maybe.

It was all so soft. Painstaking. Conscious. Like everything Leela touched.

A sudden thrum of light, breathless, girlish laughter echoed from upstairs, Ellie's the most rambunctious of the lot, obviously having fun with that new camera.

“Maya, smile...” Then later, “Ha-ha, she's got no fuckin' teeth!”

It flushed a small smile of his own at the sound. He hadn’t heard that kind of laughter in years. Not since Sarah. Not since the days when she and her friends had holed up in her room, voices tumbling through the walls, their shrill giggles slipping into his evenings, melding with his exhaustion, belonging there, like a part of his house itself.

Back then, he’d barely noticed it. In fact, he'd wanted them to shut the hell up so he could focus on paperwork. He’d never thought to savour it. And now? Now it pressed against the deepest crevices in him, brittle and aching, something he couldn’t touch without it breaking apart in his hands. It still hurt like hell.

And then, as dinner time neared, the big room filled out—oh, Joel hadn't meant to look. Hadn’t meant to let his eyes linger that way. Fuck, he forgot how Leela was going to be tonight.

No. He dragged his eyes from her, yet the image remained seared into his head.

But there she was, standing at the far end of the room, completely different and exactly the same.

That velvet dress—Jesus Christ, he needed air.

He’d known it’d be trouble the second he saw it. It fit too well, soft in places he shouldn’t be noticing, snug over her hips, floating around her legs bare, smooth, unfairly right there. Her usual braid was pulled back tight, but a few strands had already come loose, slipping against her cheek, catching at her collarbone, and softening her face. A thin strand of pearls nestled at her neck—simple, understated. Like she was one of those lunching ladies in country clubs, lugging their crocodile leather bags, and clutching their pearls. Fucking adorable now that it registered, she was probably dressed like what she'd seen her mother wear back then.

And in another life, a girl like her would’ve walked right past a man like him. Would’ve mistaken him for a valet. Would’ve never even looked at him. He should be thanking his stars that the world went to shit and brought him her.

Joel clenched his jaw, forced his gaze away, and focused on the room instead. Maya, the real star of the show, was being passed off between the rest like a pack of smokes, her little chubby arms reaching, everyone cooing, fussing over her pretty, new dress.

Everywhere except. Leela...

She had drifted toward the bar cart at the edge of the room, breaking out the good stuff. He glimpsed the label—vintage Pinot Noir, knotty French scramble and expensive as hell. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that somehow, without even thinking, he’d ended up standing beside her.

And when she looked up—she smiled at him. Small, a little shy, the kind of smile that said she was nervous for no reason at all.

“Hi, Joel.” Her hand smoothed down her stomach as if flattening that cute little belly bulge, fixing something that didn’t need fixing. “Do I look okay?” she murmured, hesitant. “Is it too much? It is, isn't it?”

Too much? For him, fuck yes. Fine? Fine wasn’t even in the same goddamn ballpark.

So, he opened his mouth. Closed it. Nothing.

“No.” A beat. “You…”

Nothing again. He was drawing a blank. The words dried up before they even had the chance to form, like dust in his mouth.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be poetic about it, but there was nothing in his head that felt close to good enough. No simple word, no half-mumbled compliment that could measure up to her tonight.

Leela stood in front of him, shifting slightly, looking down, constantly pressing her palm over her stomach like she was suddenly self-conscious. She was always incredible. She always knew her way around things. That wasn’t news.

But tonight, she just...—his jaw tightened. He wasn’t even gonna let himself finish that thought. His throat worked as he opened his mouth again, ready to force something out, anything—

“God, this smells fucking delicious!” Ellie’s voice tore through the moment, shattering it.

Leela startled slightly, before blinking, exhaling a soft laugh, and looking away. And just like that, the moment was gone.

The next thing he knew, everyone had settled in, chairs scraping against the wood, good wine flowing, voices overlapping, the liquor kicking in, laughter beginning. The candlelight flickered against the dishes, the soft golden glow catching on deep greens, bright reds, and the spread of food that looked like something out of a damn painting.

Joel wasn’t even sure where to start, but Ellie had no such problem. She was going to town, her plate stacked high, fork stabbing into rice and lamb and eggplant, making a goddamn mess of herself.

Maya sat in her lap, eyes wide, fists curled into her mouth, watching every movement with a sort of blank curiosity, like she was studying some unknown species.

Joel almost smirked. Baby girl had better instincts than most.

Meanwhile, Maria was not having it. She sat back in her chair, arms folded, watching Leela with something sharp in her gaze.

“Why would you cook your own birthday dinner? I told you to let me handle it.”

Leela shrugged, reaching for Joel’s plate once more. He barely had time to grab his plate back before she was scooping more roast potatoes onto it. Christ. At this rate, she was gonna have him fattened up like a prize hog by the end of the night.

“I had to say thanks to all of you somehow,” Leela murmured, matter-of-fact like it truly was that simple. Like, it wasn’t the most Leela thing in the world. “For everything you did for Maya and me. Thank you.”

Maria sighed, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Tommy beat her to it.

“Honey, there’s no thanks between family. You just take it and be happy about it.” His laugh was muffled by a sip of his wine.

Leela, in the middle of reaching for another serving spoon, paused. And Joel saw it—the way she responded. It was subtle. Not a gasp, not anything dramatic, but something small. The way her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should smile like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. He let his own smile grace his face as he did.

Before he could think on it too much, he caught movement from the corner of his eye—Leela, still standing, still serving, still doing everything but eating.

Joel set down his glass with purpose.

“Sit down.” His voice was low, and firm, leaving no room for argument as he grabbed the spoon from her hand and dropped it onto a tray. “Eat. They're grown-ups, they can serve themselves.”

Leela sighed and sat. Finally. “Okay.”

Joel didn’t give her much choice, pressing the chair in behind her knees, setting her plate in front of her like it was law. He caught the flicker of hesitation, the way she lingered as if she had something else to do, something else to fix. But there was nothing left. The food was hot, everyone was fed, and she was out of excuses.

He scooped a little of everything onto her plate, careful not to overdo it, careful to leave out the eggplant. He didn’t know when he’d learned that about her, just that he had. And she didn’t object, just picked at what landed in front of her, moving the food around with her fork. She didn’t eat right away, not really.

Maria, Tommy, Ellie, and Joel had a rhythm. They talked over each other, ribbed each other, passed stories back and forth like well-worn cards, easy and unthinking. They'd raised a toast to the birthday girl, Maya's new dress, this astonishing dinner, Joel smiling for once—it felt… safe. Loud, but not in a way that grated. Just lived-in.

He wasn’t sure what she thought of all this. Maybe it was too much, too loud, too different from what she was used to.

Especially when Tommy, halfway through a sip of whiskey, nearly choked and gawked at her. "Wait, wait—back up. You didn't know turnin’ thirty was a big deal?"

Leela blinked, clearly lost. "Why would it be? It’s just… a number."

Tommy clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. "Oh, Jesus. Joel, tell her. Tell her what happens when you turn thirty."

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at her, smirking. "Your knees start makin’ noises you ain’t never heard before. The hangovers last three to five business days. And suddenly—" he jabbed a finger at Tommy, "—this clown starts talkin’ about cholesterol like it’s the Grim Reaper."

Tommy pointed back at him, indignant. "It is the Grim Reaper! You think I like checkin’ my blood pressure for fun?"

Leela stared between them, unimpressed. "So, you’re telling me turning thirty means getting old and miserable?"

Joel shrugged. "Pretty much."

Tommy raised his glass. "Welcome to the club, darlin’. It’s all downhill from here."

Leela huffed a small laugh, shaking her head, but Joel could feel her eyes on him. Not in an obvious way—Leela wasn’t like that. But he could tell. The way she always tucked herself into the background, listening instead of talking, watching instead of stepping in.

Like she was still trying to figure out how all of this worked. How they worked. And Ellie, for one, was having the time of her life.

She jabbed a finger at Joel, like she was about to make some grand accusation. "I swear, it’s like clockwork! Dude’s got, like, five phrases in rotation. Seriously, he's some old Western cowboy stuck in a fucking time loop. It’s insane."

Joel exhaled sharply, already tired. “The hell are you talkin’ about, girl?”

Maria smirked, leaning in like she knew exactly where this was going. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

“That one didn't count. You ready? Okay, let's go.” Ellie straightened in her chair, cleared her throat dramatically, and then—“‘Ain’t my first rodeo.’”

Tommy barked a laugh. Maria made a face that said, damn, that was actually a good one. Joel just shook his head, but he didn’t argue.

Ellie pushed on with that wicked smirk. “‘Coulda told you that one.’”

That got Maria and Tommy good, they were already in fits. Joel sighed, reaching for his glass. Meanwhile, Leela pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“See? See?” Ellie counted on her fingers, riding the high. “‘You ain't gonna like the answer.’ Huh, Tommy?”

Tommy wiped at his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Shit.”

Joel took a drink, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table. That one was sadly dead on.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head, but Tommy only leaned forward, grinning wide. “Oh, oh, what about ‘Never said I was a good man’?”

Ellie, inspired, went for the kill. “Right, yes! And my personal favourite, ‘Shit’s fucked,’ obviously.”

That one did it.

Maria actually turned away, full-on wheezing hard. Tommy clapped a hand on the table, throwing his head back to roar out a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, reaching for his whiskey. “Table’s turned against me.”

He flicked his gaze to Leela, watching her reaction—like maybe if she thought it was funny, it would be worth the humiliation.

She met his eyes over the rim of her glass, her expression unreadable for a beat, then—slowly, her lips curved. She took a sip of her water like she was trying to hide it, but he caught the way her eyes softened, the way she tucked her chin slightly, almost sheepish.

Leela finally spoke, her voice a soft, amused murmur. “I think they just know you too well, Joel. It's nice.”

Joel paused mid-sip, watching her as she turned back to her plate, finally taking a bite.

It was a simple thing, but the words sat with him. It wasn’t just that they were teasing him. It was the fact that she was here, part of it, taking it in, letting herself be in this moment. He realized then—that Leela had spent so much time holding herself apart, hovering at the edges of things, always wary. Not tonight.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head like he wasn’t entertained, even though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Whole lotta talk for a bunch of ingrates,” he muttered. “Maybe I oughta keep my words to myself. See how y’all fare without my wisdom.”

“Your wisdom? Are you fucking kidding?” Maria scoffed, still wiping at her eyes. “Joel, the day we take life advice from you—”

“Will be the day the world actually ends,” Tommy finished, reaching for his drink. “Again.”

Ellie snorted, still looking way too pleased with herself. “Go on, old man. Say something profound.”

Joel didn’t dignify that with an answer, just took another sip of whiskey, glancing at Maya on Ellie's lap. That same warmth ravaged him for a moment.

But when he looked to his side again, his eyes found Leela. She wasn’t laughing like the rest of them—not outright. No sharp, teasing glances, no knee-slapping or head-shaking.

Just that same small, quiet smile, the kind that broke his fucking heart in two.

He wasn’t sure how long they looked at each other, just that he noticed how the candlelight softened her features, how her fingers smoothed over the rim of her glass absentmindedly, how her braid had loosened slightly throughout the night, one long stray wisp of hair curling by her shoulder. God, she took his breath away.

And then he noticed the table. Maria. Tommy. Even Ellie. Side-eying and smirking like damn fools.

Joel scowled, bracing himself. “What now?”

“Not a damn thing,” Tommy said, though the way he fought back a grin suggested otherwise.

Ellie waggled her brows. “Oh, no, you just—look really wise right now.”

Joel fought the urge to groan, letting his head tip back slightly. “No, really. Thank you.”

Leela shifted, clearing her throat, poking at her plate like she wanted to disappear into it.

Tommy looked like he had more to say, something locked and loaded, but before he could get it out, across the table, Maya started to fuss, her hands curling and uncurling toward the plates on the table, making that small, needy noise. Baby girl was the centre of attention, as always. She had a way of pulling eyes to her without even trying like the whole world naturally revolved around her.

But the moment Maria chimed in, her voice carrying easily over the table—“Maya, honey”—that was when it happened.

Her eyes snapped up, searching the table with a determination far too strong for someone so small. Her fingers flexed, hands opening and closing in that telltale way, reaching, waiting—and then Maria tried something else, something that shouldn’t have stood out, except—

“You wanna say hi to Joel?”

The second it left her mouth, Maya’s little head swivelled, locking onto him with that same urgency, that same expectation. Maya made a soft, almost questioning noise, like she was waiting for something, her arm stretching further, fingers still curling and uncurling.

He didn’t even think about it. Didn’t think about how much she knew him now. How his name meant something to her, how she was already learning that when she reached, he would be there.

“Ugh. But I just got you,” Ellie clucked her tongue, bouncing Maya slightly. “Can’t believe this, you're straight-up ditching me for a fogey. Breaking my heart, kid.”

“Guess she's just sick of you, kid,” Joel teased.

“Shut up.”

Maya squirmed, unsatisfied, her arm stretching further. Then came that stubborn cry, the kind Joel had long since learned to recognize—the warning before real tears, before she got herself all worked up.

And, well, he had tried to resist it before. Tried to tell himself to let her be, that she needed to settle on her own, that he wasn’t supposed to get her used to always having him right there. Didn’t matter one fucking bit. The minute those eyes got glassy, he was already reaching across the table.

"C'mere, baby girl," he muttered, hands steady as he lifted her from Ellie’s grasp. “There you go. Hi.”

She melted against him instantly, her warm little body pressing into his chest, a fist curling into the fabric of his shirt. He barely had time to adjust before she shoved both hands into her mouth, hiding that big, gummy grin like she was suddenly shy.

He chucked her chin. "Happy now?"

Maya let out a tiny giggle, then dropped her head forward against his shoulder, burrowing in, pressing her face into his collar like she wanted to disappear inside him.

"Yeah, that tracks," Ellie said, smirking. "Guess she just likes dinosaurs."

Joel only fed the fire. "I think it's my rugged good looks."

That drew out a few annoyed groans around him.

Ellie snickered. "Not that she’s got much to compare to, though.”

It was a silly joke. A throwaway line. She didn't know any better.

But Joel felt it shift the air at the table, quiet but undeniable, like the slow pull of a storm rolling in.

Leela’s grip on her fork tightened, her knuckles paling around the metal. It was barely a reaction. Just the barest pause. A slow blink, calculated and measured, like she was pushing something down, pressing it deep, locking it behind her ribs before it could surface.

But Joel caught it. He wasn’t sure what it was—not exactly. He only knew the way it felt. The way a sharp sense of awareness dug into the back of his skull, the way his chest clenched, like something inside him had just brushed against a wound he hadn’t known was there.

Maria noticed, too. She shot Ellie a look. Just a quick, subtle thing, but full of meaning.

Ellie’s chewing slowed, the realization dawning. "Shit. Sorry," she muttered, suddenly fascinated with her plate. “I'm so sorry, Leela. I wasn’t trying to—”

Leela’s voice was too even, barely managing the dismissive smile. “It’s alright, Ellie. It's nothing.”

It wasn’t. She was practically forcing this lie out of her mouth.

She pushed her chair back. “I’ll go... um, be right back.”

Joel caught the way she moved—not hurried, not frantic, just a little too controlled, like she was forcing herself not to make it obvious that she needed to get out of there.

He should’ve stood. Should’ve gone after her, said something, done something.

Maria was already moving. “Let me check on her,” she said softly, chair scraping against the floor as she followed Leela through the kitchen doors.

Joel exhaled, slow through his nose.

The warmth of the meal, the easy hum of conversation—it all dissipated like heat off an open plate, leaving only the scrape of utensils, the occasional clink of glass. The space Leela left behind stretched thin, like a too-wide gap in a picket fence.

Ellie exhaled, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I really wasn’t trying to… god, I have such a big fucking—”

Joel adjusted Maya in his arms who was busy combing fleece off the expensive cashmere on his chest. “Ain’t your fault, kid. 'S’all right. Just a touchy subject.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just kept his eyes on the rim of his whiskey glass, watching the candlelight slice through the amber liquid.

Because it was the truth. It wasn’t Ellie’s fault. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wishing he could take back that moment, wipe it clean. Like smudging out a scuff on a wood floor—pretending it had never been there at all.

Ellie nodded, but her fork just scraped uselessly at the plate, pushing food around in slow, absent-minded circles. She curled in on herself, shoulders drawn tight.

Tommy cleared his throat, voice pushing for something lighter. “Think it’s time we brought out dessert, huh? Said it was some trifle or somethin’.”

The words hovered, waiting for someone to catch onto them, and keep the momentum going. But no one did.

Joel didn’t answer either. He just tipped his whiskey back, letting the burn roll slow down his throat.

“Ah, what the hell,” Tommy muttered, scratching at his jaw.

Joel barely registered it. His mind wasn’t here. It was behind that door, past the threshold of the kitchen, where Maria had gone.

He should’ve been the one to follow. But Maria knew better. Knew when to step in, when to let someone walk away without pressing.

And Joel—Joel just sat there, gripping his glass too tight, holding Maya closer, listening to the faint rattle of silverware, the flicker of candlelight, the distant creak of the floorboards in the kitchen.

The moment had died out. They just hadn’t called it yet.

Maya's nursery looked different now.

It used to be dim and quiet, a place half-lived in, half-abandoned—just a room with a crib shoved into it, like it didn’t belong there. Like she didn’t belong there.

Now, it felt like a home. A place meant for a child to grow. Soft, muted green stretched across the walls, warm in the glow of the low bedside lamp. Shelves lined with neatly folded onesies and tiny socks, stuffed animals tucked into corners like silent sentries. The window bench had been cleared of dust and laid out with a fresh quilt, facing the snowy street below—facing his house.

Joel rocked on his heels, shifting Maya higher in his arms as the low murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs. Goodbyes being said. Chairs scraping back. The door cracking open to the cool night air.

He should go. He knew that.

But hell, it was barely ten. He never left before Leela fell asleep—not until he was sure she was actually going to sleep. And that wasn’t for another couple of hours, at least.

Not that he was leaving anytime soon. Not unless he figured out a way to pry this little troublemaker off him.

Maya wasn’t having it.

He’d tried everything—rocking, pacing, humming low in his throat—but she refused to close those pretty eyes, just kept watching him, Her fingers patted at his chest, curling into his shirt. Then she'd reach up, clumsy and determined, fingers smushing against his nose, his cheek, his scruff.

Joel exhaled, shifting her slightly in his arms. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Maya blinked up at him, all big, dark eyes and stubborn little fists. He knew how much she loved conversing with him, even if it seemed deranged to talk to a fucking infant.

"You gonna let me put you down, or you plannin’ to keep me hostage all night?"

Maya made a breathy 'o' up at him, mouth parting in a wide, drooly grin. Like that would get her off the hook.

Joel snorted. "Yeah, that so?"

Another coo, this one higher-pitched, like she had a whole argument ready.

He shook his head, tired but amused. "Mhm. I'm convinced."

Joel sighed, lifting her up so they were at eye level, holding her by the armpits. Her legs kicked in the air, her chubby fists went straight to her mouth, and she tilted her head back, distracted by the warm glow of the nursery lights.

Too big. She was growing too damn fast.

He felt it in the way she relaxed against him now, her body stretching longer, heavier. Felt it in the way her head fit differently in the crook of his neck, in the way her fingers, once barely able to grasp his thumb, now had a grip strong enough to tug at his shirt.

It was frustrating. Fucking unfair. She'd only been in the world for a few weeks, and just when she was starting to fit perfectly in his arms, she was already growing out of them.

Joel swallowed thickly, staring at the soft roundness of her cheeks, the dark lashes fluttering against her skin. His fingers traced the slope of her back, feeling the tiny, steady rise and fall of her breath. How can you miss something that was not yet lost?

A lump pressed against his throat.

“You know I love you so goddamn much, right?”

It wasn’t much more than a whisper. A thought barely forced out past his lips. And yet—it felt so final. How long until he heard it back from her? Another year? Two years? Would he still be around when she said it to him?

Joel clenched his jaw, sighing. Hard as hell, saying it out loud. Felt damn near impossible, like something fragile, like something that wasn’t his to admit. Like if he said it too much, too often, he might have to face what it really meant. That he’d already taken responsibility for her, or if anything were to happen to her—

Maya let out a breathy giggle, legs kicking, fingers smacking against his cheek.

Joel blinked, barely catching himself before he smiled.

When he pulled her closer, she wriggled against him, pressing her small, warm face to his, her tiny palms patting at his chin, his nose, his temple. Soft puffs of air landed against his skin, clumsy, open-mouthed, like her own sloppy, little version of a kiss.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. This was really all he needed in whatever was left of his life. It seemed too easy to make it enough.

“Fine, you win this time,” he muttered, voice rough, thick.

Maya gurgled against his cheek, cooing, like she understood his plight.

He descended the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Maya too much, hoping the rhythm might finally lull her to sleep. Her head lolled against his shoulder, tiny fingers curled into his collar again, but she was still awake, just blinking wide-eyed at the world.

Joel paused at the landing when he caught voices near the door—Ellie and Leela, still lingering. A strange sight, to be honest.

“Look, I really messed up back there and—” Ellie started, arms tight around herself, like she was bracing for impact.

Leela didn’t let her finish. Instead, she pressed something into Ellie’s palm—a tightly rolled set of charts. “Joel told me you love astronomy,” she said simply. “These belonged to my mother once. She was like you, too.” A beat. “They should go to someone who’ll actually use them.”

Joel shifted against the railing, watching as Ellie unrolled the top just enough to glimpse the faded celestial maps inside—one for each month, constellations inked in delicate, ghostly lines.

Her breath hitched. “Holy shit.”

Leela blinked. “Is that a good 'holy shit' or—”

Ellie nearly lunged forward—almost, but not quite. She caught herself, scratching the back of her head instead, a grin breaking through like she couldn’t hold it back. “Best fucking holy shit. Thank you.”

For a moment, she just held the maps, careful, reverent, like something fragile. Then she exhaled, shaking her head with a laugh—the kid really couldn’t believe her luck. “This is so sick. I’m gonna—I don’t even know, but it’s gonna be fucking awesome.” She clutched the charts to her chest, voice lighter than it had been all night. “Thanks, Leela. Really.”

Leela gave a slow nod, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the gratitude. She hesitated, then tested out a cautious, “Um. Have... fun.”

Ellie barely caught any of that. She whooped into the night as she left, the charts still hugged close. Oh, Joel was definitely not going to hear the end of this for at least a month.

Leela lingered in the doorway, lips parted, watching Ellie disappear down the street. Then, almost like she didn’t quite believe what had just happened, she slowly shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hands lifted, covering her face, fingers threading through her hair. A breathy laugh escaped her—soft, disbelieving.

Joel caught the tail end of it, the faint curve of her smile before she tucked it away. Small. Quiet. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

And hell, if that didn’t do something to him.

“I take it you enjoyed dinner then,” he said, his voice rough with amusement.

Leela startled slightly and hadn’t realized he was still there. Her eyes flicked first to Maya, softening instinctively before settling on him. The edges of that smile lingered—that wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

She stepped closer, hand brushing over Maya’s back. “Little troublemaker fighting sleep again?”

Maya let out a big, sleepy yawn, eyes drooping but still resisting, gripping the fabric of Joel’s shirt like she could anchor herself awake. Stubborn baby girl.

Joel huffed, shifting his hold on her. “Like she doesn’t even need it.”

Leela hummed, tracing slow, absentminded circles against the baby’s onesie. Joel expected her to say something, but when he glanced up, he found her watching him—something different in her gaze. A glint, teasing but warm, something playful in a way he hadn’t seen before. It softened him in places he wasn’t prepared for.

Then she took a step back, and before he could think too much about it, she reached above the shoe rack, retrieving something small and wooden. A box.

Joel tensed the second he saw it. Goddamnit. Should've buried that thing in the snow.

She bit back a smile, shaking the box near her ear. “So, um… Tommy found this on the porch shelf,” she mused. “Told me you went through a lot of trouble to get it.”

Joel clenched his jaw, exhaling hard through his nose. He knew exactly what Tommy had done—ran his mouth just enough to make sure Joel would have to sit through this whole damn thing.

Leela tipped her head, all exaggerated curiosity. “I wonder what it is.”

“Yeah, real mystery,” Joel muttered, walking past her like he could simply exit this situation.

Instead, he focused on Maya, carefully easing her onto the soft padding of the playmat. The thing was space-themed—little planets and stars dangling overhead, catching the dim glow of the living room. Her tiny fingers curled around a plush moon, legs kicking as she let out a gurgled sound of delight.

Joel let out a quiet breath. This was fine. He could watch her do that. Much easier than watching Leela.

But there was no avoiding it, not really. Not when she was already lowering herself onto the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

He hesitated, looking away. He could’ve bif goodnight, walked out the door, and left her to open the damn thing by herself. He could’ve avoided this whole moment, let it pass, let it go.

With a great, defeated sigh, he sank down beside her, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Leela carefully slid the lid open, and the ruby cherries sat there, dark and glistening, their juices staining every inch of the wood. The smell of them hit the air—ripe, sweet, unmistakable.

She sucked in a breath, quiet but sharp.

Joel pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to explain himself. That it was dumb. That it didn’t mean anything. That it was silly. That he’d done it because—hell, because. Because he wanted to see her smile for him. Because he wanted to leave some sort of a mark on her special day.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Thought you liked ‘em. It's not much, but...” yeah, it was from his heart. And he went on with a gruff, “Happy birthday.”

Leela nodded with a gentle laugh, but she didn’t say anything at first. Just reached in, plucking one between her fingers, rolling it like she wanted to feel every dip and curve of it before finally slipping it past her lips.

Joel tried not to watch too closely. The way her lips curved around the fruit, the divots on that pillow-soft skin stretching, before her tongue darted out to catch the juice. His throat bobbed with a dry swallow. God, he was going to lose it.

“Mm,” she moaned, shaking her head. “This is wonderful, Joel. Thank you.” She held up a sudden finger as if lit up by an idea. “How about a blackforest cake?”

He winked. “Right on, darlin'.”

He reached for one, too, grinning, chewing in sync with her.

Then he caught the way she twirled the stem between her fingers, that amused little gleam returning in her eyes, and he knew exactly what she was about to do. Oh, come on. Right now?

Leela quickly popped the stem into her mouth, brows furrowed in concentration.

Joel smirked despite himself. Fine. They were doing this then.

He followed suit, slipping the stem between his lips, tongue working it in practised motions—an old skill, long-buried, but still easy enough to find. A long time ago, he’d done this a hundred times over, showing off for Sarah, besting Tommy every damn time.

Sure enough, when he held the knotted cherry stem between his teeth, he arched a brow, only slightly smug. “How ‘bout that?”

Leela let out a muffled laugh, sticking her tongue out to reveal hers. Looser, messier, but still knotted. “You’re way better.”

Joel huffed a small, satisfied sound, settling back against the couch. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait for it.”

She cocked her head, intrigued, and he felt it then—her undivided attention settling warm against him. That expectant little gleam in her eye.

Well, hell. No turning back now. He worked his tongue around the stem again, shifting it between his teeth, coaxing it into another trick—one a little tougher, one he hadn’t pulled off in years. One wrong move, and he'd choke.

It took longer, and she was watching him too damn close, like she was trying to map every movement, every small shift in his jaw.

Then, finally, when he held it back out—the knot was gone.

Leela gasped, surprised, hands flying to her mouth. “How?”

Joel smirked, slow and deep, feeling a ridiculous amount of satisfaction at her reaction. He tapped his fingers against his knee. “Sworn to secrecy.” Then, just because he could, he added, “It’s a Miller thing.”

She laughed, warm and unguarded, shaking her head. “So dumb.”

Joel chuckled along with her, feeling ten pounds lighter at that sweet sound.

Leela, still grinning, tossed another cherry into her mouth. And then another. And another. Until her cheeks puffed up like a damn chipmunk, lips barely able to contain the burst of juice dribbling at the corner of her mouth.

Joel snickered at her, shaking his head. “Jesus, girl,” he muttered, reaching out without thinking. His thumb swiped slowly and easily at the corner of her lip, gathering the stray stain. “Slow down. It’s all yours.”

And that should’ve been it. The moment she pushed him away. But.

Leela didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him. Not startled, not uncomfortable, not embarrassed. Just… watching. Chewing. Observing. Curious.

Her lips, still slick with juice, parted the smallest bit, like she might say something, but she didn’t. And neither did he.

But instead of pulling back—God help him—his gaze flickered down, just for a second, tracking the spot where his thumb had been. And before he even fully processed what he was doing, he brought it to his mouth, pressing the tip between his lips, tasting the cherry juice there.

A big fucking mistake.

Because it wasn’t just the cherry. It was her. All Leela and sweetness. He'd imagined moments like this for hours on end in his lonesome.

It was the heat of her skin, the warmth lingering on his fingertip. A trace of something softer beneath the tartness of the fruit. Something that made his breath go tight in his chest.

Leela inhaled, shallow and quiet.

See, Joel should’ve drawn off her. Should’ve laughed it off or said something—anything—to keep this from tipping too far. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

Because for a second, just a second, he allowed himself to imagine it—let himself fucking want it. Joel wasn’t a man who let himself have much. Wasn’t the kind who asked for more than what was given, especially when life loved to take so much away from him. Sarah, his softness, his humanity.

But this? This, he wanted. He wanted it so bad.

Not just in passing, not just in a way he could ignore, but in a way that curled deep in his gut, low and slow. In a way that had him tilting forward before he could stop himself, his breath hitching ever so slightly, just as any man would attempting to her, his hands grounding against his knee like that might steady him, like that might make this less surreal.

Because she was right there. Close enough that he could see the flicker of amber light in her eyes, the crease between her eyes, the way her breath had changed, softened, like she’d been expecting this.

Maybe she had. And maybe that should’ve been enough to make him stop. Because, Jesus Christ, what the hell was he doing? What was he hoping to accomplish? Kiss her? Laugh? Maybe for once not leave this home feeling like a drop-in?

Leela was younger, cleverer, and healing. She was light, and he was nothing but a warm, dark, empty void pressing down on her, on this moment, on the air between them, threatened to swallow any hope of life.

She wasn’t flinching. Wasn’t moving away. But God, she should’ve.

She should've punched him square in the jaw, woken him up from whatever dream he was walking. She should’ve recoiled at the smell of whiskey on his breath, should’ve been weirded out that he’d even dared to lean in, that some old, beat-up man thought he had any goddamn right to touch something as brilliant as her.

Because that’s all he was, wasn’t he? Worthless. Worn down. Hands stained in more blood than he cared to admit. A hardass heart that refused to stop beating.

And she? She wasn’t for him. She was for someone who could meet her in the daylight, who didn’t have to carry every sin, every regret, every ounce of grief in their bones. Someone who hadn’t done the things he’d done.

Yet, something pushed him on. Told him to take that chance.

His breath came rough, unsteady. The space between them felt impossibly small, thinning with every heartbeat, every second, every goddamn pull of the air between them—

Except—just then—

Leela’s shoulders dropped with a slow, measured breath, and instead of leaning in, closing the last bit of space, she leaned away.

Her voice was a sigh, not scolding, not sharp. Just beaten. “Joel.”

It settled somewhere in his ribs, dull and heavy. The truth of it. That this had been a mistake. That she was kind enough, maybe even foolish enough, to let him down gently.

He didn’t pull back fast—he had a little more dignity than that. But he did pull back, gritting his jaw, clearing his throat, nodding once like that had been nothing, like he hadn’t just let himself be stupid, let himself slip into the foolish idea that he could have this, even for a second.

Because he wasn’t that man. He never had been.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle. Joel could hear the soft tick of the clock in the next room, and the low hum of the wind against the windowpane, Maya's soft, sleepy puffs from the playmat. He could hear his own breathing, slower now, measured, because he had to make it so.

Leela stared down at her lap, at the way her hands twisted against each other. Her shoulders had drawn in, tightening like she was trying to make herself smaller, and he hated that—hated that he’d put that look on her face, that he’d made her feel like this.

He tried to work his voice, to apologize, tell her that he'd leave and never look her way again. Nothing came out. Because, ultimately, in doing so, he knew he stood to lose Maya, too. And he just couldn't let that happen.

But, when she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t sharp or angry. It was just… hollow. Blank. Terrifying.

“I’m rotting inside, Joel.” Her fingers curled, nails pressing into her palm. “I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Joel frowned, something uneasy stirring in his chest. He waited, but she didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at her hands like they held something, some mark or stain, only she could see.

“It’s a good thing Maya needs you more. I'm glad she has you.” She let out a small, breathless laugh—except it wasn’t really a laugh at all. “She's better off with you than me. You're good for her.”

A fit of unexpected anger rose in him—not at her, never at her. He wanted to tell he she was wrong. That Maya was hers. That no matter what she thought, no matter how deep she believed the 'rot' had gone, she wasn’t something Maya needed to be protected from.

“Any longer, and I’ll sicken her with me. She’s so small and pure… the softest part of me. And I can’t bear to even touch her. To feed her. To just be with her. I'm so afraid...” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and then, quieter: “I think I might really kill her, Joel.”

Joel froze.

The words hit him like a stab to the abdomen, like a goddamn gunshot, something he wasn’t ready for but should’ve seen coming. He’d heard her say those words before, hadn’t he?

That night—Maya’s first bout of colic. He’d rushed up to her nursery, rubbing at her back, murmuring low nothings just to calm her down. The screaming had gone on for hours, splitting apart the thin walls, rattling through the house like something relentless and starving. When he'd hatefully asked her to pull herself together, blamed her for knowing nothing.

And Leela had been standing at the threshold, watching. Her hands limp at her sides. Hollowed out. She had whispered it then, too. I think I might kill her.

And back then, he had thought it was the average… exhaustion. Fear. That helpless kind of inadequacy that came with first-time mothers.

But that wasn’t it at all, was it?

No, this wasn’t about being unsure.

This was agony. That bitter edge, that raw, bleeding thing inside her. That feeling of being left to die in her own body. And she was still living in it, with that numbness within.

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse beating thick in his ears. “Leela,” he managed, rough and uneven. It was the first time he had ever said her name out loud, and it landed heavier than he knew how to carry.

She sniffled, fingers curling tighter into her palms.

“I disgust me,” she whispered. “I stain everything, I know this. I’d never forgive myself if I did it to you.”

He exhaled, slow and steady, because if he didn’t keep himself calm, if he didn’t keep himself grounded in this moment, he didn’t know what he’d do. What he’d say. He didn't trust his instincts anymore.

And Leela was still looking down, fingers twitching in her lap, like she could feel something crawling under her skin. If she dug her nails in deep enough, if she pressed hard enough, maybe she could carve out whatever filth she thought was still inside her.

Joel knew that feeling. The itch of it. The glare from his mind's eye.

He’d stood in front of a mirror after things he could never undo, scrubbing his hands raw, watching the way the clear blood seemed to seep deeper between his nailbed and fingertips, no matter how much water ran down the drain. But no, this wasn’t the same. Not even remotely.

Joel had earned his stains.

Leela had been made to bear hers.

The thought clawed at him, made his ribs feel too tight, his breath too shallow. Because she wasn’t talking in metaphors. Not really. Not the way he might have, not the way he sometimes felt it, an unbearable burden in his gut, an ache in his chest.

She was talking about it like it was real, like it was something rotting inside her body right now. Like it was fouling her up, stinking only to her.

Because it was. Because someone had done that to her.

He clenched his jaw, heat rising behind his ribs. He didn’t know how. Didn’t know when. Didn’t know the details, and Jesus, did he even want to? He'd lose his shit.

A part of him did. A part of him wanted to be the man he used to be, the man who wouldn’t ask questions, who would just take his rifle and hunt down whoever had put this look on her face, this disgust in her voice, this strife in her bones. If that was what she wanted...

He could still kill for her. He absolutely would, without hesitation. If she said it, he'd walk right out that door and make for the front gates. He could wipe those motherfuckers off the face of the earth, make them suffer, bleed, scream, and beg before he pulled the trigger. He'd done it before, to less violent people. Why not now? What were a few more bodies to him? Nothing but newer ghosts.

But really, what would that do for Leela? What would that change?

She had to wake up every morning in the body they left her with, haunted, festering. And worse—she had to live in the mind, unable to outrun the moments between the others, the life they had shattered.

She had to look at Maya every day and wonder if she was capable of being her mother. Wonder if she was capable of loving her, if she was capable of keeping her safe. How could she when couldn't even protect herself?

Joel wanted to tell her that she could. That she already did. But that wasn’t something his words would fix. Especially not his.

So he didn’t say it.

Didn’t say anything for a long time, just watched her, just took in the way her shoulders hunched, the way she trembled like the truth had broken something loose inside her, and now she couldn’t shove it back down.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to touch her, wanted to ground her, but he knew better than to startle her. He was stupid, just not a fucking idiot. He knew the way the past could reach through time, could grab hold of you even when you were safe, even when you were far away from where it happened. And fuck, she was drowning in it, wasn’t she?

Drowning in memories she hadn’t spoken aloud.

He didn’t need to hear them to see them.

Because her eyes—those dark, gripping, hollowed-out eyes—were far away, looking at something else. Someone else.

A room. A face. Hands. A warning. A little help.

The moment he thought it, bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t know, not really. But he could imagine. And it made him fucking sick.

He knew, somehow, that she had spent months alone, trying to live past this, trying to bury it under silence, under time, under the thousand little ways she kept people at arm’s length.

Leela sniffled sharply, yanking herself back to the present, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Just wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her fingers curling inward again like she wanted to disappear into herself. Like she deserved to.

Joel wouldn’t let her.

Carefully—slowly—he reached forward, brushing the tips of his fingers against the back of her hand.

She flinched. A slight tremor. A barely-there shake in her breath. Fuck, it hurt him, too. That some part of her—some deep, instinctual part—still thought she had to brace herself for what might come next.

But she didn’t pull away.

He worked at her fingers, gentle, patient, until she let him unfold her hand from the tight, white-knuckled fist she had made. Her palm was damp, warm from being clenched for too long. There were crescent moon indents where her nails had pressed into her skin.

Without thinking, without hesitating, he laid his own hand over hers. Mangled beyond repair, scarred, spoiled, lost to time.

Leela finally looked up at him. Finally, he let him see her.

Her face was blotchy, her dark eyes rimmed red, lashes wet, and God, she had never looked more exhausted. More fragile. This girl, who could accomplish anything and everything, looked helpless.

And she didn’t believe him. Not a single thing he’d just said. Yeah, she was right not to.

Maybe he was stained. Maybe he was rotting, too. Maybe it was too late for him, too late for a man who had done what he’d done, lost what he’d lost, to be anything else.

But not for her. Never for her.

He brought her fingers to his lips, brushing them softly against her knuckles.

She made a noise—small, unsure and confused. But she didn’t pull away. God, she didn't pull away.

His grip tightened just slightly, cradling her hand in both of his now to brush another kiss, like it was a lifeline, like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to her. He let his forehead rest gently against hers, breathing slow, trying to keep himself from gripping too tight, from pulling too close.

"There's nothin’ left to stain or rot in me," he admitted. "Just a lot of space left for the two of you."

The words landed soft, like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud, like maybe he was trying to convince her that they were true.

And Joel—he knew what that felt like. To be left alone with it. To drown in it. To have no one there to pull you out of it. So he didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. This time, he wasn't heading for the door.

All he did was stay.

Leela sucked in a breath, sharp and shallow, like she was trying to hold herself together, but Joel could already see it—she was already falling.

And he wasn’t about to let her hit the ground alone.

His fingers curled tighter around hers, his other hand coming up to the back of her head, his thumb brushing just barely along her hairline. He felt her shudder beneath his touch, felt the way her breath came uneven, quick and unsure.

Close enough that he could feel every tremor in her body, every sharp, shallow breath she took. But he didn’t shush her. Didn’t tell her to breathe. Didn’t whisper that it would be okay.

Because he wasn’t a goddamn liar.

And because this—this agony, this slow, rotting thing inside her—wasn’t something words could untangle. It wasn’t something she could be reassured out of, something she could be reasoned or comforted or willed away from.

It was in her bones. In her blood. It lived there, like a sickness that had no cure.

So what the hell could he say? What good would empty do?

All he had—all he could offer—was this. His hands around hers. His touch, light, present. The slow press of his forehead against hers, grounding, real, unmoving.

And he held her. Not tightly, not desperately—just enough.

Enough for her to know. Enough for her to feel, just for a second, what it was to be held and not taken.

To be seen and not used.

To be broken and not discarded.

Joel breathed out slowly, before pulling back just enough to see her. Leela didn’t move or speak, just watched him quietly. Hoping for something from him.

His palm lifted to touch her cheek. Not enough to startle, just enough to remind her he was still here. That he would be.

“Alright then, birthday girl,” he murmured. “I’ll put Maya to bed. See you in the morning.”

No reluctance. No more questions. No trying to make sense of whatever had just passed between them.

Because nothing had changed. And that was the point. Whatever had been said, whatever had happened—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Leela didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm gently like she was holding onto the warmth he’d left behind. There was a little curve that rested on the edge of her lips.

Joel didn’t look back as he left the room, didn’t linger in the doorway like he sometimes did. He just walked upstairs to Maya's quiet little corner of the world, enduring, sure, carrying her small weight against his chest.

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, unfurling her fists from his collar. She stirred, a breathy sigh escaping her lips as she calmed into a deeper sleep.

Joel sighed, pressing his hands against the crib’s edge, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring down at her, at the impossible being that she was.

Warm, breathing, real. A perfect thing born from ruin.

Joel swallowed against the knot tightening in his throat. How the hell did something like her come from so much pain? From something that had swallowed her mother whole?

He didn’t know how it had happened. Didn’t know when he had stopped just watching from the outside and stepped into the mess of it. Didn’t know how someone like him—someone as stained, someone as wrecked—had ended up here, standing over something so goddamn perfect.

Nothing mattered because the truth was—he wouldn’t undo it. Wouldn’t take back a single second of this.

His breath ached with that same old, familiar twist as he reached down, brushing his fingers over Maya’s impossibly small hand.

She twitched, her lips parting slightly in sleep, and goddamn it—he felt it everywhere. Joel let a small grin pull at his lips as he curled his fingers around hers, feeling the faintest squeeze in return. Yeah, she was all his.

He sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. Once. Then again. Then a third time, lingering, his lips brushing over her fine, downy hair, drinking in the warmth of her, the scent of her, the sheer, impossible realness of her.

No, nothing had changed.

But somehow, everything had.

{ taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @brklynln -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

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mp3bugs · 4 months ago

Text

Between the Lines

pairing: Viktor x fem!reader

summary: After enrolling at the Academy, you had managed to stumble your way into Viktor's life, and he isn't very keen on letting you go.

wc: 7.5k

a/n: This is my first viktor fic ever... please be nice </3 anw I hope you guys like it. I worked on it for like a week before I deemed it to be good enough for posting.

You were always an achiever. Ever since your parents had taught you how to read you were unstoppable, continuously striving to do more you found interest in a lot of things that the other kids your age never really thought about. It was inevitable that you would eventually become the top student in all of your classes, recognized by your peers and teachers to be one of the most intelligent amongst your age group. It was isolating, the kids around you continued to play while you read books, trying to figure out the meaning behind everything.

You always attempted to excel at whatever was thrown at you and all your hard work only became more worthwhile the older you got. Getting accepted into the prestigious Academy of Piltover was one of your biggest achievements and every moment you spent within those walls felt sacred and special. Everything around you was a result of your hard work. It wasn’t long before you were introduced to the dean of the Academy, professor Heimerdinger, who was quick to offer you various opportunities that would skyrocket your success. Hesitant, you denied the offers, choosing to focus on your studies instead.

It took a few months of persisting from the aged yordle, eventually you warmed up and he jumped the gun, immediately offering you an internship with his current assistant, who just so happened to be a pretty renowned researcher and engineer within the Academy. You couldn’t help but take on the offer after reading the researcher’s scope within the field of science he practiced, it was interesting and promising.

It wasn’t long before you were introduced to the researcher himself. Viktor was his name. He said it with such assurance too, curling around the syllables with a hum and an accent you couldn’t name.

“Viktor.” He held out a hand, the other one was curled around the head of his cane, leaning most of his weight on it. You placed your hand in the empty space he offered. His fingers, thin and calloused, wrapped around yours, engulfing it fully and giving it a firm shake.

He was lanky and quite frail looking but he held himself high with the confidence of knowing he was one of the best the Academy had to offer.

“Your reputation precedes you.” He continued, looking down at you with his chin held up high. “Professor Heimerdinger speaks of you often.”

“I hope it’s only good things.” You replied, heart thrumming in your chest. You felt scrutinized under the older man’s gaze, stripping you apart until you stood bare in front of him. It was a challenge. No one had ever thought anything but good things about you. This was different and you were more than eager to prove to him why everyone thinks the way they do about you.

“Oh, yes. Only good things.”

—------------------------------

It had been a couple of months since then. You had eased into the work environment at the laboratory. It was undoubtedly stressful but you had managed to prove yourself, intelligence and all, time and time again. Working closely with Jayce, Viktor’s research partner, and Viktor himself as his assistant had really set your sights onto the realities of working in science. It wasn’t glamorous, no. In fact it was the complete opposite. There were moments where the three of you had failed to accomplish the simplest of mathematical problems, Viktor had even forgotten his times tables at one point, and Jayce, well, he once somehow forgot the answer to (5+5). Throughout everything, you had developed a close relationship with the two researchers. You felt it was safe to assume that you and Viktor were friends, at the very least. You were really much closer to Jayce, taking into consideration the fact that the larger man was a lot more approachable than the former. The two of you often talked and met up outside of work, finding new things to bond over such as your favorite music, cooking recipes, and somewhat similar personalities.

Though ever since Jayce had taken up an interest in counselor Medarda he had been spending less time in the lab and more time showing his affections elsewhere, leaving you and Viktor to spend hours alone at times without end. Which was fine, maybe a little awkward but that could be easily pushed aside. You had grown used to the fact that Viktor always had his walls up. Guarded and unwilling to let anybody closer than they should be.

Spending more time with Viktor, one on one, had without a doubt helped a lot in cultivating a better work relationship between the two of you, and sure, maybe you found the older man to be extremely attractive to the point where it was becoming difficult to focus on work but that was besides the point. It was nice spending time with Viktor, despite it mostly being through work, however Jayce’s lack of presence at the lab had fostered some annoyance from the lanky brunette, always muttering under his breath about ‘priorities’ and ‘the future’. You always pretended like you didn’t hear it.

As time went on, work only became more difficult. The rose tinted glasses were harshly torn off your face and you were left fumbling around in the dark, but you had Viktor and Jayce by your side, who were more than willing to aid you in this path. Despite your urge to prove yourself there were moments where you truly needed guidance. The harder the days were, the stronger the urge was to overstay at the laboratory, trying to work out an equation or whatever it may be. Viktor was more irritable in these difficult times, grumbling in a language you didn’t fully understand and becoming extremely pissy when he couldn’t find his pen or a screwdriver.

“M.s Y/L/N.” Viktor called out from where he was sitting. His tone was all too familiar, it was not shy of kindness but you could already sense his growing irritation. He had his back turned to you, numerous papers and blueprints scattered over the desk he slouched over.

“Yes, sir?” You replied from the other side of the room, your attention on the equation presented to you on the chalkboard. You had been mulling over it for a few minutes now, maybe hours, but you had lost care in keeping time when you’re in the lab. You looked over but he said nothing, not even bothering to turn away from his desk. He beckoned your presence with two fingers.

Your shoes clicked and clacked against the tile floor as you approached him.

“I’m finding it quite difficult to work efficiently when I cannot find my tools.” Viktor explained quietly, gesturing to his work desk with open hands. You glanced over, not a tool in sight. Nervous, you looked around the room, the days had been blending in together and hours felt like mere minutes. You could not recall where Viktor’s toolbox was. A weird churning feeling began to grow in your gut.

“I’ll bring them right to you, sir.” You mumbled quickly before scurrying off to the other side of the room. You began to peer into any space you could possible. The box was old, janky, and a lot of other unpleasant things. Viktor could replace it if he really wanted to. Something nice that doesn’t squeak awkwardly every time you open it, but was the kind of person who liked to keep his hold on things that are his.

A little desperate, you began to crawl around the laboratory. Maybe you left it underneath a desk somewhere. The lab was by no means organized. It was hard to keep clean when you had three active brains attempting to break past science and discover something the world had not seen just yet. A stupid excuse but it worked just fine, except for times like these.

After looking around like a cat chasing a mouse, you had finally found it. The stupid old toolbox that should have probably been tossed into an incinerator by now. It had managed to hide itself underneath a pile of papers, behind a few more boxes of old contraptions and failed projects. Now why would it be there? You pulled it out from its hiding spot with a small yet proud ‘Aha!’, a grin growing on your face.

“Aha, indeed.” You looked up at the voice. Viktor was standing over you with a small smirk, cane in one hand and the other leaning on the desk you were looking under. You were so engrossed in your task that you didn’t even hear Viktor approaching you. Your position was quite unbecoming, on your knees with some rusty toolbox in your hands, not a very ‘top student’ position.

You flustered under the man’s gaze. You’d never thought that you’d be on your knees in front of the man. Well, you had thought about it but realistically it would never happen. Until now.

“I found your toolbox!” You exclaimed happily, raising it up to the man with flushed cheeks. There weren’t many times where you had Viktor’s full attention. He was a busy man, always on the edge of the breakthrough that continued to distance itself the closer he got. He had no time to dabble into other things when his success was right in front of him, but in the times where you had his attention it was almost daunting.

He plucked the toolbox from your hands with ease, placing it on the desk beside him. Before you could push yourself up from the ground, Viktor held out a hand, pausing your movements.

“Allow me, please.” He reached down and offered his hand to you while the other remained on his cane, as always. Your eyes flickered from his face to his outstretched hand. His eyes met yours for a split second and you willed yourself to look away. He looked like a prince, a knight in shining armor who was prepared to whisk you away and ride off into the sunset – The blue glow from the hex core only added to this daydream you had.

Your cheeks flushed into a deeper colour and thankfully you could blame your little side quest for this. You placed your hand in his and the older researcher helped you up from the ground. Once you rose to your feet you couldn’t help but look into his eyes once more, and there he was again with those stupid amber eyes that made you feel like he was looking straight into your soul.

“Thank you, sir.” You cleared your throat awkwardly and pulled your hand away, tucking it behind your back. You turned back to the desk and pretended to busy yourself by arranging the papers and stacking them into neat piles.

“It’s really no problem.” Viktor replied, you could hear the smile in his voice, how annoying. “And I would like to believe we are past all this, eh… ‘sir’ nonsense. Please, call me Viktor from now on.”

He truly is annoying.

It was another long day at the lab. Jayce and Viktor had recently received a letter of approval from the council allowing them to engineer one of their proposed designed models for a new invention involving hextech and they did not want to waste any time. Your shoulders and many other parts of you were aching for rest but you ignored your muscles’ cries for help as you fetched probably your 5th tray of tea for the day.

“Ah yes, thank you Y/N.” Viktor mumbled absentmindedly as you placed the tray on the far end of the desk, he gave you an appreciative wave but his focus was primarily on the contraption in his hands, it seemed to be a smaller model of the hex core with a case around it. Jayce looked away from the chalkboard and mumbled a quick thank you as well.

“Y/N, would you be so kind and–” Jayce was quickly interrupted by an annoyed cough.

“Eh, last I recall, Ms. Y/L/N is my assistant, is that correct?” Viktor turned around in his chair, eyes locking straight into yours. He had a pointed look, a singular eyebrow raised and a small quirk on his lips, almost as if he was taunting you to try and deny his claims. You could only nod your head, unsure if you could even offer a rebuttal to any of this. “That’s right.” He hummed and turned back to his work, the sound of the wheels of his chair filled the growing silence in the room.

You turned to look at Jayce who, bless his soul, wore his heart out on his sleeve and had a very confused look on his face. You could only shrug with an awkward smile.

You attempted to ignore the interaction, sipping your own cup of tea in the meantime. Viktor was probably itching with pettiness and could barely hold it in any longer. Maybe it was reasonable. Jauce had found love, one of the biggest distractions to the progression of science as Viktor would say. Those words would always find him late at night, when his eyes were heavy with sleep but Jayce would not entirely be at fault, maybe Viktor just needed to loosen up a little.

“If you wish for my assistant to do anything for you, then you must ask for my permission, yes?” Viktor added, the hextech model long forgotten as he scratched the nib of his pen against some scratch paper.

Jayce could only roll his eyes, “Vik, may I ask Y/N to do something for me?” He was now fully turned away from the chalkboard, equation be damned.

The lanky man swiveled on his chair once more, his index finger and his thumb curled around his chin, feigning deep thought, Viktor looked up at the ceiling and let out a sweet hum of random notes, “No.” The older man quipped monotonously and swiftly turned back to his desk. “I would like for Ms. Y/L/N to stay put. I may need her assistance and I would hate for her to be distracted with other unnecessary things.”

Jayce sighed and turned back to the chalkboard. He had bigger problems to solve.

That was weird.

It wasn’t unusual for the two to have a few petty fights which were quite literally childish most of the time but this felt different. An odd feeling began to stir in your gut as you glanced between the two researchers. Ignoring the gnawing feeling at your gut, you decided not to pry.

Once the conversation had properly died and down and had been forgotten, Viktor took a small glance at you from over his shoulder. Your eyes met and he beckoned you over with a small gesture, his index finger pressed against his lips. How childish. You couldn’t help the small smile that grew on your face at his antics. As quietly as you could, you made your way to his desk, occupying the empty seat next to him.

“What do you think of this equation, hm?” Viktor asked quietly, practically whispering the words into your ear. His warm breath brushed against your cheek sending shivers straight down your spine. You straightened up in the chair and cleared your throat. You looked down at the paper but it was hard to look over the math when Viktor’s arm was pressed right into yours. Despite the four layers of clothing that separate your skin from his, you could feel your cheeks burning up from the contact alone.

Without even thinking about it, you shifted your gaze from the paper to Viktor. Thankfully, his eyes were trained on the paper, lost in his own world. You took advantage of that fact and really soaked in all the little details because when would you have another chance to be this close to the brunette?

His cheeks were angular, eyes sharp and he lacked a lot of body fat but he was never ugly, no. Despite all of the things that your peers have said about him, you always thought he was attractive. The small crease in between his eyebrows, the moles he had scattered around his skin. You took the risk and took the smallest glance towards his lips. He always had a habit, unconscious maybe, where the corners of his lips would quirk up when he was deep in thought.

“Did it stump your brain as well?” Viktor mused, putting a halt to the Viktor Express going around in your brain. He leaned even closer and nudged your arm with his elbow, a small exhale of a chuckle leaving through his nose.

“I’m sure it’s correct.” You whispered back breathlessly, cheeks flushed a dark hue of red, you could only hope that Viktor didn’t notice it.

“I want your input.” He insisted, urging you even, with another nudge. Your resolve was slowly breaking, this proximity was in no way good for your heart, which was already threatening to beat out of your rib cage and present itself on the desk in front of you. As you gnawed anxiously on your lower lip, you looked at the equation again. It was solved… but something felt off. You pointed at a part of the equation and glanced at Viktor.

“You could change the variable here.”

Viktor hummed, content with your answer. He snatched back the paper and began to write up a new equation. You dropped your shoulders and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. The distance helped calm your thumping heart. There were moments where you felt like Viktor knew what he was doing. Aware of his effect on you and deciding to play around with it – but as he solved that stupid equation it felt nothing more than a friendly interaction.

—------------------------------

It had been a month since Viktor had you ‘secretly’ help him on an equation. The entire scenario had plagued your every waking moment, the vision of Viktor so close to you that it was burned into your eyelids. The smell of his cologne was so subtle, you didn’t even know that he wore cologne before that moment, but now, it was all you could think about. You attempted to keep your distance after that day, not wanting your little crush you had to foster into something more. You had to remain professional, this was a work setting, but Viktor was persistent, almost as if he had begun to enjoy your company these past few weeks — Besides the fact that you were his assistant.

Viktor started requesting your presence more consistently at the lab. At first you understood his request. Things were only getting busier and the man would surely need some help during these times but it looked a little suspicious when he would ask you to complete the most mundane of tasks that, despite his schedule, he could accomplish himself.

“Could you arrange my pens?”

“I need your help erasing that chalkboard.”

“I need you to sign these papers. Yes, just forge them, no one will know.”

It was confusing. You didn’t know what to think of it, really. You were just trying to survive every interaction at the lab and hoping you didn’t die from heart failure. Despite everything, you did not want to assume that he reciprocated even an inkling of your feelings – it was just highly unlikely. No hypothesis needed. No tests or observations. It was never going to happen, and you knew that. So you continued to push that thought to the back of your mind and buried yourself in work.

You had stupidly hoped that after all this time, your feelings would dwindle. It was merely a crush at first sight. Viktor was undeniably a good looking man. All angles and sharp edges but it only added to his charm. Amber eyes paired with his boyish smile, the moles that decorated his skin like stars on a clear night sky and that stupid accent that always got your heart racing. Evidently, those feelings had not even diminished in the slightest.

You needed a break from him. A break from the laboratory. A break from the hours that you would spend alone with that man. Some time away to allow yourself to really bury these feelings deep inside you and never to be found again. So you called in sick.

—------------------------------

You woke up the morning of your so-called ‘sick day’ feeling peaceful for the first time in a long time. You had planned to stay in your dorm room, read a few books, work on a few assignments, and figure out a way to find Viktor as unattractive as possible. That would be the hardest task of the day.

Maybe it could be the way that he closes himself off when he’s working, or the way that he blatantly ignores you when he’s too focused. No person would want that right? It was reasonable, your scapegoat into finally getting out of this scrappy mess of feelings that made you feel like a child, yet it only fueled your attraction even further. Your brain travelled to the way Viktor would play with the ends of his hair when he was deep in thought, twirling the messy strands of hair with his index finger. It all went downhill from there. Your mind raced with the thoughts of his long hands, calloused fingers, the way his Adam’s apple would bob when he fought irritation. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough and stuck around long enough at the lab, you would get to see a sliver of Viktor’s chest, his frustrations leading him to loosening his usually tightly knotted tie and unbuttoning the top of his blouse. Those days felt more worth it.

You were pulled away from your thoughts by a series of knocks on your door. You weren’t expecting company but you assumed it was one of your classmates passing by to borrow some notes. You got up and moved to answer the door.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Shit.

“Viktor! What’re you doing here? Did you receive my letter? I called in sick today.” The words rushed out of you before you could even think. You faked a cough to try and support your case further, hoping that the taller man was oblivious enough to believe it.

“Yes, eh… I did receive your letter. I simply wanted to check up on you.” Viktor said in a matter-of-factly tone, waving his hand around. The brunette gave you a once-over and the horror of realization settled itself deep into your skin. It was pretty obvious that you weren’t planning on leaving your dorm room today, so you hadn’t bothered to change out of your sleeping clothes – which in hindsight was quite revealing in a lot of areas. This was more than embarrassing, more than humiliation. This was hell.

Viktor placed a hand on the door, leaning on the hard wood slightly, “May I come in?” His cunning eyes bore into yours, practically towering over your height. You spluttered over your words, your brain had long melted into a puddle as you looked up at the older man. It’s that damn accent. In an attempt to salvage the situation you simply nodded your head, not trusting your mouth to listen to your brain. You stepped to the side, giving the man some space to enter.

Thump. Tap. Thump. Tap. Thump. Tap.

He looked around the room once before turning back to you.

“How are you feeling? Hm?” Viktor voiced out with a worried look. Both hands were laid to rest on his cane, favoring his weight on his good leg.

You swallowed in an attempt to release the growing knot in your throat, “I’ve got the flu.” The words came out quieter than you expected it to. You weren’t looking at Viktor, in fact you were looking past him and favoring the posters behind his figure. Despite this, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin, maybe he didn’t favor the fact that you were revealing more skin than he had ever seen from you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling a little self conscious.

“I have to apologize.” Viktor took a step towards you and it took everything in you to not take a step back. “It seems that I have, eh, overworked you… But I couldn’t help myself, you make a perfect assistant.” He continued on. Viktor tucked a hand into his pocket and tilted his head to the side. Was he trying to seduce you? Your heart thumped harder in your chest, sweat began to pool in your palms and around your temples. Maybe you really did have the flu.

You didn’t skip over the small compliment Viktor had tossed to you. In fact, the words bounced around your head like an echo in a large cave. You had spent so many months trying to prove yourself as an intelligent colleague, that it wasn’t a mistake that Heimerdinger so kindly offered you up to Viktor. It seems to have paid off.

“It’s alright. I think it’s the weather.” Your voice wavered and you let out another cough in an attempt to cover it up. A big mistake. The cough had seemingly activated something inside Viktor. He walked over to you, worry written all over his face. Before you could react, he had reached out and placed the back of his hand against your forehead. The touch was gentle, barely even there – as if you could feel the molecules between the two of you creating that barrier of separation.

“You are quite warm.” Viktor commented quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. Just as if his hand had a mind of its own for that moment, Viktor abruptly pulled away, clearing his throat awkwardly and tucking his hand straight into his pocket. “My apologies, that was quite forward of me.”

“It’s alright.” You repeated dumbly. Your brain was mush. It seemed no longer viable to consider yourself one of the top students at the Academy when your brain seemed to run away whenever in the presence of an attractive engineer. Any other normal girl would be ecstatic in this situation. Any other normal girl who had a crush on Viktor would rejoice, their minds going a mile a minute on how to take advantage of the fact that he was in their dorm room, a proper place of privacy – unfortunately you were not like other girls.

“Thank you for checking up on me.” The words came out so quiet. You couldn’t believe how shy you were at that moment. You were so confident. Going in head strong no matter what situation you were thrown in. Viktor may be right, love is the biggest hindrance for the progression of science. With how close Viktor was standing next to you, you had no choice but to crane your neck to look up at him. You don’t recall the researcher being this tall before.

“It is, eh… no problem. Don’t mention it.” Viktor mumbled quickly. He gave you a curt nod and began to rush out your room. He was out of your dorm before you could realize it, the moment your door clicked shut you were pulled out of your trance.

What just happened?

—------------------------------

You had tried to ignore whatever thoughts you had about Viktor from that day forward. You had pushed the memories of the day he visited your dorm into the pits of your mind. It was all a distraction. If you weren’t so persistent your grades would have started slipping by now – thankfully they haven’t. Viktor was simply expressing his care for a colleague. Surely he had done the same and then some for his beloved research partner, right?

Though it only got more difficult to ignore these thoughts when he suddenly started to push you away.

Your days at the lab were cut short with a curt, “You may go home now, Ms. Y/L/N.” He would barely even spare you a glance, his attention solely on whatever he pleased on doing, which apparently was anything but looking at you. It hurt. The same way an injection would feel. It was quick and subtle, but you could feel the imprint somewhere on your body.

You had lost your voice. Your arguments and small little conversations to attempt to stay for even a few minutes longer would die down before the syllables had even formed. Shadowed in defeat, you would quietly leave the lab.

Had Viktor changed his mind about you? Did he find a better student for the job? Or did he realize that having an assistant hinders his progress more than it should aid? You could do nothing. The days were cut shorter and shorter until there was nothing left. Until Viktor himself had requested that you, “Focus on your studies, your presence is no longer needed at the lab.”

His words felt like a knife into your chest, or worse, it felt like he had physically reached into your ribcage, wrapped his lithe fingers around your heart and yanked it right out of you. You didn’t know what to think, so you followed his orders. Just like you always did.

Your days became less exciting. You had adapted back to your usual routine of attending your lectures and heading to the library to drown yourself in your studies. Viktor’s words would replay in your mind like a broken record. He sounded so cold, so closed off. You thought that you had at least breached through his walls and found your own place by the outskirts of his own mind but he had abruptly pushed you away and placed brick after brick to keep you out. You couldn’t help but wonder if he really only saw you as an assistant.

It had been a month before you were reminded of anything hextech related. You had managed to distract yourself enough that you barely even thought about the lab, which was great, until you saw Jayce at the library.

Without a thought, you approached him. You were starving for answers, anything to explain why you had been basically fired.

“Jayce.” You called out, a little louder than what you intended which earned you a few hushes from the students who were probably cramming three month’s worth of information in their head. The midterms were coming up, which led you to the library as well.

“Y/N! It’s been a while!” The bright man had leaned over and engulfed you in his arms. He never really knew of the idea of personal space but you had always appreciated the warmth and comfort he would so freely give you, so you selfishly accepted it.

“It has been.” You mumbled, a little sad at that. Aside from the fact that it was a great opportunity to work with the two creators of hextech, you had also just missed the presence of the two men. They were practically a constant in your life, something that you looked forward to every day, all that just to be yanked from you with a cold tone.

“Y’finally decided you had enough of the lab?” Jayce chuckled with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t blame you if so. It was strenuous and anything but glamorous. He had figured that you had gotten your fill and decided to spend the remainder of your youth doing other things rather than slave away at a secluded lab.

“Uhm, no? Viktor told me to stop coming.”

Jayce blinked at you awkwardly and you blinked back. An odd feeling tugged at your heart, maybe it was a touchy subject but you were completely and utterly desperate for some sort of closure. Something that could make letting everything go a little easier than it was now.

Jayce let out an awkward chuckle, lifting his arm and rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, he did? That’s weird.”

“He never told you?” You inquired with a lift of your eyebrow. Jayce simply shook his head, doing as much as he could to avoid your gaze. A weird tension began to grow in the space between you, and Jayce, as much of an image he is for Piltover, simply could not handle awkward situations.

“That’s crazy! Anyway, I have to go.” Jayce plucked a book from the shelf in front of you, seemingly at random and scurried off. You turned to chase after the man but he practically ran out of the library. You thought you were confused before this, but now it felt as though you didn’t know anything.

As much as you wanted to study for your midterms, your brain was more focused on the sudden shift in your conversation with Jayce. You had run through all the possibilities in your head. Perhaps Jayce was feeling awkward now that you had been fired or maybe he was embarrassed that he was left out of the loop with the endeavours and plans of his very own research partner. You tried to entertain the thought that Jayce attempted to sway Viktor’s decision and the latter simply went behind his back – but even that sounded stupid.

You looked up from your textbooks to where the ghost of Jayce’s presence once stood. Nothing was making sense.

This was stupid. You were supposed to be studying for your midterms, you should be worried about your grades and your academic standing — but you were always terrible at following your brain instead of your heart.

You were pacing around the entrance of the lab. You had been for the past five minutes. You wanted to speak with Viktor or better yet, you wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and beg the man to just speak to you, but that simply couldn’t be no matter the circumstances. Maybe in a perfect world. The bigger concern was if this really was a good idea or if you were about to make a complete fool of yourself — but the latter was a fleeting concern. You had probably made a fool of yourself in front of Viktor numerous times, this could be an exception, right? It’s not like you weren’t allowed to speak with him anymore, and if that was the case, well, you wouldn’t know what you would do.

You ran your fingers through your hair for the nth time and decided to just go for it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Jayce had answered you at the door. He was barely peeking out the door, almost as if he was hiding. “Vik isn’t here.”

“I didn’t even…” You stopped mid way. You could hear the distinct sounds of tools hitting metal. That couldn’t be anyone else. You attempted to peer past Jayce but he was a large man, his chest covering what little opening the door already offered.

“Jayce, please. Let me talk to him?” You pleaded quietly, placing a hand on his arm.

Jayce sighed and dropped his head, allowing it to hang low from his shoulders. He looked back into the lab, anxiously chewing at his lower lip before he reluctantly agreed. He pushed the door open and let you pass under his arm as he stepped out — before you could ask why he was leaving, he had shut the door behind you.

You turned around, heartbeat loud in your ears. There he was. He had his back turned to the door, hovering around the chalkboard. You could sense the frustration growing from him and he was definitely too engrossed in whatever he was doing to notice that you were not Jayce.

Your heart ached, the numbing feeling spreading from your chest until your fingertips. Just seeing the tuft of his unruly hair had you missing him more than you ever had. He was right in front of you, you did not need any further proof of that fact, but in that moment it felt like he was a million miles away.

“Jayce, excuse my language, but what the fuck is this math.” Viktor sighed in annoyance, running a hand over his face before he turned to look in your direction. Viktor’s eyes widened in realization the moment they landed on your figure. Almost as if he was caught in the act, the man did not move a muscle, simply staring right at you like he had just seen an apparition of Janna herself.

Viktor cleared his throat and straightened up, “What are you doing here?”

You shook your head and took a step forward. You were having none of this nonsense anymore, “Viktor, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Viktor sounded so calm that it infuriated you. How could he act so normal, so nonchalant, after everything that had happened? You shook your head again and looked away. You could feel yourself wavering, tears brimming in your eyes and your lips had begun to wobble. This conversation could have gone a million different ways but no matter what, it felt like you would eventually end up just like this.

“Please just talk to me.” Your voice cracked but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. This was more than begging for your position back, you at the very least, just wanted to be able to talk to Viktor again. To go back to the way things were before. The rift that grew ever larger between the two of you had you resisting the urge to reach out like a pathetic child.

The engineer simply sighed and tilted his head to the side, shifting his weight onto his healthier leg. “I’d like to believe we are talking right now.”

“Why did you tell me to stop coming to the lab?”

Viktor simply turned back around and resumed his work. “I would rather not discuss that now, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You were at a loss. There was no use in being rational now. You walked up to the chalkboard, right behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso. If he did not want to talk, then so be it, but you were not leaving the lab without at least letting him feel what you wanted to say. Your heart was pounding, maybe it had never stopped. You feared that it was strong enough that Viktor could feel it through all the barriers between you.

Viktor tensed underneath your touch. The sound of chalk scratching against the green board had come to an immediate halt.

“I don’t think you understand.” Viktor whispered after what felt like minutes of silence, forehead pressed against the chalkboard. He didn’t dare look at you, not right now. Not when he felt so weak. One look from you and he was fucked. Viktor was a selfish man. He had grown up with nothing, he was nothing. Even after making a name for himself at Piltover, no one would pay him any mind. No one except you. You and your expressive eyes, kind words, and just how much you cared. It scared him. How could he face you when you had managed to peel through his carefully decorated façade?

You were nothing like the rest of them. You had looked past his physical being, you had seen him more than his weak leg, his cane, and the back brace embedded into his skin. It was a part of him now. It had always been, yet you had managed to strip that away from him. It was odd for Viktor to claim that you had treated him like a real person, the syllables were foreign on his tongue, but his lips were prepared to curl around them and proclaim to the world that you were perfect — and that was the problem. You’re young, intelligent, talented, beautiful, and so much more than what he could ever be, so why would he allow himself the privilege of being selfish and keeping you all to himself? You deserved so much more, more than the world and all the stars — how could he give you any of that?

“Let me understand.” You mumbled, nuzzling your face into his back. Your words were muffled and it tugged at the strings carefully wrapped around Viktor’s heart. You were so endearing, there was so much to love — Viktor could be dubbed a crazy scientist and an overachieving engineer, but he would toss that all away if it gave him the possibility of holding you close at night.

Silence grew in the lab once more. It was cold but with your arms around Viktor that hardly felt like a problem. You were afraid that maybe you were pushing him too much, but the longer you stayed like this, you could feel him slowly letting go.

“It seems that I have grown affectionate towards you.” Viktor explained quietly, hesitantly. You had never heard him sound so unsure of himself. “It’s quite bothersome. I cannot focus on my work like this.” You couldn’t stop the small giggle that escaped your lips. His words were soft, syllables pronounced but it was oozing with emotion.

You shifted around, loosening your arms around the man’s torso in favor of wanting to see his face. “Is that so bad?”

You looped around but Viktor kept himself still. Eyes closed and forehead against the chalkboard. It looked like if he had even bothered to move the whole world would collapse in on itself. Viktor could feel your gaze burning into his skin. He scrunched his eyes shut even further and shook his head, turning to look the other way. You placed your hand on his arm, fingers wrapped around the fabric of his buttoned up shirt. You tugged on his shirt. The engineer let out a shaky breath and reluctantly turned to look at you.

Viktor reached out, cupping a hand around the side of your face. “Eh… maybe not so much.” His thumb smoothed over the apple of your cheek. His touch was so light, so soft — almost as if he pressed any harder, you would break. You leaned into Viktor’s touch, humming softly.

“I like you too, you know?” You mumbled. You lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. It felt as though you were melting under his gaze, you didn’t think it was humanly possible to look at someone with so much affection and care — Viktor was more than human anyway.

It may not have been the right place or time, hell, the two of you were practically professing your love for one another at the goddamn lab. Viktor had always said that the lab was where miracles happened and you guessed that he wasn’t so wrong with that. The two of you remained like that for a few more moments before the brunette pulled away. The ghost of Viktor’s touch was burned into your skin and you were reluctant to admit that you had already missed it.

He took a step forward and placed a gentle hand right by the crown of your head.

“I may have picked up on a few hints.”

Viktor leaned in and pressed his lips on your forehead.

Your mind was racing and your heart was threatening to beat faster and faster until you died of heart failure right then and there. You scrunched your eyes shut and allowed yourself to really soak in the moment. This was what you had been waiting for, craving even, since you had met the man. You resisted the urge to pinch yourself, wondering if this all may be some fever dream. Despite feeling like you were on top of the world, Viktor’s touch kept you grounded.

The man pulled away and cupped your face once more, this time with both of his hands. Cane discarded to lean on the side of the chalkboard. His gaze was almost scrutinizing, as if he himself was assessing if this was real or not. After a few moments, he pulled away and cleared his throat.

“I hope that answers your question sufficiently.” Viktor adjusted his uniform vest and grabbed his cane. “Now if you don’t mind… I would, eh… like to return to my work. I think I had gotten enough inspiration to continue for the day.” He simply nodded and picked up a piece of chalk. You didn’t miss the fact that his cheeks were dusted with a soft pink hue.

“Does this mean I can stay?” You hummed, arms wrapped around one of the poles that held the chalkboard up, a cheeky grin on your lips.

Viktor turned his gaze to you, almost bashfully, and nodded his head. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. That would be quite pleasant.”

You let out a pleasant hum, turning to head to the couch before you were interrupted by a cough. You turned your head to the side, curious and a little confused.

“Actually, ehm… there are some papers over there that need sorting… And I would like a cup of tea.” Viktor confessed shyly, bringing up a hand to point at a desk on the far side of the lab. You followed his hand with wide eyes. It was definitely more than ‘some’ papers, as Viktor had mentioned. It was at least two tall stacks worth of papers sitting next to each other.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “Seems like I’m kind of important ‘round here, huh?” You nodded your head and walked to the desk, determined to get started.

Viktor nodded his head with a small smile, “Yes. Very important actually.”

#viktor #arcane #arcane viktor #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor imagines #viktor headcanons #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor x reader

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letoasai · 11 months ago

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Will work for food ~ Part 4 (1/2)

Part 3 -- Master List

Danny’s hubris was coming back to bite him. It had been so funny when Nightwing–Dick–had invited him to the next family dinner. The next family dinner that happened to be Thanksgiving. Danny hadn’t had a Thanksgiving in a long, long time. He’d been delighted to accept.

He’d nearly trilled in amusement at the way Tim flushed, kicking Dick under the table in a small attempt to get him to stop talking but the invitation had already been given.

Danny could practically taste Dick’s glee and Tim’s embarrassment. Emotions weren’t as good as regular food but they were hard to ignore when they grew to a certain level.

Tim had awkwardly agreed that Danny should come to dinner and Danny accepted, telling Tim to just summon him the usual way.

It was almost unfair for him to have so much quiet knowledge surrounding their conversations, but it came in handy for the normally closed off vigilantes. Tim knew his family was a lot, and was afraid of overwhelming Danny. Their time together would have to be shared now, but Danny didn’t think that was necessarily true. Tim didn’t want to put Danny on the spot, which was kind.

Tim had always been kind. He didn’t summon Danny for favors or deals but because he could and because he cared. The emotion was so straight forward and genuine that Danny knew he was being rather selfish with it. It had been so long since he had someone new, and living, in his life.

He lived a long life, and he would just live longer. As a halfa, and a powerful one at that, his life tap danced a precarious line. His living half would always mirror his dead half, and it had taken him some years to work out that his Phantom form could change based on his perception of himself.

He’d spent so long thinking he might never age, that he’d stayed small for years. Barely looking older than fourteen as he’d headed for his twentieth birthday. It was then he discovered that with enough practice he could alter his Phantom hazmat suit. It was redesigned, changing as he had. He’d mentally grown over the years, his title of King only adding to his development.

When he changed his ghostly appearance, he realized he could age to match how he felt. He could finally look like the young adult he was. That had had side effects on his living half. The growth spurts had been nearly painful, but within six months he’d change from a young teen to a young adult.

It had been exciting, but excruciating enough that he hadn’t wanted to change his appearance so abruptly again. Changes would be slower next time, but he was unsure if he could go backwards in his living appearance.

All the same, at least he looked more like an adult. He could live as much as he was able.

His identity reveal with his parents hadn’t exactly gone badly, but it hadn’t gone well either. Jack and Maddie had tried to accept him, but they simply couldn’t. They couldn’t look at him, and while he didn’t end up on their laboratory table, they simply pretended he didn’t exist. It hurt at the time, but he still had his sister. He had Sam and Tucker and Ellie and Val.

Danny had moved out and for several years had pretended to be normal. It had been nice, until it had gotten boring. Danny split his time between the living and the dead, taking his role as king more seriously in the Infinite Realm over time. It got harder for him to return as his friends aged and he stayed the same. Ellie understood better how he felt, but her wanderlust kept her moving.

He checked in often over the years, but he’d still be both delighted, and devastated the day Jazz strolled into his lair with a smile and a hello. She looked younger than she’d been in decades and Danny had clung to her and sobbed. She was here! Safe! It was wonderful. She was dead. Jazz had been old and had left behind children and grandchildren. That didn't make it easier on either of them, but they had each other.

Tucker had been next and he was torn between just hanging out in the Infinite Realm or being reincarnated again. For ages, he and Danny had just hung out and caught up, right back to being the best of friends.

Val had followed some years later, but she had been preparing for this more than the rest of them. Her ghostly form had returned to her the Red Huntress moniker and she couldn’t be more thrilled. She wasted no time traveling with Ellie.

Sam was the one Danny hadn’t yet been reunited with in the Infinite Realm. She was pushing a hundred, and had become the reigning ‘grandma Ida’ figure in the lives of her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Danny envied her for that. She was so supportive when their parents hadn’t been for them.

Danny drifted off in his thoughts as he pondered his next dinner date. He was excited for a home cooked meal, but he was quietly thrilled to spend more time with Tim. He’d been neglecting a part of himself since Jazz had died and it showed. His sister was terribly excited he’d made a new friend after so long.

When he felt the pull of a summons, Danny listened carefully, relieved to hear Tim’s voice. He’d been getting anxious just waiting around and the day had finally come. He pulled himself from the portal, turning from Phantom to Danny and tugging nervously at his sweater. He didn’t really have many nice or formal human clothes since everything in the Infinite Realm was often done in his royal regalia.

He’d tried to look nice though. Dora had braided his hair for him in some intricate pattern and his normal NASA hoodie had been traded out for a new black hoodie gifted to him by Sam. It was over top a navy blue sweater. He probably didn’t need both but he liked to have the option of a hood.

He wore his nicer pair of jeans and sneakers too. Honestly, if he was going to be spending time in a living dimension again, he was going to need to go shopping.

Danny opted to appear just outside the structure he was summoned from. It felt more polite somehow to knock on the manor’s door. Sam would have loved this place.

It only took seconds but Tim pulled the door open swiftly, he was nearly out of breath but he smiled bashfully when he greeted Danny.

“Hey Danny.”

“Hey,” Danny said with an awkward smile. “Thought i’d..uh, politely knock?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. He somewhat noticed that his normal clothes weren't hanging off him the way they had been. At least he’d been putting on a little weight having lunches with Tim.

Tim returned his smile and gestured for him to come in. “And it was thoughtful.”

Tim looked nice, the way he always did. His button down looked brand new and someone had obviously ironed his pants and he didn’t wear shoes, just dark socks. It was the kind of casual touch that proved he lived there.

“I’m sorry.” Danny muttered, voice his usual low cadence. He didn’t like using his aura or ‘kingly voice’ around people when he didn’t have to. He had nothing to prove. “I know it’s a holiday but i don’t really have much in the way of living human clothes anymore.”

“Hey. No.” Tim said immediately, head whipping around to look at Danny again. “Absolutely no one in this house is worried about that. If you are, i have an entire closet you can pick through to find something else but it’s not necessary. The only thing we requested was you. You look great.”

Danny rubbed his arm and despite his unease, smiled. It was almost funny the way Tim tracked the movement with his eyes. His feelings on the matter were genuine. Danny’s attire didn’t matter to him. “If you’re sure. I didn’t want to come off as ungrateful when you’ve invited me into your home.”

“Impossible.” Tim said, stepping further inside with Danny beside him. “I assure you, once the pictures have been taken, everyone will be throwing the dress clothes to the side.”

“Pictures?”

“Master Timothy.” An older man was approaching from the dining room. “I trust you haven’t been rude to our guest.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Alfred.” Tim smiled, entering into some kind of familiar song and dance. “He usually likes to keep his outer jacket so i didn’t ask to take it to hang up for him."

It made Danny smile when he’d connected the pieces. He’d heard a few stories about Alfred over the last few months. Most of them from Tim himself but Dick had happily told a couple. The man took his job very seriously. It almost reminded him of Fright Knight.

“Um..” Danny mumbled, sounding like he didn’t know where to start. Did he introduce himself? He’d gotten better at these kinds of things when ghosts were involved. The living almost baffled him now.

Tim took over. “Danny his is Alfred, technically he’s the butler and caretaker of Wayne Manor, but his real job is caretaker and grandfather to every brat that lives here who doesn’t deserve him.”

That had the corners of Danny’s lips tipping up even as Alfred quirked a brow at the rather bold comment.

“Alfred, this is my friend Danny. This will be his first Thanksgiving in many years.”

Alfred offered a polite bow, a bend at his waist that looked beautifully formal. “We’re so pleased you could join us, Your Majesty.”

“Oh no. Danny. Danny’s fine.” He didn’t miss the way Tim raised a brow, but Danny wasn’t surprised. It might have been the first time Tim had seen Danny anything close to flustered. “The Majesty thing is kind of stuffy and this is your home that i was invited into.”

“If you insist, Master Daniel. I hope you have come hungry.”

Danny knew his smile was weak. “Starving. Tim and Dick both promised this would be the meal of my life. Unlife?” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “And if you don’t mind, i have a little trauma with the name Daniel. I’d really prefer Danny or Phantom if you’d rather.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed briefly and Danny knew he was already organizing dozens of questions. Now however, wasn’t the time to ask them. That didn’t mean he wasn’t making several mental notes.

Alfred also also caught the quiver in his tone and didn’t press the matter if the shift in his emotions were anything to go off of. “Master Danny is it.” Alfred continued seamlessly, voice pleasant. “We’re truly happy to have you. I have been asking about your attendance at dinner for some time.”

Tim sighed loudly, a touch more dramatic than usual but Danny was happy to see Tim someplace he could be so informal. “Okay, that was my bad. I was having fun going out with you and any dinner here you attended would suddenly be a family dinner.”

“Everyone is curious?” Danny assumed.

“Incredibly.”

“Now Master Timothy, it is impolite to keep your guest hovering around the door. Dinner is nearly ready.” Alfred said. “Please be the proper host.”

“Yes, Alfred.”

Danny fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie briefly. “I’d…offer to help but i’m a disaster in the kitchen. At least i was. I’m also afraid of reanimating food during the cooking process so i think i’ll stay well out of the way.”

Alfred looked faintly surprised but he focused on the first part of the sentence. “It was still very kind of you to offer. I have everything well in hand.”

Tim turned to look at Danny. “I know you’ve explained this to me before, but it’s crazy that you had to fight your food.” Saying that Danny had ‘explained’ that was over stating things, and they both knew it. Danny had said the only foods he didn’t like were the ones that bit back and Tim had taken him at his word.

“It can be a problem.” Danny mused. He’d always been useless in the kitchen but after he’d moved out of his parents home, it became a chore he didn’t care for. His ectoplasm was so strong and it was bound to affect his environment over time. “You know, that might be why i stopped bothering to eat for a while. It’s not instantaneous or anything but long term exposure around me would reanimate whatever’s in the fridge.”

“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” Tim said, linking his arms with Danny’s to lead him to one of the more casual livingrooms at Alfred’s insistence.

“Maybe?” Danny offered, distracted by looking around the manor. It was like a blast to his past only more. It was greater than the house Sam had grown up in, and far more tasteful than anything Vlad had.

It was downright artistic. He’d seen enough ghostly lairs to see old mixing in with modern. The Wayne manor was stunning.

The manor was equal parts old glamour and modern relic that was lovingly cared for by the occupants that lived there. The brilliant chandeliers and the beautifully carved staircase were more than simply eye-catching. The artwork was actually pleasing.

“You okay?” Tim asked quietly, biting at his lip worriedly. He was anxious as if afraid something about the manor had upset him. His phone was in his hand and Danny could tell he was texting one handed. Tucker could do similar feats.

“I’m fine. I was looking at the pictures.” He nodded his head to where many framed photographs were displayed.

“We’re glad you liked them!” Dick all but materialized by their sides and Danny couldn’t help but laugh. He was so light on his feet. “Tim took those!”

Danny’s brows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Dick hummed his affirmative. “Yep, he’s a for real photographer.”

Tim’s ears went pink. “It’s just a hobby.”

Danny wandered closer to one of the frames, pulling Tim along with him by their linked arms. He smiled at the aerial view of Gotham. It was beautiful. “You have a lot of talent.”

“Uh, yes. Thanks.” Tim muttered, throwing a scowl at his older brother who grinned, completely unrepentant. Not for the first time, Danny was reminded of Ellie whenever Dick was around. He cared so deeply, but that didn’t stop him from being a mischievous little imp.

“I’d love to see more.” Danny said. “After dinner maybe?”

There was a light to Tim’s eyes at the notion. Danny wondered if it was less a hobby and something a little closer to a living obsession. Those were probably good to nurture. “If you want. Bruce has hung up a bunch of them but i have, you know, a portfolio.”

“I’d love to see.” Danny repeated quietly.

Dick glanced between them, his own mirth so obvious that Danny didn’t need empathy to feel it. “C’mon you two. It won’t be long before dinner’s ready and we still need to take the customary pictures.”

“Pictures?” Danny repeated, realizing that Tim hadn’t answered him before.

Tim nodded and gestured for Danny to follow him and Dick. “Thanksgiving is technically in two days, but we’ll be out patrolling then so we celebrate early.”

“Our family’s kind of well known though.” Dick offered.

Danny snorted. “The joys of a double life.”

“Exactly.” Tim said. “We’ll take pictures tonight and each of us will post a couple on the right day to give ourselves alibi’s. It’s fairly simple.”

Danny would have loved to have had the luxury back in the day. It was hard living with some of your biggest critics. “How much of your family will be coming?”

“Most of it.” Dick said.

“Probably.” Tim echoed, still looking a little worried about how the evening would go. Danny had seen many of Tim’s siblings and met a few of them. He wasn’t really worried, but was charmed that Tim was.

Tim wanted the dinner to go seamlessly. Danny hoped he could help that along without his Fenton luck getting in the way.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ghost king danny #tim drake #dick grayson #Will work for food #dead tired #danny phantom

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everythingspokenfor · 4 months ago

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Oh! Lover of mine. Part Ⅰ

Bakugou stares down at the small child, little baby sleeping in the crib, nasogastric tubes looking out of place on his face, soft blond here peaking from underneath the beanie your mom had knitted, you aren't here, at least right now, still hours away in Tokyo working on the mission.

He knows, you visited the baby, he wonders what you thought though, afterall, this baby is exactly what Bakugou imagined your kids would look like, all his features, except they are all softened by your touch, his nose was a carbon copy of yours though, scrunching up in dismay whenever he was fed anything other than Bakugou's homemade baby food.

Biologically, the baby was few months old, but in practicality, he was only few days old, manufactured in a laboratory to be a weapon, someone who had yours and his DNA, someone who was supposed to be a war machine, with quirks combined.

He was found on an accident, a serendipity if you ask Bakugou, despite his origin, to Bakugou it was just a kid, his kid, because he is sentimental like that. For the past few weeks he spend beside Seita, making him baby food, reading him comics, occasionally Seita would hum along him, especially when Bakugou took out his phone and showed him pictures of his mother, you.

The baby gargled in delight, face no longer obstructed by tubes, "Pretty, isn't she?" He slowly swipes the phone, showing him recent news, volume on low. "She's your mama," the baby hums loudly, head shifting slightly towards the illuminated phone screen.

The knock on the door distracts the both from the screen, "The mother would like to meet the baby, Mr. Bakugou." The nurse leaves abruptly, the door closes slowly behind her.

"Your mama is here, fire cracker." He mumbles against Seita's head, before placing him in his crib, "Be good to her, okay?" He swipes away any wrinkles in the small blanket, tidying up the place a little, hopefully you'll think how good of a father he is.

You are already leaning against the glass panel, when he exist the room, "Oh, i didn't know you would be visiting today." He breathed, the narrowing of your eyes told him, you didn't really believe his bullshit, he smiles sheepishly, finding even your annoyance, adorable.

You move swiftly, entering the room to spot Seita, sitting in his crib, playing around with his plethora of toys. He looks over joyed when he spots you, little hands dropping his toys as his arms stretch out towards you.

His gummy smile melting your heart, "How are you doing today, Seita?" You mutter, fingers coming to caress his cheeks, he lets out a squeak, continuing to hum as he played with your fingers.

You feel eyes on yourself, turning your head, you meet Bakugou's eyes, peeking through the glass panel, he turns abruptly, pretending to look through his phone, occasionally stealing glances, hoping you would have looked away.

You sit beside Seita, days worth of exhaustion coming down all at once, maybe you should have slept before coming here. Bakugou walks into the room, you almost get up to leave, "Sit." His voice is soft, and you slid back down, "I came to give you coffee and dinner."

"I don't nee-"

"Ma made it, told me to give it to you." He places the tupperware on the table, and the coffee beside you, "I know you don't like me, but don't show it here, in front of him." He glances at Seita, hands moving automatically to pick him up, giggles escape his lips as soon as Bakugou rubs his nose along his neck, filling up the silence of the room.

You mindlessly pick at the edges of your cup, suddenly contemplating whether you were too harsh on Bakugou, he didn't really deserve your anger, afterall it's not his fault you are still in love with him.

"Foods gonna get cold."

His words pull you out of your stupor, you grab the bag, pulling out the container, it's mapo tofu, the smell enough tells you it's not as spicy as it is supposed to be, meaning, it was not Mitsuki that made it. You grab a pair of chopsticks, and begin devouring nonetheless.

It's silent again, Seita is quiet too, his head resting against Bakugou's chest, chubby little fingers holding onto his collar. "When did you return from Tokyo?" His voice is low, not to disturb the quiet of the room, hands patting gently against Seita's back. "An hour ago."

His brows furrow, as he looks at you again, "Did you come here directly?" He wants to know whether you slept after the mission, did you get time to breathe or the commission send you on another side quest again.

"I did." You hope he can't tell that you haven't slept in days, dirt and soot clings to your skin even though you took a shower, barely long enough to clean you superficially. Exhaustion has seeped into your bones, "I slept during the train ride though."

"You sure did." His tone was a dead giveaway, he wasn't buying it, but he doesn't instigate further.

You get back to eating, chewing slowly as you savour the food, you missed his cooking, there were instances where you had the opportunity to eat it, on get togethers and birthdays, but you never ate it, mostly because of your ego, partly because you knew it would hurt him.

He settles beside you, Seita fast asleep in his arms, "Does he always fall asleep that easily with you?" You mutter, remembering the last time tried to put him to sleep he cried hard enough to throw up on you, before promptly going to sleep, leaving you exhausted and stinky.

"He does, when he is with me," he mumbles back, pressing a kiss against his temple, you watch his lips quirk up, instantly knowing he is going to say something cheeky, "He takes after his mother I assume."

He recalls all those nights when you would be restless, initially tossing and turning, before settling down and staring at the ceiling, not wanting to bother him, it took him few days before he figured your sleeping tendencies (or lackof). The best time it happened, he simply pulled you close, tucking your head in the crook of his neck, running his fingers through your hairs, instantly easing you into sleep.

"I suppose he does." You response leaves him shocked, he assumed you would disregard the comment, not wanting to be reminded of your past together. "Do you- have you signed the papers yet?" You change the question mid-sentence, of course he'd want to be in Seita's life.

"I have." He rests his head against the headpiece of the couch, "But it's useless if only one parent takes the custody, commission won't let him leave until we both have signed." He shifts slightly, facing you completely, you knew the only we Seita is treated as a normal child inside of an experiment would be presence of his parents.

Thus, you decided to co-parent with Bakugou. It can't be that bad now.

Dividers by: @/diviniyae

Sooooo, I have started a new series, as you can tell. I am working on the work hours fic, I'll post it next probably. As for the last series I started we'll have to name it and get to part 3, I'll do that later next week. Plus I have exams in May so I kinda have to lock in, mommy is tweaking cause syllabus is complete and I haven't even started studying , welp it is what it is, I'll post few fics before I disappear for a while. Anyways take care peeps, and have a good day. 🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️

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myfictionaldreams · 2 years ago

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Day 18: Sex Pollen - Bucky Barnes

Summary: It was your first mission out with your mentor, Bucky, but not all goes to plan when you stumble across an old Hydra laboratory and accidentally trigger a trap.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content (kinda), mentor/protege, grumpy/sunshine trope, sex pollen, fingering, begging, crying, rough sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, creampie

masterlist 📚

kinktober masterlist😈

AO3 Link

“Can you stay close to me?”

“Bucky, if I was any closer to you, I might as well be your shadow. Will you chill out, please?”.

All the response that you are given is an exasperated sigh from your team leader, who was directly in front of you, his gun raised and pointing in whichever direction his eyes followed. You were so close to him that the head of his body seeped through his uniform and into your back as you followed his steps, almost like a choreographed dance with the synrosy.

It was technically your first mission today; even though you’d been over comms for Bucky countless times, he finally gave in and agreed that you could join. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you; in fact, he trusted you more than most. It was more due to his intense mentorship and protectiveness that he’d developed for you over the years, which had everything to do with your clumsiness.

Yes, you were an agent, but there were only so many times that you could accidentally hurt yourself before they called in your experience and practice. You were moved to a behind-the-desk job, which pained your heart, but soon, Bucky was your partner, digitally through the headset and then in person, as you begged him daily for training and a chance to prove yourself.

He was reluctant, but you were like an incessant fly, always buzzing around him with that chirpy personality that even managed to draw a smile to his grumpy old - yet handsome - face. The more time he spent with you, the more you could chip away at his heavy exterior and mask, which only hindered your chances of returning to the field again, as the thought of having you so close in the danger zone had him near palpitations.

He blamed it on your clumsy nature, tripping over your own feet or dropping vital machinery, but in truth, Bucky had wanted to prioritise your safety, which was hard when he had a job to do. However, after months of pestering, you wore him down enough to agree that you could attend the Avengers to a sweep of a supposed deserted Hydra base.

“If you continue down this corridor, I can check the rooms”, you say quietly, hardly audibly over a pin drop, but with Bucky’s increased hearing, you knew he could hear.

“Absolutely not; you’re staying with me; we’ve discussed this. We’ll check the rooms together and finish the rest of the corridor”. Bucky’s word was final, so you didn’t argue back, restraining violently to not eye roll at his authoritative tone.

“You two are like an old married couple”, Natasha quips over the comms, which was enough for both you and Bucky to roll your eyes. It was a comment frequently shared with those around you, and it warmed you to hear such pleasantries, and then the realisation that Bucky would never go for someone like you had the sensation of ice coursing down your spine.

“I think you’ll find he’s the old one, not me”, you retort sarcastically as Bucky leads the way into the first room. “This looks like Bruce’s office or something. Do you recognise any of these experiments?”

It was an old, decrepit office laced with dust and thick cobwebs, similar to something from Frankenstein with the number of attempted experiments that seemed littered around the room. Endless stacks of paper, vials of dusky-coloured liquids, and photographs stapled to the walls that were decaying with age.

“No, I don’t recognise any of this, but whatever it is can’t be good news. Stay close and don’t touch anything”. You once more refrain from the eye roll, knowing he means well, but you’re not a child who needs to be reminded to hold their parent's hand all the time. Taking a step away from him, your eyes scanned the various objects, noticing that it was in a language you didn’t quite recognise.

“Thor, I think we have some voodoo stuff here that’s from your neck of the woods”, Bucky announced through his earpiece.

“You think so?” you ask over your shoulder towards the man with his back to you.

“Yeah, I recognise some of these markings from his hammer”.

“Huh. maybe it’s one of the bases Loki was hiding in; he did like dark and damp places- SHIT!”

To your credit, you hadn’t touched anything or even tripped and knocked something over; potentially, a trip wire or a sensor was trapped in the room, but a light drizzling mist sprayed into your face halfway through your sentence. As you were talking, the concoction settled on your tongue but also seemed everywhere else: your eyes, nostrils, and ears felt wet.

“What? What happened?!” Bucky snapped, standing in front of you in seconds as he assessed you, wiping your eyes.

“I…I don’t know, something sprayed me in the face”. As soon as you’d explained what had happened, Bucky was cradling your face more harshly than you’d have liked, tilting your face in all directions, even sniffing close to see what had covered you, but it had already absorbed into your skin.

Bucky’s eyes were frantically searching over every pore of your face like it would give him answers about what had sprayed you. His gloved finger and thumb holding your chin tightened as he swore. “Fuck! I told you to be careful and stay by my side! Why would you touch anything?!”

Pushing his hands away from your face, you gave him an incredulous gaze, “I didn’t touch anything! I’m not an idiot, so you don’t have to talk to me like I’m one, bucky! Stop- stop trying to touch me, I’m fine,” he had been reaching for your face to examine it again, ignoring your sassy, angry tone. Still, you stepped back out of his reach, becoming frustrated with his lack of trust.

As Bucky’s mouth opened to probably further chastise you, the door ricocheted off the wall as The Avengers swarmed into the uncomfortable small room. Natasha was by your side first, examining your face just as closely as Bucky, but at least she had listened when you explained that you felt completely fine. Tony then scanned your vital signs, which were also fine.

“I told you! It’s probably some mouldy old water or something; I feel fine now can you all give me some space? You’re making it hot in here”. You were fanning your face to try and cool yourself like someone had just turned on the heating, but it was primarily because the small room was full of warm-blooded people.

“Let’s head back out, and we’ve nearly finished the sweep on the North side”, Tony began, the face plate of his suit sliding back into place. “We’ll continue and finish the rest.” He lifted his metal-covered hand and pointed a finger towards Bucky. “Barnes, take her back to the Quinjet, keep an eye on her”.

“No! Don’t send me back to the jet like a child. I told you, I feel absolutely fine!” you quickly tried to rationalise with Tony. Still, he ignored you, hovering off the ground and flying out into the corridor. You looked to the other Avengers with the hope that one of them may find some pity for you, but all you had in response were close-lipped smiles that notified you that there was nothing that they were going to do.

Letting out a frustrated shout, you stopped, admittedly like a child, in the direction you and Bucky had walked down. Even though his steps were silent, you knew he was behind. You could feel his stare burning into the back of your head.

As you returned to the Quinjet, Bucky continued to stay silent as you both sat on opposite sides of the seating bay. Your anger spiked as you shrugged off your jacket, still feeling slightly warm and needing air to reach your skin.

“Where are you going?” Bucky asked as you moved across the jet with determined steps.

“The toilet, or do I need you to hold my hand as I’m doing that too?” you snap, cheeks heating as anger bubbles deep in the centre of your chest. Bucky, for once, looked taken aback by your tone as he shook his head and allowed you to go to the bathroom.

Once inside the small compartment, you rushed to the sink, turned the tap onto its coldest setting and began to scoop it over your skin, sighing in contentment as your skin began to cool down. Pressing your fingers against your face, you felt uneasy with the temperature of your skin, and it was like you were starting to get the flu but also not quite at the heat that concerned you. You decided it was probably from rushing back to the jet after a few minutes of deep breathing.

A rush of guilt settled heavily in your stomach as you thought about how you’d spoken to Bucky. You’d never broken rank and been that rude to him before. Not once had you ever raised your voice or even been angry with him, even through all the times that he’d declined your joining for a mission; it was always for the best, but now, everything just seemed to have escalated. You couldn’t calm yourself down like you were buzzing from the inside out, affecting your temperature and mind.

Three swift knocks on the bathroom door had your head snapping in that direction. “Everything ok in there?” Bucky asked tentatively.

“Yes! Can’t a girl pee without being interrupted?” you snapped, and immediately, you regretted the nasty tone you’d spit out.

There was a pause from Bucky before he continued to speak, but this time, he had lowered his voice in a soft and calming way. “It’s been half an hour, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Sweetheart”.

Half an hour?! You could have sworn it was only a couple of minutes. Rubbing your hands over your face and shaking away the tension, you nervously opened the door, tentatively looking up at Bucky through your lashes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just didn’t want to let you down, and I promise I didn’t touch anything in the lab-”.

Bucky pulled the door open entirely, his eyes roaming over your body to check you were still in one piece before he sighed. “It’s fine, Doll. I just wanted to make sure you’re ok… Are you… ok?”

His blue eyes flicker over your face as he notices that there's something not quite right with you, but all you can manage is a shrug of your shoulders, wiping your eyes that were feeling a little irritated. “I feel mostly fine. I think I need a lie-down, though”.

Bucky looked unsettled by your words but didn’t stop you from walking over to the onboard bunker, where you rolled onto the thin mattress and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

“So, are we just going to leave her here?” Tony sarcastically asked the other Avengers members, who were now watching you sleep.

“No, asshole. I’ll take her”, Bucky grunted, moving past the billionaire to squat beside your body. You’d been in a deep slumber since collapsing onto the bed. Bucky had stayed by your side the entire journey home, which was a fair length, so he was surprised to see you still asleep. Tony had set up the screen to display your vitals, which he watched like a hawk and other than the fact that you weren’t waking, everything remained normal.

The other Avengers didn’t argue with Bucky, knowing how protective he was over you, as they shuffled out of the loading hatch. Bucky shimmied one arm underneath your knees and the other to support your back as he carried your bridal style. You moaned at the disruption, arms circling around his jacket-covered shoulders.

Bucky contemplated taking you to the medical bay for a thorough check, but seeing your peaceful face, he didn’t want to disturb you. He’d stay with you to ensure you were checked as soon as you woke up. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d stayed with you as you slept, as there were many times you’d either fallen asleep on his arm during a movie or gotten too drunk during an Avengers event that he stayed just to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit.

As he walked through the Avengers headquarters, he ignored the call for a debrief by his teammates and continued until he arrived at your bedroom, booting the door closed behind him.

Your bedroom was just as messy as he had anticipated it to be, stepping carefully over the shoes, clothes and books that you liked to say were carefully placed into piles on the floor, but you’d simply just left them there to clean up another time. Your bed was just as bad with mountains of pillows that you insisted on having, even though Bucky thought it was severely excessive.

Trying to reposition his hold on you, he hoisted you higher to spare one of his hands to throw the numerous pillows you owned onto the floor. In doing so, your forehead rested against his cheek, and you released an unsettled whine on the impact of his skin touching yours.

Bucky froze at the noise, trying to look down at your face, but in his position, he couldn’t see properly as you were thoroughly tucked under his chin. Finally having enough space, he ever so carefully led you out onto the soft mattress.

Your eyebrows were furrowed as if you were having a nightmare. Bucky sat beside you on the bed, counting your breaths and frowning when he noticed that you were breathing more rapidly than you had been when he was in his arms.

Sweat began to gather along your temple, causing your hair to stick to your forehead, which he quickly moved to move away. As the tip of his fingers connected with your skin, many things seemed to happen simultaneously.

For one, you released a deeply pained groan as you curled your body into a ball on your side, beginning to breathe in quick succession like you were hyperventilating.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky asked with rising concern, now cupping the side of your face with his flesh hand, but this seemed to trigger the pains enough that you awoke.

Your eyelids fluttered open just to clamp shut again, squeezing as you cried in unbelievable agony. Your skin was burning as if all your nerves had been individually set on fire, causing sweat to come to the surface of your pores drenching your clothes, which was still mostly your uniform.

“It hurts. It’s too hot”, you whimpered, lower lip wobbling as eyes effortlessly tracked down your cheeks. With trembling fingers, you attempted to undo your trousers, but the stabbing pain in your abdomen caused you to curl further into a ball like you were trying to shield your stomach from anyone touching it.

“Let me help. We need to get you to cool down. JARVIS, inform the medical bay that we need some assistance”, Bucky shouted Tony’s AI that ran throughout the building.

As Bucky managed to undo the button to your trousers, JARVIS responded with news that had Bucky’s heart almost stopping. “They are aware of the situation as Mr Stark has requested that I record her vitals from returning to Avengers headquarters. You are both officially in quarantine until they can find out what it is that was sprayed and affecting her”.

The sound of the bedroom locking echoed louder than any of your sobs as Bucky cursed, running up to the barricade and attempting to break out. “You can’t just lock us in here! She’s going to die, Stark, you piece of shit! Open the door!”

“Bucky!” you cried pathetically, still attempting to remove your clothes even though all that remained was your t-shirt and underwear. Bucky didn’t immediately rush back to you as he removed his jacket, giving him more freedom to swing his metal arm back and punch his way through the bedroom door, but all it did was bend; it still wouldn’t open.

“Fuck!” Bucky shouted, seething with unending rage as he rushed back to your side, helping to pull the shirt over your head. “Christ Doll, your skin is warmer than mine. Come on, I’m going to carry you to the bathroom; we need to cool you down”.

Bucky carefully carried you to your en suite bathroom in the same bridal style as before. He tried not to grunt at how warm your body was against his flesh arm as he carefully placed you into the bath, but as he tried to move away to turn on the shower, you screamed out, grabbing onto his arm to keep him close.

“Don’t leave me; it feels good to have you close, please!” Bucky frowned, not entirely understanding what you meant, as surely his higher-running body temperature didn’t feel good when you were burning up so significantly.

“I need to turn the shower on. I’ll be two seconds, and I’ll be back, I promise”, he explained and then didn’t wait for your response as he pried your nimble fingers off your bicep. As soon as some of him didn’t touch your skin, the symptoms worsened.

Bucky flinched at the pitch and volume of how you screamed. He scrambled to reach over the bathtub to switch on the shower head high above the wall and hastily turned the temperature down until cold water was running out.

“Sweetheart, you need to move further under the water; please work with me here. You’ll feel better, you just need to move for me”.

Your whole body was shaking with such force that you found it difficult to suck in air as the heat of your skin was the last of your worries. The pain in your abdomen had turned into pure agony, and if you were to describe it, it was almost like you were cramping, waves of stabbing pain but exaggerated to a level that made it impossible to breathe, think, or even want to survive. It was so severe that you couldn’t hear what Bucky was begging because you were desperate to try and hold your abdomen as it would in some way ease the pain, but not only this, your body was reacting in an extreme way to try and fight the unknown sensation coursing through your veins.

As if to relieve the cramps, your cunt produced an obscene amount of fluid to the point that it was dripping out of your hole and pooling beneath where you sat. If Bucky turned off the shower, you’d probably appear just as wet with how much of your juices were coming out.

“Fuck this”, Bucky whispered under his breath as he failed to get you to move by yourself. Awkwardly, due to the limited space, Bucky climbed into the bath, hoisting you forward to sit behind you and force your body further under the cold water. This, in turn, means that he began to get soaked, including the tactical gear he still wore on his legs, his combat boots and the black t-shirt. He didn’t care though, not when you were deteriorating so significantly.

Bucky put it down to the water, but as soon as he was in the bathtub, his body pressed against yours and arms wrapped around your waist so that the bare skin of his arm and metal touched yours, the screams reduced to stuttering whimpers.

Your head rested back on his shoulder, out of the way of the flowing water, but as your forehead turned and met his chin, you turned further to nuzzle closer.

“More”, you whispered, fingers digging into his forearms to hold him closer.

Bucky readjusted your body so that it sat fully between his thighs. “More what, Doll?” he asked gently, his thumb rubbing in circles along your rib cage. It was only now that he contemplated that you were in your underwear, but it was an emergency, even though some part of him deep down was awakening in some deep-seated emotions he’d been trying to keep locked away.

For the first time since you’d been in pain, you responded to his voice by turning your head slightly but only to rest your lips against his neck. “More!” It was like a siren was sounding through your mind, and the sensation of Bucky’s skin against yours was quietening it to a soft buzz; even the cramping had eased somewhat to a dull ache.

Bucky frowned, confused by your demands, but he squeezed his arms around you further, deciding that maybe it was the comfort that was helping you.

“It hurts”, you sobbed against his neck, “wanna feel more of your skin”.

“My…my skin?” Bucky asked, completely confused by your request and deciding that you’d probably entered the delirious stage of whatever illness you were experiencing.

“Mr Barnes? Are you there?” came a voice from the speakers in the ceiling.

“JARVIS? Is help coming?” Bucky asked with hope pleading in his voice.

“No, sorry, Mr Barnes, but we have an update. It seems that Mr Odinson has read through some of the markings found in the footage taken from the lab. The mist sprayed was, in fact, from Asgardian origin. Mr Odinson informs me that it is most likely planted there by Mr Laufeyson as a trick he has played many times in their lifetime.”

A prank? It sure didn’t look like a prank with the way you were trembling and crying in Bucky’s arms. “So what the hell is it? How do we stop this from getting any worse?”

“This is of a delicate matter, Mr Barnes, so forgive me. Mr Odinson informs me that the chemicals used in the mist are an aphrodisiac used during specific parties in Asgard to increase the user's arousal. Still, due to the amount of time that this substance had been left in this hydra facility, it has caused the ingredients to age and the symptoms to increase in intensity. However, Mr Odinson has reassured me that the symptoms should reduce if you were to consummate”.

Bucky was speechless as he looked down at your precious, unwell body in his arms. “You can’t be fucking serious”, he’d meant to shout, but all that came out was a doubtful whisper. “What would happen if we left her? Would the symptoms lessen? She doesn’t seem to be in as much pain when touching my skin”.

“Unfortunately, after some time, the symptoms will reduce. The chemicals used are designed to last as long as possible, and as they are all out of date, Mr Odinson is unsure how long this may last, but with her vitals as abnormal as they are now, it is unwise to leave her. Mr Stark has suggested that if you cannot fulfil the role of consummation, then he would find someone who could”.

Bucky’s reaction to Stark's comment was to shout in rage, and he could picture him now smiling at his sarcastic comment. There was no way he was letting anyone else touch you. “What if she doesn’t want that? I’m not touching her if she doesn’t want-”

“I do”, you gasp whilst still resting your face on his neck, calming your cries enough that you could hear JARVIS. “I want it so bad; I need the pain to go away. Please help me Bucky”.

Whether it was the way that you begged him for the intimate act or the thought of potentially what was happening, Bucky regretted to say that his cock twitched in the confines of his underwear as he sat up further. “Sweetheart, do you understand what’s being asked? To do this-”

“I want you to touch me, Bucky; I don’t need to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. I know you know how I feel, but please, I can’t feel like this anymore; it hurts everywhere”.

Bucky’s eyes glazed over. All the time of knowing you, he had somewhat of an inkling of the shared feelings. Still, it was firstly unprofessional of him to act on any feelings, but his self-conscious bias of being undeserved of love due to his past as the Winter Soldier stopped him further.

However, now, you were led out before him, ready to live the dreams and fantasies he’d been stuck on for so long, but what’s worse was the pain you were experiencing. It seemed he took too long to answer as he could feel the shift of the heat radiating from you once more.

Your back arched as your fingers delved between your legs, cupping your mound as the pain increased; this time, it wasn’t just the cramps but also white-hot tingles beginning in your clit, over every little sensitive nerve that ran throughout your core.

“Please help me!” you cried, tears lining your eyes.

Bucky had to decide then and there if he would potentially watch you suffer with unimaginable pain or help in the only possible way. He’d agreed, had from the second Jarvis had suggested it, knowing that he couldn’t lose you.

Sitting up slightly, Bucky reached behind his head to pull the black t-shirt off and onto the floor, the wet material squelching on impact. With his chest bare and kissing the skin of your back, you sighed in relief, but the throbbing between your thighs didn’t cease.

“Off, I need these off!” you referred to your underwear, the bra and panties restraining the areas that hurt you the most. Using his metal hand, bucky quickly tore through both garments and discarded them onto the floor to join his shirt.

The sound of relief that you made caused his heart to beat with a more affectionate rhythm as he looked down at your now naked body. The shower continued to coat you with cool water that glistened off you. Your nipples were the first thing that he noticed, impossibly hard and aching to be touched, and it seemed he was reading your mind as you grabbed his metal hand and used it to cup the squishy mound, directing his thumb and forefinger to pinch the sensitive nub.

You released a heavenly cry, back arching and thighs clamping shut at the lightest of touches. With his warm hand, he did the same to your other breast as he carefully squished both in his palms before rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“Yes! Feels so good, just like that”, you beg, eyes still shut, but your head had rolled back onto his shoulder, giving him the space to respond to his desire of gently kissing the column of your throat. Even this sparked more moans from you, needing to feel the plumpness of his lips, needing the electrical tingles that came from his touches to continue.

The kisses were soft, like he was scared to touch you, but as your sounds of pure elation continued, so did his confidence as his mouth opened, applying wet, open-mouth kisses to your skin.

As if on instinct, responding to these touches, your hips began to rotate, pushing down harder against his groin until Bucky was moaning in pleasure.

“More, touch me more”. Bucky responded to your demands by smoothing his flesh hand down your abdomen, feeling the skin taunt, reacting to him. He moved over your mound as he watched closely from over your shoulder. This was when he felt it, the wetness that was continuing to be produced and pour out of your cunt. Even though the shower was still coating you, the substance was different, verging on feeling slimy, more slippy and seemed to cover everywhere from the waist down.

Bucky contemplated licking his fingers to taste you, especially as his mouth filled with saliva with the need pulsing through him. Still, it wasn’t about him, so he continued lower until his fingertips were parting your labia.

The second his middle finger stroked your clit, it seemed a wild animal took over you like you knew how close you were to receiving what you truly wanted but not quite going at the speed you wanted.

One flick of his middle finger against your swollen, throbbing clit was all you allowed before you were turning in his arms, pushing his arms away momentarily as you raised onto weak knees.

“Need you now. I can’t wait; it hurts so much Bucky”. As you explained your reasonings, your shaking fingers were reaching for the waist of his tactical trousers, trying to undo the belt but grunting when you struggled to do so. Bucky thankfully helped you then, ignoring the evident trembling in his fingers from all of the adrenaline as he unfastened his belt, button and zipper.

With this new freedom, you were able to reach inside the space and grasp his hard dick, pulling it out of the confines of his clothes. You marvelled at it for a single second, enjoying the softness of the skin but the firmness of the shaft, the bulging veins and tip that was bulbous and aching to be stroked. It was like your prize, your pot of gold at the end of the tunnel, and you needed it inside of you right that moment.

Seeing and hearing your desperation to be as quick as possible, as the cramps continued to pulse through your abdomen, Bucky quickly grabbed your hips, pulling you over his lap to straddle him, even with the awkwardness of the squished space in the bathtub.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as you lowered yourself. Neither you nor Bucky had ever experienced anything like it. The agony catapulting through your veins completely shifted to one of pleasure, like a switch had been flicked throughout your body as you took inch after inch of his delicious cock. Bucky, on the other hand, was having to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cumming, but he did moan in an animalistic way. He’d never been inside a cunt that was so perfect before, so deliciously warm and unnaturally soaked; you squeezed his cock in pulses that he soon realised was the thump of your heart.

“That’s it, you’re taking me so well.” Bucky couldn’t help but praise, wrapping his arms around your back to provide further support.

As your body naturally seemed to adjust to the size of his cock, you didn’t waste any time before beginning to ride him with the help of Bucky’s strong arms.

The shower still coated you both in refreshing cold water for the heat, devouring the two of you. Bucky is still wearing his tactical trousers and boots, and you are completely nude and riding him like your life depended on it. Well, it did, in a way.

Up and down, you bounced, your tits jumping on your chest, which caused your pebbled nipples to rub against his, giving extra stimulation. You were so incredibly out of breath with the momentum of fucking him, but you didn’t stop, only occasionally softening the bouncing to a soft roll which always caused Bucky to moan and squeeze the cheeks of your arse together.

In no time at all, you were finding your peak, cunt pulsing dangerously tightly around his cock as you came, face hiding on his shoulder as you slumped against him for a second. Bucky thought this would be over, that he would have to carry you to bed and hope you felt better soon, but then he began to feel the wetness flowing around his cock and the throb returning. Shortly after, you were whimpering.

“It hurts again, please Bucky, I need you again”.

Bucky didn’t need telling twice as he thrust his hips up to snap into yours, causing your delicious moan to echo around the room. He needed to hear it again, so he repeated the action, but it was difficult to find any sort of leverage in this position, so with his metal arm positioned beneath your arse, he supported your weight and stood. His boots were now the objects to be squelching as he moved towards the shower wall.

There, he pushed your back against it and began to fuck you with deep, fast penetrations. Your head fell back against the tiles, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as you didn’t want this pleasure to end.

“Harder, Bucky fuck me harder!” you cried out, knowing he was still holding back. Bucky grunted, shifting so that both of his hands were beneath your arse cheeks, holding you more securely so that he could fuck you without any restraint.

Each thrust had you almost blacking out; they felt so good. The tip of his cock smashing into your cervix, which any other time would have potentially hurt, but for now, it was just what you needed.

You came again, spluttering and quivering from your mouth and cunt as he helped you over the edge. However, once more, the pains returned.

Bucky had once thought that his increased libido due to the super serum was a hindrance, but for the only time in his life, he was thanking whatever asshole had experimented on him for this moment.

His trousers and boots had been removed as he had carried your dripping body out of the shower when he realised your temperature remained low if he was fucking you. Into the bedroom, he continued his impressive and thorough fucking. Pushed onto the bed on all fours, in the spooning position, even missionary, and he wouldn’t change positions until you were a cumming bumbling mess. Wherever he decided to bend you over, it was always him on top; your legs were shaking too much to support your weight anymore, but he didn’t mind, not when he could take full control and draw orgasm after orgasm from you.

After god knows how many orgasms, Bucky finally couldn’t edge himself anymore and came with a gruff moan against your collarbone from where he lay over you, his seed seeping into your swollen hole, warming and massaging internally. This finally seemed to settle you, like it was the one missing ingredient your body needed, as you slumped onto the bed without any more cries of pain.

Bucky collapsed next to you, pulling your exhausted, limp body on top of his, your face resting on his chest as you both tried to calm your breathing.

He thought you’d fallen asleep, but then your face was tilting up to look at his, which, in turn, he looked down to look at yours. Even though you looked thoroughly exhausted, he could see that you were beginning to return to your usual self as you smiled so gently that it caused his heart to beat harder. Something you could hear as your ear rested over his heart. Tilting your head up further, your lips caressed his before Bucky could contemplate what you were doing.

The kiss was light and delicate, and it finally dawned on Bucky that this was the first kiss shared between the two of you, having been so distracted with fucking your brains out that he thought kissing would be too intimate. Neither of you said anything, just continued to smile before sleep finally captured your conscious minds.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky smut #marvel smut #marvel #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023

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the-odd-shu · 7 months ago

Text

You're supposed to be sick, don't sass me

A continuation of lab shenanigans, and Hey Hextech

Masterlist

Next part:

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader

(Pre - Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Reader who started the day with an annoying cough, and a tickle in their throat, and slowly declined in energy throughout the day.

They come into the lab ten minutes after the boys, cradling a warm drink between chilled hands with their backpack slung over their shoulder. Viktor is already at the chalkboard drawing up a set of equations he thought up whilst at home last night, whilst Reader can hear Jayce in the kitchenette loudly stirring mugs.

"And what time do you call this?" Viktor drawled from the chalkboard, eyes practically sparkling with mischief as he glances at them over his shoulder.

Reader makes a show of looking at the clock hung above the chalkboard. The minute hand was exactly two past the hour, which was honestly pretty early for them, since they tended to roll up around five past on a good day. "I'd call it, right on time."

Viktor sighs in exasperation, and Jayce chooses then to come out of the kitchenette, a mug in each hand. "Oh, good morning. Are you ready to finish everything up for the deadline tonight?" He asks, like an unaware asshole (affectionate).

Reader's face goes through the five stages of grief. "Uh, deadline...?"

Jayce, like the unaware, workaholic he is, simply strides up to the chalkboard to hand Viktor his mug of sweetmilk, all whilst sprouting information about an enormous research paper they had been aware of, but knew still needed half a dozen sketches and polishing before it could be submitted.

"Ah." Reader says eloquently, which draws Jayce's concern. "I thought that was due in next week."

"I'm afraid not." Viktor interjects, voice uncharacteristically soft, as if he expects them to begin freaking out. Which prompts them to make a point not to, simply because he had been expecting it, and that man was right about too many things already.

They take in a deep, calming breath instead, and take a sharp drag from their warm drink. "Right then, time to clock in. No one look at me, breathe near me, or acknowledge me until it's done, got it?"

"Can I interrupt you to bring you drinks at least?" Jayce asked, expression totally serious.

They pause to think about it for a moment. "Only once I've done half of it, or I'm actively crying from eye strain. Whichever comes first really."

The day progresses. Reader gets on with their work, Jayce and Viktor get on with theirs'. At a glance, it seems like nothing is wrong.

But then when Jayce comes round with the drinks and begins insisting on a break, Reader becomes snappish with him. He notices that they keep alternating between taking off their uniform jacket, and dragging it back on and as well as their coat with increasing frustration. It isn't cold in the lab today, not to Jayce anyway, and yet he's fairly certain they're shivering. And what's even more concerning, is that Viktor doesn't even have goosebumps, which he is notorious for having, sometimes even with the heating on.

Reader who asks for a herbal tea during the break with a hoarse voice, instead of their usual caffeine monstrosity, which has Jayce's eyes widening in shock, and Viktor's head snapping up from his textbook, the pair exchange concerned looks from across the room.

Reader who has begun rubbing at their eyes, with a small frown, but continues to finish drawing after drawing of their assignments for that day.

Jayce being reluctant to step in, since he'd been conditioned with the spray bottle to offer help only when it was asked where his lab partners and their work were concerned. He reasoned that they were an adult anyway, and would no doubt step away from their desk when they truly reached the end of their tether.

Viktor who realises he is the one who is going to have to step in.

Reader who has just finished up yet another sketch, has moved it to the side with the others, and has taken up their pencil to begin another.

"That's enough for now. You need to take a break." Viktor tells them firmly, approaching their desk.

They sigh, pencil momentarily forgotten, as they rub at the bridge of their nose. Viktor couldn't help but notice just how exhausted they looked. Their complexion has severely deteriorated since they came in this morning. Eyelids heavy, movements sluggish.

"You know I can't, V. We have Councilor Medarda coming in the morning, and the sketches for this proposal need to be completed in time to be scanned onto the paper."

"Maybe, but you've already done most of them. We can get by with a sketch or two less than usual."

"I have no doubt you could, but that doesn't mean you should."

"Y/n-"

"Just leave it! Please? The sooner I get these done, the sooner I can go home."

Viktor sighed. "You know we won't hold it against you if you're a day behind-"

"Oh, don't be a hypocrite, Viktor." They interrupted him, tone sharper than he is used to hearing from them. "Just last week, Jayce had to bribe you out of the lab when you went on a sixteen hour deep dive into some theory you had."

With a tight snort, they turned away to pick up their pencil.

Viktor's brows furrowed as his grip tightened on his cane. "Don't be cranky with me."

"Then leave me alone to work." They tiredly replied, "you're in my light."

A heavy sigh from Viktor as he pointedly does not step out of their light. "Jayce, hit the lights."

The sheer absurdity of the command, gives Reader pause.

"Wha-what? I am literally doing this for your paper?" They try to complain, time within which Jayce had diligently crossed the lab and has flicked off the lights, then he's heading in the opposite direction to the windows, where he begins to draw the blinds.

Reader lets out a hysterical little laugh. "You two are so weird sometimes."

Jayce comes back to their desk, a big shadow amongst the silhouettes of the desks and lab equipment. Perhaps this wasn't their smartest idea to go blind in a science lab of all places, but Viktor reasoned it was the only way to get Reader to physically stop doing their job.

"Right, pick something to work on for the next few hours," Viktor says to Jayce, "I'll email Councilor Medarda that we need more time, then we're heading over to Y/n's place."

"Excuse me? When did I invite you over?!"

"When you started being a brat." Viktor returns easily, before spinning on his heel and carefully navigating his way back to his desk. His eyes are already pretty much adjusted so it's not too much trouble.

Reader groans. "You're not listening to me." They complain. "I can push through and get it done for the deadline tonight. I'm just a little tired."

"I am sure you could." Viktor replies. "But as a hypocrite, I must remind you that your health comes before any work you need to do or complete."

Jayce approaches Reader's desk, steps loud and audible so they won't get jumpscared by him. With care, he takes the pencil from their hand and sets it down on the stack of papers waiting to be completed. "V is right."

"Not you too Jayce."

"No, listen. The deadline is nowhere near as important as your health. You'd done a lot of work already, more than enough, so let's just leave it at that today."

Reader glares at him. "The next time one of you gets a cold, I don't want to hear any shit about me being overbearing."

Jayce smiled, and Reader immediately crumbles.

With a heavy sigh, they sit back in their chair. "Fine. But you cannot say I didn't try to get this done."

Basically, they bully Reader into leaving the lab early. They're reluctant to go, so the boys decide 'fuck it, lets take some work and go back to Reader's place to make sure they get some rest'.

Cue the boys going to work in the living room after herding Reader to their room and ordering them to take a nap.

A nap which morphs into fitful sleep, as Reader's body steadily declines. They begin coughing full force. Tossing and turning. Getting too hot. Then abruptly shivering from how cold it suddenly gets. Getting up to pee. Checking the time, before going back to bed. Briefly resurface for pain meds. Realise that time has BAREKY moved since they last checked and now they're just BORED! They try to go back to sleep again.

Reader can feel themselves getting sicker as their voice begins to strain and hurt, but their mind is still active.

They have weird fever dreams. They keep waking up, and not really knowing where they are.

Jayce and Viktor are passed out in the living room when Reader cracks open their bedroom door, suddenly ravenous for food, and wrapped in a heavy blanket with bare feet. They pad down the hall of the flat to the kitchen, where they pull bread out of the cupboard and begin wolfing it down slice by slice. Somehow it is EXACTLY what they wanted to eat. Just solid enough to feel nice on their sore throat, without aggravating it further. Their throat is shot from coughing, tight and uncomfortable with every swallow, but their hunger wins out over the pain.

Then they shift their attention to the medicine cupboard, pulling down a new brand of painkillers and filling a glass of water to wash it all down.

They dread dragging themselves back into that sweaty bed, envisioning more hours of boring tossing and turning. Of throwing the covers off when the heat threatened to boil them, all before scrambling to drag them back and hunker down when the coolness became frigid.

Instead of going back to their bedroom, they drag their ass into the living room, where their co-workers are passed out on the couches. The couches THEY want to curl up on and catch some sleep. Jayce - as always - was taking up the entirety of his, whilst Viktor was sat upright, feet on the floor with his head thrown back and resting on the backrest, which couldn't have been comfortable for his neck.

Deciding that Jayce was in too deep of a sleep to even attempt at waking, Reader shuffles over to Viktor and lightly nudges his good foot with their toes. His head rolls towards them, eyes fluttering open to frown up at them.

"What is it?"

"Got bored."

He scoffs. "Only you could get bored of being sick."

They shrug. "I need a change of scenery." They explained, before sliding a hand out from beneath their blanket cloak to motion to the couch beside him. "Can I sit there?"

Viktor glanced down at the empty expanse of couch. "Wouldn't you prefer to lay down?"

"Are you offering up your lap as a pillow?"

His brows jumped up to his hairline at the bold question. And if they had been in their right mind, they might have rapidly backpedalled and tried to pass it off as a joke. But as they were, tired and waiting for the painmeds to dull the ache in their skull, they didn't have the energy to spare to save face. Besides, they knew that Viktor was the kind to jab someone with his cane rather than allow them to make him uncomfortable.

"I suppose." Viktor said after a long moment of drawn out thought.

"Great. Thanks." They replied before crawling onto the couch cushion, curling up on their side whilst pulling the blanket more fully over them and plopping their head into his lap. Luckily, most of their face landed on his good leg rather than the one encircled in the brace, but either way, Viktor didn't protest. Almost immediaely, they could feel themselves relaxing into the comfort of the couch, as a hesitant, nimble hand gently lowered itself to their temple. With an absent hum, Viktor checked their temperature before letting his hand card through their sweat damp locks.

Again, they can't find it in themselves to care, their cheeks burn with fever, and yet goosebumps erupt up their forearms. They can feel themselves shivering, even under the blanket.

"-get them anything?" Jayce's voice filters in as their mind begins to resurface from weird dreams consisting of drawings that walked off of pages and a disturbing version of Jayce with no eyebrows.

"A cool flannel perhaps." Viktor's voice rumbles from somewhere closer to their ears. The gentle slid of fingers against their aching temple feels strangely soothing. "And some more painkillers with a glass of water."

"On it."

Footsteps pad away from the couch.

Groggily, Reader peels an eyelid open to find the curtains to the living room drawn against the strong sunlight, leaving the room comfortably dim.

"Finally awake, I see." Viktor muses, his hand carefully pushing their hair away from their forehead.

Jayce comes back into the living room. His jacket and boots off.

Viktor encourages Reader to roll onto their back, their head still comfortably pillowed in his lap. Jayce sets the glass of water and the pills on the coffee table, before kneeling down beside the couch. With careful, broadcasted movements, he lays the cool flannel over Reader's sweaty brow, who shivers at the feeling. The coldness is refreshing, even as it has their forearms to erupt into goosebumps.

"I'm surprised V let you lay here for so long. His bedside manner is usually atrocious."

"It's because I was given no choice." Viktor carefully corrected.

Reader huffs out a weak laugh. "I didn't say it out loud, but he could probably tell it was either let me lay down or he'd find himself on the floor."

"You would not have been able to wrestle me to the carpet in your current state." Viktor corrected sharply. "You looked like death warmed over."

"And I felt like it." Reader agrees. "Just admit it V, you've got a soft spot for me."

Jayce is watching them bicker with fondness in his eyes. Knelt beside the couch, he carefully peels up the flannel, flips it over and reapplied it to Reader’s forehead, who sighs in relief at the freshness.

Viktor's brows loosen ever so slightly as they melt back down into his lap. "I certainly do not hate you." He said, sounding like he was compromising, rather than simply agreeing with them.

"And THAT is as good as a declaration of friendship coming from you."

He tutted, and then shifts. "Up. My leg is stiff and I need to walk around."

"But I'm comfortable."

"Too bad. I've tolerated your thick head for several hours too long."

Jayce helps sit them up, Viktor grabs his cane and hauls himself up with a deep, pained groan, his brace's gear grinding and clicking as his joint turned. He stays looming over the couch for a few moments, testing his leg, whilst Jayce gets Reader a cushion to lean against instead.

I like to think that they take it in turns to bully each other into self care. So if someone gets ill, or burnt out, the other two become makeshift nursemaids and threaten and blackmail them into going home to rest for a bit. Following them home if it is required of them.

I also know in my bones that Jayce is the kind of dumbass to be too cuddly with someone who was sick with 9/10 lands him the same illness a matter of days later, and the cycle continues.

Next part

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lisired · 1 year ago

Text

change your mind yet?

pairing: haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, enemies to lovers-esque, choking, spit kink, haechan’s lowkey a cocky piece of shit, he calls you a bitch Lol

summary: You’re going to kill him. You swear, You’re going to kill him. how did Liu Yangyang accidentally tell Lee Donghyuck—your greatest enemy—that you think he’s hot and that you’ve been in a dry spell recently? Now you have to avoid the inevitable confrontation, and worst of all, deal with the most stubborn person alive (who ironically thinks that you’re the most stubborn person alive).

word count: 4.6k

a/n: very much an oldie… not so sure about a goodie but i do love the ending. i had written this for a friend lol

You love him to bits, but Liu Yangyang is not your favorite friend right now.

Fairly, you one-hundred percent blame him for the predicament you’re currently in. You know he can be a blabbermouth at times and wouldn’t do it on purpose, but there’s no way you’d let him get away with quote-unquote accidentally telling your mortal enemy that you think he’s hot, and that you’ve been having trouble getting off.

It was yesterday evening that you were on FaceTime with your best friend, simply conversating as per usual. You were ranting comfortably to Yangyang about your troubles and how sexually frustrated you are, and he suggested you getting laid. That’s how the topic of Lee Donghyuck came. He was suggesting people, and when he asked you if you thought Donghyuck was hot, you replied yeah, but I wouldn’t touch his dick with laboratory safety gloves.

Fast-forward some hours later, he’s consentfully telling your mutual friend Renjun about your conversation, in hopes of playing matchmaker and finding someone for you to fuck. The problem? Donghyuck was around, and somehow overheard everything except the part about you saying that you’d never touch his egotistical dick.

So now you’re on campus, avoiding your egotistic mortal enemy like the plague.

Why do you dislike Donghyuck? The answer’s simple, he’s one of those guys. The ones that think they own the world, and that it revolves around them. The ones that think they can have any and every person they want, and treat people’s hearts like dirt. In short, you don’t think he’s a good person, no matter how hot he is.

When your final class rolls around, you think you might’ve successfully dodged him. You had another class with him today, but for some reason he was a no-show. Not that you care, his lack of presence was relieving. Then, you see him stroll into your Language Arts class, and the bright red cherry on top? He’s quick to snatch the seat directly next to yours. Oh, brother.

“Hey,” Donghyuck whispers. “Let’s talk.”

Your heart is racing, but you think you manage to conceal it. “In the middle of class?”

He shrugs, “Afterwards.”

You’re running out of here the second your professor dismisses you.

So, Donghyuck cornered you.

There’s no going anywhere as long as he has you like this, backed up against a wall, his hands on either side of you, and his gaze practically rooting you in place. You feel like you’re being stared down by Medusa, still as stone as you look into his eyes.

“So, let’s talk,” he grins, tilting his head. “A little birdie tells me you think I’m hot, you’re under a dry spell, and that you’ve been having trouble making yourself cum lately.”

“Did you hear the part where I said I wouldn’t touch your egotistical dick with laboratory safety gloves?”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t need my dick to have your thighs shaking, huh,” you’re blushing, actually blushing, cheeks aflame and your skin all hot. To make matters worse, Donghyuck’s hands move from beside you to sitting pretty on your waist, not moving lower or higher, cool texture of his rings pressing gently into your skin. The contact has you in an internal frenzy, but you chalk it up to you simply being touch-starved. “Don’t you see these lips, baby?”

Alas, you do see them. With his face as close as it is to yours, you can’t help but see them. They’re pretty and plush, kissable, and kind of do look like they could eat—no, no, no, no. You’ve been with your share of guys like Donghyuck, ones that like to talk about how good they are, yet are severely disappointing in reality. For you to even be considering sleeping with him just goes to show that you’ve struck rock bottom.

“D-don’t call me that,” you curse yourself for stammering, because he only finds it amusing.

“Why not? I think you like it, baby,” Donghyuck teases, “is that the problem? You like me, but you don’t want to like me? You don’t like that you know I could make you feel good?”

You loosen your gaze, unable to bare eye contact with him any longer, “Fuck you, Donghyuck.”

“Fuck me your fucking self,” he grabs your chin, making you look at him. If you can see anything in his eyes, it’s the unmistakable gleam of lust, so dark yet so tempting. “You want it, don’t you?”

God dammit, you do want it. But you refuse to have your name crossed out on his checklist, to be another notch in his belt. You know it would only boost his ego to have seduced the most stubborn person alive into fucking him, and you absolutely refuse to let that happen.

“No.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrow, “No?”

“No,” you repeat.

You don’t know how you expected him to react, but he takes it coolly, dropping his hands and stepping away. Aw no, did you hurt his ego? The thought almost makes you laugh.

“Okay, but you know where to find me when you change your mind,” He smirks, and you hate how confident he sounds. Not if, but when. When you change your mind.

He strolls away, and you let him. You have bigger fish to fry, and you refuse to let some grade A fuckboy get in your head.

Unfortunately, you are not as in control of your thoughts as you’d like. This is bad, really fucking bad, you think. Last night, you actually successfully managed to cum on your own. That should be a good thing, but the reason you came is absolutely humiliating. An embarrassing, taking-it-with-me-to-the-grave secret.

You may or not may not have came to the thought of Donghyuck. How his fluffy hair would look clamped to his forehead, or how his forehead would look dripping with sweat. Imagining his fingers replacing your own, fingering you with his rings on, the coolness of them against your skin. But what really did it was probably the image of him between your thighs that was planted in your brain the second he offered himself to you. You thought of what good his lips could do, and how they’d look dripping all wet.

This is fucking terrible. You haven’t came in god knows how long, and the one time you do after forever, it’s because of the man you’ve sworn to hate until the day you die. Usually this is something you’d rant to your best friend about, but after what happened the last time you told him about your sexual frustrations, you decide you’re going to keep this one to yourself. If Donghyuck ever heard you came to the thought of him eating you out, he’d literally never in a million years ever let you live it down.

Today’s a new day, but you haven’t been able to shake off the shame, particularly because tonight’s Renjun’s party, and being one of his best friend’s, Donghyuck will undoubtedly be there. He’s posted it on his story and everything, not that you were checking. You overheard Yangyang talking about it. But either way, you don’t know if you’ll be able look him in the eye again.

“It’s a good thing you’re going out again,” Yangyang assures, walking next to you as you two stroll into the party, “maybe you’ll meet someone else to help you get out of your dry spell.”

He’s right. This is your chance to get laid, get over whatever that was with Donghyuck, and move on. You’re like, ninety-nine point nine percent convinced you’re only attracted to him out of sheer desperation. The measly zero point one percent comes from you being aware that you’ve thought he was attractive long before yesterday happened, but whatever. Forget it.

So you nod in agreement. Soon enough, you’ve settled with the party atmosphere. You’ve had a drink but you’re not drunk, and you’ve tried socializing but everyone seems so not your style, which is insane, because Donghyuck isn’t your style either. You don’t think. No, he’s not.

This is worse than you initially suspected. You can’t find anyone, and Donghyuck’s still running through your mind, being a complete and utter distraction and he’s not even here—

Speaking of the devil himself, “Hey.”

You spoke too soon.

“Ohmygod, if you’re here to try and seduce me again, I’m not interested,” you groan, hoping he gets the message and leaves you the fuck alone. At the same time you really don’t, but you definitely think you should.

Donghyuck raises his hands, “But I’m egotistical. I just came here to invite you to a game of truth of dare with the gang, lighten up a lil, won’t ya?”

You sigh. “Where?”

He leads you to the room where everyone is, and you make sure to scoot next to Ningning and Jennie, refusing to sit anywhere besides Donghyuck. All you hope now is that the bottle doesn’t land on you after him.

A couple of rounds fly by, and you’re still safe. You’re having fun, and the thought of him escapes your mind with ease. Even when the bottle does land on you, he doesn’t dare you to do anything crazy that you thought he would.

After Yangyang’s turn, the bottle lands on you. You’re not worried, because Yangyang’s your best friend, he wouldn’t dare you to do anything stupid.

Then he does exactly that.

“Seven minutes in heaven with Donghyuck!”

You’re going to kill him. You’re mentally plotting his murder right now. How you’re going to do it, when, and where you’ll hide his body. If he suspiciously winds up missing, you’re more than likely the reason why.

“Pucker up, buttercup,” Yangyang blows you a kiss.

You spit back, “Shut up, bubble guts.”

You hear him gasp in offense, but whatever he says is cut off by Donghyuck.

“Come on, babes. I can hear your lips calling my name,” he teases, and you groan, clutching your fist. You guess there’s no way out of this. Well, technically there is, but Renjun let Yangyang choose the punishment and he decided to make anyone who refused to do a dare eat a spoonful of sour cream. Mind you, sour cream by itself is disgusting, and this is probably why he and his stomach are frequently at war, so your safest option is getting in that room with Donghyuck for seven minutes. You don’t even have to kiss, you can just let everyone think you did.

So you follow him into the bathroom connected to Renjun’s room, and the second the door shuts, he has you backed into yet another wall. He grins, “Change your mind yet?”

You stand your ground. “No.”

“That’s fine, we can make out in the meantime and then see how you feel after seven minutes.” he replies nonchalantly.

Even though you’ve been thinking about it, you grimace. “Gross.”

“What? It’s not my dick, why do you act like you hate me anyways? Not that I’m really complaining, I like when things are hard.”

“Bet you do,” you grumble. “And if I’m acting, then I must be Viola Davis.”

“Eh, I’d give you Keanu Reeves.”

You glare. “On second thought, I’m almost willing to kiss you if it means you’ll keep quiet.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Donghyuck grins, “because that and giving head are the only ways to silence me.”

You cave in soon later, letting him pin you to the wall, your hands above your head as he kisses you hungrily. It kills you to learn that he’s a great kisser, because that means he’s actually good at something other than running his mouth and being the bane of your existence twenty-four seven. Though you don’t know how that’s possible, he’s gentle yet rough. Caring in his movement, though passionate in them too. The way he’s kissing you, you’d think he loved you.

In spite of your obvious attempts to try and touch him, to maybe run your fingers through his hair or hold his cheeks in your hands, Donghyuck doesn’t let you move. You can feel the teasing grin bloom from his lips, and conclude that it’s intentional.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be french kissing Lee Donghyuck of all people, yet here you are. You can’t say you don’t like it, though. That would be lying. While you’d never admit anything like it, the roughness in the way he kisses you has you throbbing.

Donghyuck’s lips are like a drug. You stop for a moment to inhale, and then you’re lips are latched back onto each other. Exhale again, then you take another drag, and the cycle repeats. You could do this for fucking ever.

Then, the timer chimes.

“Time’s up!” Chenle yells from outside the bathroom, and Donghyuck pulls always almost instantly, surprisingly readier than you are.

He looks hot as he pants, chest rising and falling then rising again. He smirks, “Change your mind?”

God fucking damn it. Time went by a little too fast for your liking. Your lips are swollen, but you want more of him, to feel him, to touch him, especially because he didn’t let you. You’re finally admitting to yourself that you want him, and you can’t ignore your cravings anymore.

“Donghyuck,” you whimper, not caring in this moment who hears you, “w-want you.”

He smirks. “I know, baby. You wanna prove to me how much?”

You nod. It’s pathetic, truly, but you need this at this point. So you let Donghyuck lead you out of the bathroom, and essentially the bedroom, ignoring the curious sounds coming from your friends. He leads you down the hall into a different, emptier room, closing and locking the door behind the two of you.

“On the bed,” he instructs.

You comply, the desperation that accompanies having not slept with someone in months and orgasming in weeks making you leap into action in an instant. Then there’s this raw part of you that has lusted after him before you fully came to terms with your desire, making you feel the way blood courses through your veins.

Donghyuck walks up and kisses you again, this time allowing both of your pairs of hands to roam freely as you strip one another almost bare. In an eager motion, you peel away his shirt and jeans, and he matches your yearn, leaving you naked. He pulls away from your lips to eye your body in awe.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, “but a beautiful one.”

“Really turned me on,” you deadpan.

He laughs yet pushes your back flat against the mattress, wasting no time in hovering above your body. The proximity has your heart racing a little quicker, a little faster than it was out of something like anticipation. Donghyuck dips his head but doesn’t kiss you like you anticipate him to, at least not on the lips. His lips scout your neck, soft and sweet against your flesh. He sucks at your skin, and your mouth gapes a little, sounding the most sweet gasp before he digs his teeth in suit. It makes you whimper aloud his name, which he clearly enjoys from the way he smiles.

Donghyuck repeats a course of similar actions as he mouth scoots lower, kissing and sucking and biting at your collarbone. Then he proceeds after some time, traveling lower and taking your breast into his mouth or his tongue swirling over your nipples. He trails kisses at your sternum, your stomach, all the while your breath getting caught up in your throat the more his mouth falls down your body. He’s so obviously teasing you, you know that much. He has a destination yet no rush to get there, taking his sweet, precious time as though he’s rich of it. And maybe he is, but your patience is running thin, and there’s only so much more of this you can take. “Hyuck,” you cry out of sheer desperation, “hurry up.”

“For someone who claimed not to want me up until ten minutes again, you really are desperate for me,” Donghyuck replies, drawing his mouth away, and hence all contact there was.

Refusing to simply take that, you retaliate, “For someone who claimed they could make me feel good, you’re doing a whole lot of nothing right now.”

“Keep running that sharp mouth and I’ll have to put it to better use,” Donghyuck answers. It isn’t like you’re against giving head, and it wouldn’t sound so bad if you weren’t so painfully deprived of the same satisfaction Donghyuck’s offered to give you. Sure, the speed—or lack of the—heightens the anticipation, but you need him to quit teasing or you’ll actually go insane.

“You keep acting like you hate me,” Donghyuck moves between your legs, and you aren’t prepared for what he does next. Something about the way he slowly smooths his single finger through your folds and draws it into his mouth for a taste is hot to you, thus making you wish he’d finally get on with it. “But your cunt is telling me that you love me. Love this.”

Well it isn’t like he’s wrong. You haven’t been this wet in ages, the dry spell you’ve been under being extreme and severe. Touching yourself has gone absolutely no where up until last night, when you somehow managed to cum harder than you have in a minute. You’re starting to think that having Donghyuck as your muse changes things.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. You’d love this more if he stopped making you wait, but you don’t say that aloud, starting to suspect that the more you complain the longer he silently decides he’s going to test your patience. After what feels like an eternity of touching you everywhere but where you desperately need him to most, Donghyuck’s tongue draws a line between your thighs. Then another, and another. It progresses into more with no particular rush, despite the inevitable whines you can’t prevent from falling out. “Hyuck,” you cry again, wishing he’d stop playing games.

Donghyuck teases, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” you beg, “Please, please. I-I want, fuck no, I need this. Please, fuck—”

Your pleas are cut short the moment Donghyuck gives in, lapping at you with an unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger. It’s so sudden that it gives you whiplash, and he has to grip your thighs to keep them spread a safe distance apart. He’s unstopping once he begins, tongue maneuvering as it pleases, roaming around freely though expertly. Had you known Donghyuck was as much bite as he was bark, you may have gave in to this much sooner than you did. Not only is he making you feel good, but he’s making you feel great. If you could taste heaven, it would be this.

Some moments pass, and the humiliating part is that it isn’t a lot of moments. Your thighs are trembling more with every lick, resulting in Donghyuck’s grip around your thighs to tighten out of consideration that you might successfully slip out of his grasp. You stomach turns, flips, and you’re vision is being clouded white, so close to an orgasm that it hurts. Donghyuck senses it, you know that he can, you can feel the arrogant smirk spreading across his lips once more. Just as you’re getting so close, as your orgasm is right there in arms reach, being dangled in front of you by a string, he snatches it away.

There’s yet another whine from you, but he answers your question before you even get the chance to ask, “Want you to cum when I fuck you, baby.”

Donghyuck removed his boxers, leaving them on the ground to be cared about later. His erection springs flat against his stomach in a way that makes you so suddenly inhale a breath, and you clench around absolutely nothing at all. You’re gawking at him as though you want to eat hm, and in a sense you do, but you can’t be blamed. It looks better than you could’ve ever imagined, decent length, decent girth. The real brag-worthy factor, however, is if he knows what to do with what god has blessed him with.

His dick nudges your slit. “Ready?”

Without wasting an eighth of second you give him the go-ahead, nodding your head at instance so fast it almost hurts your neck. He reacts equally as fast, prodding his dick between your folds and eventually your walls. It stretches you out perfectly, and the moment he’s in you Donghyuck’s moaning about how tight and wet you are. He takes a moment for himself before he starts to move, gliding in and out of you in an effortless motion.

So far, Donghyuck has lived up perfectly to your imagination and expectations, much better, even. You never would’ve thought he’d actually have the right to brag about how good he is in bed, but you see it now. He’s a god even, not that you’d ever tell him that to his face.

“So pretty, wish I could have gotten to you sooner. Always telling me that you hate me yet letting me fuck you like this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve always wanted this,” Donghyuck says into your ear, and pecks your neck. “Are you always this needy? So desperate that you’ll let even me fuck you?”

“G-god, yes,” you don’t care about overpriding him anymore, just saying things because you aren’t in the right mind to care about anything other than his dick right now.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

You’re almost too fucked out to speak, just moaning and whimpering in a way you never thought you would for him, “Feels good, so… so good. Love it.”

If you were in the right mind to have shame, you’d be embarrassed by the way your number-one enemy is making you moan, and not just because of the volume, but because it’s his name your moaning so pathetically. Choruses of “Hyuck” sounding from you in plethoras, calling his name with no actual reason. You’re breathing in little shallow, quick breaths, too, mouth agape as your whimpers tumble into the air. It helps that Donghyuck’s also surprisingly vocal, calling your name back. To say the least, the way he moans your name is hot and gets you off a little more, in spite of you not needing the help. He has it all on his own, fucking into you deep and hard.

Donghyuck gropes your body too, heightening your pleasure by fumbling with your breasts or rubbing your clit with one of his free hands. He doesn’t focus on one particular part of you, showering your figure with pleasure and attention that makes the sex a billion times better.

“Can I choke you?” He asks, and the question catches you a little off-guard, but once you shake off the surprise, you give him permission.

Donghyuck’s hands slither around your neck, and he presses into your jaw with just enough force to make you look at him, and silently communicate that he wants you to keep your eyes him and his actions. His fingers press onto the sides of your throat, and you’re not sure what is a bigger turn on, the fact that he knows how to properly do it or the action itself. You think it’s a bit of both, you enjoy the thrill as you look defeated by your inability breathing, and the dark look in his eyes tells you that he enjoys it too, staring straight into your soul, watching you fail to take a breath.

He doesn’t loosen his grip on your throat as he commands, “Open your mouth.”

You aren’t in the mind to question anything, simply following instructions. His mouth hovers above yours, lips parting to spit in your mouth. The action takes you by surprise yet again, but you swallow almost instinctively, never looking away from him as you do.

He backs away once satisfied, smiling. “So good for me, baby.”

That makes you clench around him, which also brings Donghyuck the satisfaction of a moan or two. He loves the way you clench around him when he says things to you, a telltale sign that you’re enjoying this more than he knows you’d probably like to admit. This whole thing between you and him, him and you is that you’re too stubborn to admit your desire. It prides him that he finally managed to make you confess it, to admit that you’re no different from anybody else. That he can still get under your skin, and does a fairly good job at that. Not only does it make him feel good about himself, but it makes him feel good right now. Your reactions, all your moans and your fucked out face, the whimpering and the begging, it all gets him off more.

That knot in your stomach is forming again, and he has you clenching around him regularly soon afterwards, and he can tell that this time, it’s not because of his words. It’s because you’re about to orgasm. “I’m close,” you announce, once again feeling all the flips and turns twisting about in your gut. It’s a good thing Donghyuck’s close too, being obvious from the way his thrusts aren’t as smooth as they initially were.

“Me, too. C’mon baby, give it to me,” he urges you on, and you let him drive you to the edge.

He makes you see white again, vision fogging the color and your voice a high-pitched moan of his name as you climax, grinding your hips into his as you intend to ride out your orgasm. In some high, trance-like state, you’re not sure when he cums, but you know that it wasn’t that much longer after you did, and then he slid out, flopping beside you on the mattress. You lie there in near-silence that consists of nothing but heavy breathing, wondering to yourself if this actually happened. You don’t regret it, not now anyways, and it was definitely a satisfying way to break your dry spell, but now you’re starting to question if it was a bad decision. He hasn’t even asked if—

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks, seemingly needing a moment to catch his breath before he could gather words.

His words cut through your thoughts, leaving you to accept that maybe he’s not that much of an asshole. It’s the bare minimum, so he’s still an asshole, but not that much of an asshole. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m good.”

“Good,” he grins. “So, you wanna ditch this party and go get some Chinese food? I’m starving.”

“You want to go get food with me?” you say, sounding wholly and utterly surprised and unconvinced. This man spends every other day of his life bothering you, and now he wants to pick up some food with you?

“I mean, if you don’t want free Chinese food that I’m paying for with my money, then fine, suit yourself, I’ll just get it by my—”

“No!” You interject, sitting up immediately as you scan the room for your clothes. “I’m down. Kinda hungry, too.”

“Good,” Donghyuck says. “Chop, chop. We don’t have all night, they close in like less than an hour from now.”

Standing out of bed to put your clothes on, you consider to yourself that maybe you’ve assumed a lot about him without getting to know him. He’s definitely got an ego on him, that a blind man can tell, but he’s not really an asshole.

“Yo, I just realized something.”

“What?”

Donghyuck smiles bashfully, “I don’t have my wallet on me.”

Nevermind. He’s one-hundred percent definitely an asshole.

#lee haechan smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct

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